Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she walked past Emory. Leaving him was more than an emotional pain, it also seared through her physically. Everything inside her screamed to turn around, to protect the male who’d stood between her and a gun. There was only thing to do, one way to slow Elijah down. Nathan had called out for them, so maybe he’d contacted the pack and told them what to expect.
Buy more time.
“The map has to be downstairs,” she said and exited the bedroom. “They have all your addresses. You’re not safe.”
“What are you talking about?” Elijah guided her toward a set of stairs, nudging her to go faster with the gun that was now pressed against her lower back.
“Mom and Dad left it for me,” she whispered, staring in horror at Nathan’s body resting in the middle of the staircase. Below him two men also rested, their chests covered in blood. Both of them were dead but one had died with his eyes open—his gaze directed at Nathan—with a gun in his hand.
“Bless them, Father,” Elijah murmured. She felt the gun jab into her spine. “You have thirty seconds to do as I say. No more, no less. Walk down the stairs and take a right. We’re leaving.”
Thirty seconds? Her uncle started whispering the 23rd Psalm, sending his comrades to the other side with his best wishes.
Better talk fast then.
“Mom and Dad gave me a map of all the Shepherd compounds in the United States. Including yours,” she said quickly. “Emory took it after I arrived.”
He stopped mid-prayer, narrowing his eyes, shadowed jaw clenching in anger. “You’re lying.”
“What purpose would that serve?” She posed the question cautiously, trying to appear meek. “You’re already here. I’m going to die. Lying isn’t going to help.”
“You could be trying to delay your death,” he said flatly.
Shit. “Or I could be saving the lives of innocent people, including children.” She held her breath, waiting to see if he’d believe what she said.
“Take me to it.” Again he butted the gun against her back. “You’ve bought yourself a minute.”
Telling him that she didn’t know where the map was wouldn’t work. There was an edge to his voice now—impatience and worry. He had to know the pack would return and he couldn’t remain in Diskant’s home for long. Her stomach churned at the thought. That was what had happened to Ava. Elijah had to be responsible.
What had he done to her?
Swallowing several times to combat the lemony taste of bile in her throat, she walked to the left. She didn’t know where she was going but the best place to start was anywhere aside from where Elijah wanted to take her. Exits were dangerous, so that meant the kitchen she’d visited was off limits. She passed the large room, acting as if she knew where she was going, when she saw another room to the right. The lighting was dark and she could see several chairs in front of what looked like a desk.
An office? Please God, let it be an office. It would take more than a minute to sort through drawers and papers. If she could just hold on, keep her uncle distracted…
“Your time is almost up. Get the map.” She realized he wasn’t going to follow her into the room when she stepped inside and the feel of the gun against her back vanished. Then he started counting back. “Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven…”
All she had left was an act, to pretend she knew what she was looking for. She raced to one of the cabinets against the wall and started sorting through files, all the while listening while he counted. When he hit twenty, her heart throbbed. When he hit ten she thought she might faint. Paper after paper slipped through her numb, worthless fingers. This was it. She was going to die. At least she’d had the chance to meet Emory, to know what it felt like to be loved.
Shock had her lifting her head. Outside the house, horrific growls and snarls started up, as though a pit bull was in the middle of a fight for its life. Within seconds she heard men shouting. A statue on the top of the cabinet caught her attention, the large glass form of a wolf the perfect size for her hand. She went for it, ready to take her final stand.
“Rest in peace,” Elijah said softly. “God save your soul.”
She spun around with the statue in hand, lifting her arm in the same motion, and cried out when something hit her left shoulder. She met Elijah’s eyes and threw the object at him, unable to do anything more. He’d pointed the gun at her head when Mary heard a low, threatening growl and saw a dark blur behind him. She sank to the floor—using the cabinet for balance—and watched as Oscar attacked Elijah. The dog jumped onto his back and latched on to the back of his neck with his large jaws. Her uncle screamed as he slammed to his knees. Oscar growled, yanking his head from side to side. Blood streamed from the wounds the raging canine created, splattering on the ground when Elijah toppled to the floor.
It sounded as if a door was smashed in the distance. Mary held her breath, trying to listen past the vicious growls. Heavy footsteps approached and she heard someone curse. The dog let go of its prey, looked to the side and snarled at someone Mary couldn’t see. This time, there was no poof. The gunshot was loud, resounding in the house. Oscar yelped when he was hit in the chest, knocking him back. Then she heard the poor creature whining miserably, a horrible high-pitched sound.
Not Oscar. No. No. No.
Snap out of it. Someone has a gun. Run.
She knew she left a trail of blood when she crawled behind the desk but she didn’t care. If whoever had shot the dog wanted her, she wasn’t going to make it easy for them. They’d have to find her. She moved the chair and hid under the large structure, trying not to cry or make any noise. Covering her mouth with her hand, she waited, the seconds ticking by agonizingly slow.
“Dear Lord,” someone muttered and stopped close by. “He’s hurt bad. Put your jacket around his neck. We have to stop the bleeding.”
“We have to get him out of here,” another man said. “There isn’t much time.”
“What about the girl?” The voice sounded strained, as if the man was lifting something.
A grunt, then the other man answered, “A matter best left for another day.”
Shuffling sounds followed, then silence. Aside from the snarling taking place outside the house, Mary didn’t know what was going on. She desperately wanted to go to Emory to see if he’d survived, but she was frozen in place. When she heard a loud ticking sound accompanied by an infuriated snarl she bowed over her knees and rested her forehead on her hands, rocking back and forth. Panic made her nauseous, the familiar waves rolling through her.
What if the shifters decided she wasn’t worth it? What if Diskant and Emory couldn’t protect her as they’d promised? Would the pack kill her quickly? Or would they make her suffer for the loss of their own?
The noise came closer, then closer. When the office door slammed closed she jumped. Her pulse pounded in her ears so loudly she couldn’t hear anything else. Then she felt something staring at her. All she could do was wait, doomed to meet her end in whatever form it came. She knew she should have fled. Everything she touched was toxic, poisoned by her presence.
The low whine was unexpected, as was the warm swipe of a tongue against her arm. She cringed at first, too afraid to look, when she felt she felt the same sensation—this time over her knuckles. She carefully lifted her head, gazing past her knees. Her breath caught when she met a pair of glowing amber-colored eyes—eyes she knew only too well. He was huge like this, far larger than Oscar or any other dog in his wolf form. Her attention flew to his chest, where she knew bullets had struck. The wounds were still there, blood oozing from the holes.