The white-faced monster went limp. Not dead, but certainly out cold.
Max jumped up, his gaze on the dark sky. It gave the Kurjans free rein. Pity. The sun fried the bastards.
A black van screeched into the parking lot, and three Kurjans jumped out. Max turned toward Sarah. “Get in the bathroom. Lock the door and don’t come out until I yell.”
But she wasn’t looking at him. Her wide eyes stared at the scout on the ground, her hand shaking on the bottle. “I knew it. I knew they existed.” She swayed, her dark eyelashes fluttering against her pasty-white skin.
Shit. She was going into shock. “Now!”
Her gaze darted to Max, but she didn’t move.
Damn it. He lunged for her, picking her up and shoving her into the bathroom. Muttering about women who didn’t listen, he yanked the bed away from the wall to rest against the door. She wasn’t coming out, and nobody was going in. Of course, she’d head out the back window again. But the Kurjans didn’t know that.
Pain ripped into his neck. A knife thrown—and thrown well. His fangs dropped low, and he hissed. He drew air through his nose, yanking the blade out of his jugular. Blood burned as it slid down his skin. He’d have to deal with these guys fast. Before he passed out.
Chapter 2
Sarah jumped out the window, running for the forest. She couldn’t go back for the truck—her only transportation. She’d seen a Kurjan. One of the monsters. They existed. She wasn’t crazy. She hoped she wasn’t crazy.
Thunder ripped overhead. Rain soaked her in minutes as she ran between forbidding pine trees. An exposed root tripped her, and only raw terror kept her upright. Fleeing.
Max had trapped her in the bathroom. So he could fight the other three Kurjans. She hoped he won. But no way would she wait around and see—and let either Max or the monsters take her.
She kept running.
So much for her plan to reach safety. She’d only made it to the center of Washington State, and was in a random forest. Did moss really grow on the north side of a tree? North was Canada. Maybe she could reach Canada.
Minutes passed. She stopped, pressing her hands against her knees, sucking in air. She needed to keep moving.
She hurried as long as she could, taking several breaks along the way and listening to the forest. Nobody followed her. The storm attacked the trees around her, their branches providing some cover. Soon, too tired to hustle, she began walking doggedly uphill through rough brush and wet trees, not even feeling the rain anymore. She’d gone from bone cold to numb. North. She was still going north—climbing a mountain.
Two more hours passed and night fell like an ominous blanket. An earlier lightning strike had illuminated a forest service lookout tower up the mountain. It meant there had to be a town somewhere. Maybe on the other side of the mountain.
Lightning crashed into the treetops. She shrieked, halting. Ozone filtered through the wet smell of pine. Shelter. She needed shelter. If she didn’t warm up, she wouldn’t be able to function at all. Taking a deep breath, she hustled the last mile to the tower. The worn wooden structure rose high into the air, no doubt providing an amazing view of the forest. She gazed up the steep flight of stairs. Towers had lightning rods, so she’d be safe inside to wait out the rest of the storm. At least, she’d read that somewhere.
The rain-slicked steps tripped her several times, but she finally slipped over the top step and shoved open the door. Rain on the metal roof drowned out her sigh of relief. A lantern hung next to the door, and she twisted the knob to illuminate the small space.
A cot sat against the far wall, and glassless windows lined all four sides, showcasing the fantastic greenery extending for miles and miles outside. Heavy eaves outside provided some protection from the whipping wind and rain. Laminated maps covered a table in the center of the room. Cabinets recessed into each wall. A phone and walkie-talkie set perched below the table ... but she had no one to call.
Her legs shook from cold and fear as she staggered across the rough wooden floor and dropped onto the cot. Vibrations, images, and thoughts of people who’d sat there before bombarded her, and she shoved them away. She could handle her gift—she just needed to relax. Three deep breaths later, she tried to slow her racing pulse. She needed to warm up. Her shoulders shook so hard her teeth rattled.
Someone knocked on the door.
She leaped to her feet, sliding on the wood floor. Her hand went to her throat. Thunder rolled high and loud.
“Miss Pringle? I’m coming in.” The door opened on a gust of wind, and Max stepped inside.
“Jesus.” She could only gape.
His wet brown hair, thick and wavy, was plastered to his head. A soaked black T-shirt and jeans revealed rock-hard muscle. Not even winded, he was the largest man she’d ever seen. His face was rugged ... strong. Not handsome ... but, well, masculine. Yeah. That was the term. Deep, dark, and shielded brown eyes took her measure.
A shiver slid down her spine, some fear, some intrigue. “How did you find me?”
“You left a trail a first-week Boy Scout could follow. I saw you heading for the tower, so I kept pace until you got here.” He eyed her sopping clothing, his dark gaze wandering up to her face. “Your lips are blue.”
Three steps had him at the cabinets, yanking them open to grab a sealed bag. His large hands ripped open the bag and yanked out two wool blankets. “Take your clothes off.”
“No.” It came out on a croak. How insulting. He’d been tracking her, easily keeping her in sight. So much for getting to freedom. “We need to run. If you’re here, they’re coming.”
He wiped his forehead with his arm. “No, they’re not.”
Her mind spun. If the Kurjans weren’t coming—they were dead. “You killed four of them?” She backed away, knees hitting the cot. Unwelcome vibrations wandered up her legs. She shoved the images away. Her teeth chattered and she clenched her lips together. Her shoulders shook she was so damn cold.
How had he survived the fight? She struggled to focus. “What the hell are you?”
“A damn good fighter.” One broad hand ripped his wet shirt over his head to hang on a nail. “We’ll wait the storm out—but you need to warm up.”
A good enough fighter to kill four deadly monsters? That good a fighter didn’t exist. Neither did absolutely perfect, harder than granite, sculpted male chests. Oh she wished he’d put his shirt back on. The breath heated in her lungs. “No.”
“No to what?”
“No to you beating the Kurjans. No to there actually being Kurjans. No to taking off my clothes. No to it all.” Hysteria had her blinking rapidly.
“Stay calm, sweetheart.” Max moved toward her, slow and steady, like an animal stalking prey. Except he looked more like a mountain than an animal. Not one of those rolling hills from home ... but a real mountain. Jagged and wild—yet solid. Unmovable.
Instinct had her raising both fists, preparing to fight.
He stopped cold. His eyes warmed and he cocked his head to the side. “Honey, take your thumbs out of your closed fists.”
She frowned. “Why?”
He sighed. “Because you’ll break them that way.” A scowl shaped his rugged face into something dangerous. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to fight?”
Why did he sound angry? “No.” Irritation began to well up. “Don’t patronize me. I can handle myself.”