Authors: S.M. Reine
“I don’t want to do this anymore,” she whispered.
“Hey,” he murmured against the top of her head. “I’ll help you. We’ll figure it out together.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“You’re not going to die. I promise.”
They sat together in silence for a few minutes as her pulse slowed and her breathing became normal again. He used the edge of the towel to wipe the blood off Rylie’s leg, and she saw that the injury had closed completely.
Seth helped her sit up. Rylie tugged her skirt down. Now that she wasn’t in pain, she was kind of embarrassed to have a boy in her room. It should have been a little exciting, too, but pulling a bullet out of her leg wasn’t exactly thrilling.
“Is Abel okay?” she asked.
“He’s alive.”
“What does biting him again mean? Will he be a werewolf now?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think anybody has ever resisted the change before, and then got bitten again.” He cleaned the blood off his hands with the towel. “He’s tough. He’ll be fine.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“You don’t have to pretend to care. I know you hate him.”
“But I didn’t want to hurt him. If he starts to change again, I want to do something about it. I want to help him.”
“I don’t know if you can.” Seth stood up. “I should go see him. If he’s healed already, then it probably means he’ll change. If the bite is still open, then he should be safe.”
“What are we going to do about your family? They saw me. They know I’m here. I don’t know how we can make them leave me alone now.”
“I don’t know.” Seth ran a hand over his hair. “I just… I don’t know.”
He left, and she waited until he snuck out the back door to try to stand up again. Even though her leg felt better, she was still weak. Seth had left the tweezers and a couple pebble-sized bits of silver on the floor. It was hard to believe something so small could have caused so much pain.
Wobbling out to the kitchen, Rylie found leftovers from the last couple of dinners. The fridge was packed full of steaks and roasts and ribs. She knew Gwyn would probably make breakfast later, but she couldn’t wait to eat. Her body demanded food.
Rylie pulled an entire rack of ribs out of the refrigerator and heated it up in the microwave while she tore into a cold steak. Her body revolted at the taste of it. She wanted something warm and fresh, and the image of a rabbit flashed through her mind. She ignored it.
Someone knocked at the door. Rylie paused mid-bite, slowly chewing what she had in her mouth.
Who would visit so early on the weekend? Nobody who came to the house knocked. The ranch hands—even Abel—knew they were welcome to walk in and out as freely as family.
The knocking repeated, and Rylie set her steak on the counter to limp into the living room. Maybe Gwyn locked herself out.
She found a statuesque woman standing on the other side of the door. She had the same strong nose and dark eyes as Seth, so Rylie immediately recognized her as his mom. What had he called her? Eleanor?
“What do you…?” Rylie started to ask.
Eleanor lashed out and grabbed a fistful of Rylie’s hair in her fist, yanking her onto the step.
Shrieking, Rylie clawed at the hand with her fingernails, but she lost balance and fell to her knees. Eleanor dragged her through the dirt screaming.
“Gwyn! Help me!”
“Shut your mouth,” Eleanor said, tossing Rylie against the motorcycle and backhanding her. Her head snapped to the side. The taste of iron flooded her mouth.
The wolf was always quiet after a moon, and the silver only made it worse. It was exhausted. Rylie had no strength.
She tried to dodge Eleanor’s next blow, but it connected with her jaw as she tried to get to her feet. She fell to the ground again. Rylie opened her mouth to yell and the older woman clapped her hand over her mouth.
It was then that her eyes fell on the black ropes at Eleanor’s belt. Panic swelled inside of her.
The adrenaline stirred the wolf, giving her a small burst of strength. Rylie ripped out of her grip and shoved her hard enough to send her flying.
Leaping to her feet, she bolted down the hill.
Her first instinct was to run to Gwyneth, who had a shotgun, but she knew just as quickly that she couldn’t do it. Her aunt had no problem shooting coyotes, but she would hesitate to shoot a person. Eleanor wouldn’t think twice before pulling her own trigger.
She couldn’t let Gwyn get killed.
Eleanor was getting to her feet. Those ropes looked like death waiting to happen.
Rylie’s bare feet slapped against the dirt as the motorcycle growled to life behind her. It blasted in a circle and blocked her route down the road, kicking gravel into her face.
She tried to run the other way, but Eleanor zoomed past her, and she snatched at Rylie’s hair again. She threw herself to the ground and felt a fistful of hair rip from her scalp. Rylie cried out and scrambled to her knees.
If she could just get into the bushes by the side of the road—
The motorcycle roared toward her. She rolled onto her side and felt the tire blow past her head.
When she sat up, she saw Eleanor wheeling around for another pass. Scrambling to her feet, Rylie leaped over the split rail fence and bolted across the pasture as fast as she could. Her leg throbbed with silver poisoning.
The motorcycle raced down the path between fields.
Cutting across the fields, Rylie took the shortest route she knew toward town. Terror blinded her. The world blurred. She had never moved so fast in her life.
All Rylie could think was
I need Seth
over and over. She didn’t know what else to do.
Something struck her in the back and bowled her over. She hit the dirt face first. All of her breath rushed out of her lungs, and she gasped, gripping her chest.
Eleanor stopped the motorcycle and jumped down. Rylie tried to crawl away, but the older woman pinned her down and wrapped the ropes around her wrists. “Stop!” Rylie wheezed. “Wait—what are—”
“Don’t talk to me.”
She twisted the black ropes all the way up Rylie’s arms. Eleanor knotted them and dragged her to the motorcycle. The weeds tore at Rylie’s dress.
Twisting around, she tried to kick herself free.
“Let me go!” she cried. Eleanor sat on the motorcycle again and wrapped the other end of the rope around the handle. Her foot kicked off the brake. “No!”
Her arms nearly ripped out of her sockets when the bike leaped forward. Her shoulders screamed. Fire burned on the side of her body as dirt scraped up her side. Eleanor didn’t drive fast—she didn’t mean to kill Rylie. But it burned even worse than the silver.
Rylie thrashed, but the ropes were too tight. She couldn’t get free.
The world shot past her at ten miles an hour.
Her body bumped over a rock. A cut split open on her shoulder.
The dirt scraped her skin raw even as the healing fever swept over her. She was injured and healed over and over again while Eleanor drove toward town, cutting through gaps in the fence to skip from pasture to pasture.
Rylie screamed until her throat felt like it was hamburger meat. Eleanor glanced at her.
“I told you to shut up,” she snapped, turning the handle of the motorcycle.
Her head smashed into a rock.
Rylie’s screams cut off. Everything went gray and fuzzy.
She wasn’t sure how long Eleanor dragged her behind the motorcycle. Her aunt owned a lot of land between their house and town. It felt like they went on for miles, but she knew that Eleanor had to reach the perimeter of the ranch soon. She
had
to.
The motorcycle finally stopped, and Rylie lay facedown on the ground shivering. The grains of dirt looked like boulders in her hazy vision.
Eleanor’s footsteps moved toward the fence. She heard the creaking of the gate.
It was her only chance.
Pushing herself forward to make the rope slack, Rylie ripped her arms apart and buried her fingernails into the rope. It frayed and snapped.
“Hey!” Eleanor shouted.
Rylie was free of the motorcycle, but she couldn’t get her arms apart. She swung her fists together and struck Eleanor in the face, sending her the ground.
She didn’t wait to see if she had hit hard enough.
Vaulting over the fence, Rylie stumbled onto a farm and stripped the ropes from her arms. They weren’t far from town.
She dodged into the cornfields, ears perked for the sound of a motorcycle engine, and stuck to the back of the fields so the farmer wouldn’t see her. A lot of corn had already been picked. It didn’t leave her much coverage.
Bursting through a wall of corn, Rylie leaped back in time to avoid a yellow harvester.
She could see the road. She was almost there.
And Eleanor’s motorcycle came roaring around the corner.
Rylie darted across the street. A hand stretched through the air, reaching for her back, but she ducked just in time to miss the swipe.
She climbed a chain link fence and dropped to the other side. Eleanor buzzed past.
Since she had never come into town from the wrong side of the strip mall before, Rylie was disoriented. Where was Seth’s trailer park? She didn’t have time to figure it out. Eleanor was coming around to the other side.
A group of women in blue jeans dropped their shopping bags when Rylie flew past them. There was a restaurant across the parking lot, and someone she knew was standing in front of it. He was wearing his normal polo shirt and smoking something that didn’t look quite like a cigarette.
“Tate!” Rylie cried. “Help me!”
He blinked at her. “What?”
Tate focused over her shoulder and saw the motorcycle roaring through the parking lot. It was like a splash of cold water. He grabbed her and dove into the alley between the restaurant and the shopping center.
“Run!” she shrieked.
But there was nowhere to go at the end. Eleanor maneuvered the motorcycle in front of the alley and leaped off.
The only way out was a dark door tagged with graffiti. Tate threw it open and they dove inside, slamming it shut behind them. Eleanor’s fists pounded on the door and the knob rattled, and then it went silent.
They were in a dark restaurant storeroom. Rylie’s back was pressed against a box of napkins. She realized Tate was staring at her, his eyes reflecting the light from the kitchen, and she glanced down. Her entire body was covered in blood and mud.
“I’ll explain later,” Rylie wheezed. “She’s going to go around front.”
“There’s another door out back. That way!”
They ran through the kitchen. A portly woman in an apron gave them a brief look before going back to tossing her pizza dough. Rylie had to wonder what kind of things Tate did that meant nobody bat an eye at him running through their restaurant like he was being chased by a tiger.
At that moment, she didn’t really care. They burst out of the security gate to find Tate’s old BMW backed up to the restaurant. Rylie threw herself in the passenger’s seat as he started the engine. It reeked so strongly of marijuana that she felt like she had jumped into a bong.
“Where should I go?” he asked.
Eleanor rounded the side of the building.
“I don’t care! Just go! Go!”
He gunned it. They peeled out of the parking lot. Rylie twisted around to watch the street receding behind them.
“That was nuts,” Tate said, giggling madly. “Cool. So cool. I knew you were going to be awesome when I saw you.” He tore down the streets, weaving crazily between the lanes and hopping on the curb every time he turned a corner.
There was no motorcycle behind them. They had lost her.
“She wants to kill me,” Rylie said.
“No way.”
“Seriously.”
Tate started laughing harder. She would have been annoyed if the shock of it didn’t suddenly sink in. Every inch of Rylie shook, and she bowed her head against her knees as she dug her fingernails into her shoulders.
Eleanor tried to kill her.
Twice.
Her body had already healed from getting dragged through the fields, but the memory of it haunted her. She kept seeing the grass dragging past her head and feeling the rash of the dirt scraping a long line down her body.
She gave a hiccupping sob. Before Rylie became a werewolf, she hadn’t even broken a bone before. Now she was getting shot and beaten and she had no idea how to handle it.
Tate noticed Rylie starting to cry, and he got the wild look of a cornered animal. “Whoa, don’t do that. You mean it? She’s really trying to kill you?”
“You think I would joke about that?” Rylie snapped.
“Who was that bitch? She looked like a freaking Terminator.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“All right, all right, don’t freak out. There’s no panic in the Tate Zone. We’re cool here. Deep breaths.”