Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Raura

I stand over the guard panting – not from exertion, but from the shock of what I’ve just done.

I’ve never killed before.

But it all happened so fast. And when I saw him about to shoot Riot, instinct took over. Now, anxiety flares as I see him sitting on the floor, his hands clasped over his thigh. Blood pulses from the ragged tear in the soaked fabric of his sweatpants and through his fingers. From the pallor spreading from his face down his throat, I can tell that this isn’t an ordinary bullet.

Silver.

I know it. It’s what Parker has threatened me with since I got here. All of his team are equipped to deal with us in the same way. I growl low in my throat.

“Get out of here,” Riot says. “You can go on without me.”

I shake my head. If he thinks I’m leaving here, he’s out of his freaking mind.

“I said go!” he repeats more firmly. It’s an effort. There’s sweat beading on his forehead. I growl again, planting my ass on the ground and sitting in front of him. “Dammit, Raura! You can’t stay here.”

I cock my head and whine.

“I’m just going to slow you down,” he grits out. His jaw is clenched. I can almost feel the pain radiating through him. I paw at his knee and whine again. There’s no way I’m going to let us get this close and then abandon him.

“You don’t have to worry about me. Parker will just put me back in the fucking cage. I’m useful to him.” He’s breathless, speaking quickly. It sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. I’m not budging, and I see annoyance darkening his eyes.

“Please, Raura! You have to listen to me, for fuck’s sake! He’ll kill you if he gets his hands on you!” There’s desperation in his tone.

I ignore it. I lean forward and nudge him, then lick his face. When he pushes me away, I nudge him harder, using my weight to unbalance him. He’s strong. Even in his human form, he’d be stronger than my wolf…but not with silver flooding his veins.

He needs to shift.

I keep pushing him harder until he topples sideways, weak as a kitten. I nudge and paw at him until he’s half on his belly. He groans as the snow hits his leg.

Shift, dammit!

“Why are you so fucking stubborn?” he mutters.

Fucking shift!

I growl in his ear and then paw at the snow. Frustration gnaws at me. Impossible man! Does he plan to let them drag him back in there like some sort of martyr?

Shift!

I focus on the thought and glare at him until something seems to ease in him. He knows what I’m trying to get him to do.

“I don’t know if I can find my wolf with silver in my system.” He shakes his head. When I growl again, there’s an edge of ferocity to it – I’m going to freaking bite him if he doesn’t at least try.

“Okay, okay!” He wipes his face with a bloodstained hand. It leaves a trail of red down his skin, which begins to flake away as fur starts to sprout.

I watch with a mixture of awe and anxiety as Riot begins the agonizing shift to his wolf form. Muscles ripple beneath his skin as bones stretch and reshape. His face contorts with each crunch and snap as his body rearranges itself. His skin is gray from the pain.

And then he stops…panting, contorted into a monstrous form – half-wolf, half-man. I paw at him again.

Don’t stop now!

The silver must be searing through his veins like acid, making every movement torturous. Yet he grits his teeth and pushes through. Finally, a massive black wolf stands before me, panting heavily. His haunting silver eyes lock onto mine, filled with a wildness that sends a shiver down my spine.

Without hesitation, I throw back my head and unleash a triumphant howl that echoes across the mountains.

To my surprise, a chorus of howls answers back from the valleys and peaks around us. For a fleeting moment, I allow myself to revel in the glorious feeling of freedom calling to us from the wilderness.

We can do this. We can!

Riot dips his head, and together, we turn toward the narrow trail snaking down the mountainside. Our path to escape is treacherous, but we have no choice but to press onward. With a surge of renewed vigor, I break into a lope, Riot keeping pace beside me despite dragging his leg.

The icy wind whips through my fur as we hurtle down the slope. Loose scree scatters with each pounding step, but we don’t falter. The only thing driving me now is the burning need to put as much distance as possible between us and that nightmarish place. I can taste freedom on the crisp air. It’s so tantalizingly close. But still so far.

I dart a worried glance over my shoulder at Riot loping beside me. His strides are labored, his silver eyes dulled. His gait is hampered by a pronounced limp.

God, he must be in so much pain!

My heart clenches at the sight of his suffering. The warrior who endured so much torment is being brought down by Parker’s cruelty once again. It seems so fucking unfair! Rage flares within me, burning hotter with every ragged pant that escapes Riot’s powerful jaws.

We can’t stop.

Not yet. Not until we’ve put enough distance between us and that place to ensure our safety. I press on, leading the way down the treacherous mountain trail as it winds toward the valley below.

The freezing wind whips mercilessly, but our thick fur coats insulate us from the biting chill. Still, I can’t help but shiver as we finally reach the bottom and emerge into a large parking area. We slow to a trot, surveying our new surroundings warily.

This must be where the Enclave staff leave their vehicles before making the final trek up the mountain, I realize. A few lonely cars sit scattered across the cracked asphalt, their dusty windshields an indication of how infrequently this place sees use.

I pause, turning to face Riot as he limps up beside me. His tongue lolls from his mouth, chest heaving with each agonized breath. Guilt stabs at me for having pushed him so hard, but I knew there was no other choice.

Shifting back to my human form, I kneel beside him and gently run my fingers through his thick, ebony fur. “Rest here for a bit,” I murmur, pressing my forehead against his. “You’ve been so strong, but I can see you’re struggling.”

Riot meets my gaze steadily, a glimmer of gratitude flickering in the metallic depths. He knows as well as I that in his current condition, poisoned by the silver, he won’t be able to travel much farther like this.

I need to do something…

With my hands on my hips, I look around the desolate parking area, realizing our only hope of escape lies in stealing one of these vehicles. The thought makes my stomach churn – I’ve never broken the law in my life. But after everything Parker and his goons have put me through, the rules no longer apply.

Riot whines softly, drawing my attention back to him. His dense fur is matted, and his sides heave with exertion. The bullet wound in his hind leg oozes a sickly trail of blackened blood, the silver toxin almost visibly spreading through his veins.

We don’t have much time.

Giving his head a reassuring stroke, I move off and begin checking each car, praying one will be unlocked. The first two are secure, but the third – an ancient, rust-eaten pickup truck – yields when I tug on the handle. I peer inside, relieved to find the keys dangling from the ignition.

“Riot,” I call out in a hushed voice. “Over here, I found our ride.”

With a pained groan, he hauls himself up and limps over, his injured leg dragging uselessly behind him. Gathering himself must sap the last of his strength, but he leaps up into the back of the truck, immediately collapsing in a trembling heap. I hate the fact that he’s exposed to the elements, but there’s no way he’ll fit into the cab in his wolf form.

I waste no time circling around and hoisting myself into the driver’s seat. Gripping the steering wheel, I pause to gather my wits before turning the key. I’ve driven a few times while back at Steel Lakes, but I’m no expert. In my world, there’s so little need to travel by car.

“Come on, come on!” I mutter, more to myself than to the old rust-bucket. The engine sputters and wheezes in protest but finally rumbles to life with a coughing roar.

Without a second thought, I throw it into drive and stomp on the accelerator. The truck lurches forward, tires spitting up dirt as we peel out of the parking area and merge onto the deserted road leading away from that hellhole.

Only once we’ve put a few miles between us and the Enclave do I finally allow myself to exhale. My fingers ache from gripping the wheel in a white-knuckled grasp, but the tension in my shoulders loosens just a little.

A sound from behind me snaps me back to the situation at hand. Riot writhes in agony, his muzzle twisted in anguish as the silver ravages his body.

“Hang on, I’m going to find a place to stop,” I say urgently, scanning the shadowed tree line flanking the road for a safe place to pull over.

Finally spotting a break in the foliage up ahead, I guide the sputtering truck onto the packed dirt of the shoulder. Throwing it into park, I leap out and hurry around to where Riot is lying.

“Okay, big guy,” I whisper, running a trembling hand along his heaving flank. “Let’s get that bullet out of you,” I say the words with a lot more conviction than I’m actually feeling.

How the hell do I remove a freaking bullet??

But he’s watching me with such blind faith that I know I have to do something. Anything.

Rubbing my face with both hands, I turn around as if the answer will appear out of thin air.

Think, Raura!

The truck. There might be something inside it. It’s a vague hope, but it’s all I have right now. I rummage frantically through the cluttered interior, desperate to find anything that could help me remove that toxic slug of silver from Riot’s leg. My hands tremble as I rip open the battered glove compartment, spilling its contents across the floorboards with a clatter.

“There has to be something!” I mutter through gritted teeth. Finally, my fingers close around the handle of a rusty old pen knife.

It’ll have to do.

I grab it along with the musty duffel bag of clothes I find stuffed behind the passenger seat, silently thanking the universe for small favors. At least we’ll have something to cover ourselves with after this. If we get pulled over, there are going to be a lot of questions if we’re both naked after our shift.

Hauling the bag over my shoulder, I move quickly to the truck’s cargo bed, where Riot lies motionless, his dark fur glistening with a combination of melting snow and blood. As I approach, he shifts with a bone-cracking groan, his massive wolf body contorting and shrinking until he’s in his human form once more.

“What are you doing?” I blurt.

“It’ll be easier for you to find the bullet this way,” he rasps. His face is gray, gleaming beneath a sheen of perspiration.

I hesitate, chewing my lip as I look him over. He’s trembling, every sinewy muscle taut with strain. And even with the unnatural resilience gifted to our kind, I know the process of removing that slug is going to be agonizing without his wolf’s strength.

“Riot, I really think you should stay shifted,” I argue, kneeling beside him. “You’ll be stronger, it’ll hurt less…”

He shakes his head, stubbornly clenching his jaw. “Just do it, Raura.”

With a frustrated huff, I carefully set the knife and duffel aside before leaning over to inspect the angry, swollen wound. It’s a mess of blackened flesh and poisoned blood, the dark pulse of it bringing with it the stench of burning skin.

Swallowing hard, I pick up the knife and position its rusty tip at the ragged opening. My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat as I steel myself for what I’m about to do.

“Ready?” I ask, glancing up to find his eyes already locked on mine.

Riot gives a terse nod, his jaw muscle twitching.

Here goes nothing.

Grinding my teeth, I brace myself and begin working the blade into the inflamed bullet hole. A guttural sound rumbles from Riot’s chest as the metal penetrates his seared flesh, but he remains rigidly still, his body coiled like a tightly wound spring.

I twist and pry, stomach roiling as I feel the blade scraping against the piece of silver buried deep in his thigh. Riot shudders violently, sweat breaking out on his skin, but he doesn’t utter a sound.

And then, with a final sickening slurping sound, the slug dislodges.

A rush of poisoned blood gushes out, spilling over my hands. It burns as it touches me, the stink of it making me gag. But it just keeps coming, an endless stream of toxin-tainted gore until finally – blessedly – the rush begins to slow. The dark fluid brightens until it flows red again. I drop the knife and clutch at the wound with both palms, pressing down as hard as I can to staunch the flow.

“Good…” Riot pants out. “You did good.”

I only realize I’m crying when I feel the tickle of tears dripping off my chin. It’s too much…it all just feels like it’s too much to cope with. The days of torture, the fear, the terror of the escape.

I killed a man!

And now…this. Everything hits me in a rush, and I’m shaking as I try to stop the blood from streaming from the gaping wound.

“I can’t!” I choke out, fighting down a sob. “I can’t take anymore.” Hysteria threatens, and my breath starts to come in short gasps.

“Raura! Raura, listen to me.” Riot’s hoarse voice pulls me from the edge of a dark abyss that threatens to suck me into it. “You’re a fighter. You’re going to be okay.”

“I’m going to be okay,” I repeat numbly, trying to force myself to believe it.

Pull yourself together!

He’s right. I can do this. I suck in a steadying breath and straighten my shoulders, blinking quickly to clear my vision.

I can do this.

As I look into his eyes, a strange sense of calm settles, descending as quickly as the panic had hit me.

“We have to get dressed,” I tell him, and he nods when I grab the bag with my free hand, my palm still over the hole in his leg. It’s as if I’m fighting to keep his life force from seeping out. But even as I watch, I can see the color seeping back into his cheeks.

He manages a weak smile. I smile back, brushing the back of my hand across my cheek to rid myself of the tears. Unsteadily, he pushes himself up onto his palm and reaches for the bag, unzipping it and riffling through it. A minute later, he’s pulled out a plaid shirt and a faded pair of jeans. He tosses them in my direction before upending the bag and tipping out a T-shirt and sweats.

“Just my style.” He grins at me, and I’m amazed at how he’s managed to find a moment of lightness in all of this. I grin back because I must. We’ve just achieved the impossible.

We’re free!

“Dumb luck,” I say wryly. I raise my hand from his leg and see that the blood has stopped pulsing. I heave a sigh, then wriggle clumsily into the stolen clothing. It stinks of sweat and grease, but it’ll do the job. I help Riot to dress, then wait for him to lean on me as he clambers off the back of the truck and then into the passenger’s seat of the vehicle. I get behind the wheel and start the engine, throwing quick looks at him as I do.

“I’m fine.” He smiles. “You’re a miracle worker. I’ll be good as new in a minute.”

By the time we’re back on the road, he’s passed out cold.