Chapter 2

Never let them take you down, Micah, my mentor, always said. If a beast gets you on the ground, if it manages to trap you beneath it, you’re as good as dead, so fight to stay on your feet.

The instructions were innate now, and my body reacted instinctively, bracing and twisting so we hit the ground with me on top, my dagger buried in the creature’s throat.

The fucker was huge—gray, coarse fur and teeth dripping with saliva as it snarled and snapped before falling still to stare at me with glassy dead eyes.

I yanked my dagger free and staggered to my feet. “Run!”

We sprinted, trees rushing by. The wolves couldn’t be far behind. But we’d be at the road before they caught up. I hoped. Sparser tree growth meant a break was coming up soon. Please be the road, please be the road.

We crossed into a clearing with a brook and a shack.

Mary’s cry of disappointment tore at my heart.

“It can’t be far,” Jeremy said, gasping for breath. “We can make it.” The road could be another mile away for all we knew, and although I might be able to keep up a sprint, these two wouldn’t. There was only one way to keep them safe.

“Cross the brook and get to the shack.”

“What?” Jeremy stared at me in confusion.

“Go. Now. I’ll lead them away, and when I do, you make a break for the road.”

“No,” Mary said. “They’ll kill you.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll double back. I’m fast. I’ll meet you on the road.” A howl clawed at the night. “Go! Through the water.” I made to shove her, but she pulled me in for a hug. “Thank you. The Order needs more like you.”

Jeremy gave me a nod, and they hurried toward the stream.

I backed up and drew my dagger. The best way to make sure the wolves left them alone and followed me was by leaving them a trail.

More howls. Almost on me.

I sliced the heel of my hand, then dove back into the woods in the opposite direction to the road. I could double back. I just needed to give the Walkers enough time to get away.

The rustle of leaves and the pant and pad of pursuit grew louder. They had my scent. Panic flared, but I tamped it down.

Run.

Watch the terrain.

Don’t fall.

The trees grew closer, denser, forcing me to weave between them. The ground softened, sucking at my boots and slowing me down until the tree line came to an abrupt halt and I was running on marshland, sliding and windmilling to regain my balance.

Shadows spilled around me, rushing ahead to block my path.

I skidded to a halt, falling into a defensive stance, ignoring the pit inside me that screamed that this was the end.

The wolves circled me, snarling and yipping, an attempt to tenderize me with terror. But I’d be damned if I gave them the satisfaction.

“Come on!” I waved my dagger and bared my teeth. “Come on, you overgrown canines!”

They snapped, inching forward then back, growling and snarling. Playing with their food. Playing with me until my limbs shook with the heat of adrenaline, torn between fight or flight.

I slashed out with my dagger, turning this way and that to keep them at bay, but I was surrounded, the circle growing smaller, tighter as they closed in, almost done with their game.

I swiped at the nearest wolf, too late in pulling back. Fangs sank into my arm, the pressure a vise. Heat ballooned into my chest, a roar spilling from my lips as I stabbed and twisted, fighting to be free while the mass closed in, secure they had their prey, done with their games.

No.

This couldn’t be happening.

Not like this.

A snarl of triumph. Pressure on my shoulder.

A bite.

The whoosh of blood in my head. The iron tang of it in the air.

My knees buckled beneath the weight of the pack, and the next moment, I was being dragged.

Fight. Kick.

Fire raced up my arm and down my back.

No. No. No!

A low, sharp whistle pierced my eardrums, and the jaws holding me captive let go. I caught the flash of hungry yellow eyes, the wrinkling of a snout, then they were gone.

Oh God. Oh God. I had to move. Palms sinking into boggy earth, I pulled myself to my knees just as the beat of wings registered. A shadow swooped at me, red eyes burning in a batlike face.

My dagger. Where was my dagger?

A gust of sweet air hit me in the face, and I was swallowed by crimson.