them spurred Nikia to push through more insistently. She didn’t need to turn around to know that at least one of the men was only a few feet behind them.
Perhaps those in the crowd noticed her urgency or maybe her tenaciousness blinded her to resistance but it was as though the Red Sea parted. Suddenly, they were off the bridge and moving to the park. It was shadowed in the darkening twilight and more than likely dangerous but the alternative wasn’t any better.
The statues of great Czech artists, writers, and scientists scowled at them with stern visages as Nikia led Atar into Charles Park. She looked away quickly, not liking the sensation of being watched. Logically, if eyes followed them, they came from predators inside the park, rather than the statues but her mind wasn’t equipped to deal strictly in the rational. Panic was finding fertile ground in her mind.
The nape of her neck prickled and she acted on instinct, pulling Atar into a clump of bushes. Her heart raced in her ears as she cautiously eased aside a branch blocking her view to search the area. First, she saw a group of young men sitting in the grass, talking loudly and bobbing their heads to punk music at least fifteen years old.
By turning her head an inch at a time, she honed in on the person causing her alarm. It was a man in a suit but not one of the three who had chased them earlier. They must have stopped for backup. This one had the same slick, sly look about him, with only one incongruous element—a huge rifle braced casually over his arm. Due to the distance separating them, Nikia couldn’t discern if it was a standard weapon or meant to fire more tranq darts. She didn’t plan to let him close enough to find out.
As he turned in their direction, scanning the park visually, she released the branch and huddled with Atar, surprised to find she was blocking his body with her own. The protective instincts he stirred were dangerous. Already, they had kept her from leaving him and going to Belarus as she should have.
She held her breath as footsteps came closer, just a whisper in the grass. The sharp sound of a twig breaking made her jerk in response and Atar’s muscles bunched. She rubbed his arm in what she hoped was a soothing way, while mentally willing him to remain quiet.
Her heart jumped in her throat when a shiny black shoe paused at the edge of the bush, pivoting in their direction. He had found them, although she didn’t know how. Before he could act, Nikia leaped at him, allowing her human form to melt into that of a wolf as she did. Her clothes fell to the ground in a heap.
An aborted scream escaped him as she landed on him, clinging to his jacket by hooking her claws through the raw silk. Her teeth provided more of an anchor when she buried them in his throat. She braced herself for the taste of his blood, fearing it would ignite a wild impulse in her and allow Illiana to take over in a moment of weakness. Thus far, she had managed not to transform because of her worries that the added wildness inherent to the werewolf nature would weaken her defenses. The man left her no choice except to change. She also had no option but to end his life. If she didn’t, he might survive his first transformation to become a werewolf himself. She couldn’t allow that to happen. It could expose everyone in Corsova.
When the man stopped struggling and dropped to the ground, Nikia loosened her jaws but didn’t release him. Not until death spasms racked his body did she let go and move away from him. She trembled too, from the onslaught the violence had wreaked on her nerves. Her control remained firm and she had been aware of her actions the entire time.
She bent at the waist and vomited, expelling the taste of his blood along with her repugnance for what she had done. Doubt hammered at her, inquiring in a sly voice if she had really needed to kill him. The voice sounded a lot like Illiana’s and she did her best to block it out. Later, she
Perhaps those in the crowd noticed her urgency or maybe her tenaciousness blinded her to resistance but it was as though the Red Sea parted. Suddenly, they were off the bridge and moving to the park. It was shadowed in the darkening twilight and more than likely dangerous but the alternative wasn’t any better.
The statues of great Czech artists, writers, and scientists scowled at them with stern visages as Nikia led Atar into Charles Park. She looked away quickly, not liking the sensation of being watched. Logically, if eyes followed them, they came from predators inside the park, rather than the statues but her mind wasn’t equipped to deal strictly in the rational. Panic was finding fertile ground in her mind.
The nape of her neck prickled and she acted on instinct, pulling Atar into a clump of bushes. Her heart raced in her ears as she cautiously eased aside a branch blocking her view to search the area. First, she saw a group of young men sitting in the grass, talking loudly and bobbing their heads to punk music at least fifteen years old.
By turning her head an inch at a time, she honed in on the person causing her alarm. It was a man in a suit but not one of the three who had chased them earlier. They must have stopped for backup. This one had the same slick, sly look about him, with only one incongruous element—a huge rifle braced casually over his arm. Due to the distance separating them, Nikia couldn’t discern if it was a standard weapon or meant to fire more tranq darts. She didn’t plan to let him close enough to find out.
As he turned in their direction, scanning the park visually, she released the branch and huddled with Atar, surprised to find she was blocking his body with her own. The protective instincts he stirred were dangerous. Already, they had kept her from leaving him and going to Belarus as she should have.
She held her breath as footsteps came closer, just a whisper in the grass. The sharp sound of a twig breaking made her jerk in response and Atar’s muscles bunched. She rubbed his arm in what she hoped was a soothing way, while mentally willing him to remain quiet.
Her heart jumped in her throat when a shiny black shoe paused at the edge of the bush, pivoting in their direction. He had found them, although she didn’t know how. Before he could act, Nikia leaped at him, allowing her human form to melt into that of a wolf as she did. Her clothes fell to the ground in a heap.
An aborted scream escaped him as she landed on him, clinging to his jacket by hooking her claws through the raw silk. Her teeth provided more of an anchor when she buried them in his throat. She braced herself for the taste of his blood, fearing it would ignite a wild impulse in her and allow Illiana to take over in a moment of weakness. Thus far, she had managed not to transform because of her worries that the added wildness inherent to the werewolf nature would weaken her defenses. The man left her no choice except to change. She also had no option but to end his life. If she didn’t, he might survive his first transformation to become a werewolf himself. She couldn’t allow that to happen. It could expose everyone in Corsova.
When the man stopped struggling and dropped to the ground, Nikia loosened her jaws but didn’t release him. Not until death spasms racked his body did she let go and move away from him. She trembled too, from the onslaught the violence had wreaked on her nerves. Her control remained firm and she had been aware of her actions the entire time.
She bent at the waist and vomited, expelling the taste of his blood along with her repugnance for what she had done. Doubt hammered at her, inquiring in a sly voice if she had really needed to kill him. The voice sounded a lot like Illiana’s and she did her best to block it out. Later, she
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