his hair graying at the temples but looking none the weaker for his age. His hair is thick and falls to his shoulders, and thick stubble covers his jaw.
It's his eye that holds me, though. His one eye. It glimmers and burns like a live coal thumbed into his skull. Burns with a vicious intelligence and savage cunning. One eye. The other milky white, a vertical scar running from brow to cheek.
I know who he is. Cassius Black. The leader of the werewolves who oppose the Claw.
"Stink?" I ask weakly, frozen into place by that terrible eye.
"Yes, stink." He begins to round the pickup, coming toward me. I'm trapped. I can't move. "The stink of werebear. The stink of his sweat and cum."
My knees are literally shaking, and I swear I can feel ice running through my veins. Run! screams a voice in my mind, and with a jolt I yank open the door and jump inside. Cassius is on me in a flash, smashing his elbow into the window and shattering it.
I slam the key into the ignition and turn it, causing Torben's pickup to roar to life. Without hesitating, even as Cassius reaches in through the window to grab at my hair I slam on the gas pedal, and the pickup leaps forward like a startled bronco. Cassius snarls as he holds on, and with a scream I plow into the motorbikes, sending yelling men spilling to the sides as the pickup bulldozes a path through a half dozen bikes, shattering glass and wrenching the bumper. I press the accelerator to the floor, pleading that I don't come to a stop, and wrestle the wheel away from the bikes. With a grinding roar the pickup's engine forces it on, and then I'm free, tearing across the gas station lot, Cassius holding on until with a cry of thwarted fury he lets go and falls away.
The pickup bounces over the curb and onto the wide shoulder of grass, down the sharp slope into the drainage ditch where I jounce and rattle violently and then begin to climb up the far slope to the highway. Looking behind me in panic I see the werewolves swearing and leaping onto their bikes, gunning their motors and starting after me like a swarm of killer bees.
"Oh god, oh god!" I roar out onto the highway, nearly colliding with a bus, and then swerve into an empty lane and slam on the gas. The pickup begins to build speed, its mighty engine giving me everything it's got. I keep an eye on the rearview mirror. The bikes come swarming out onto the highway right behind me, five, ten, fifteen, twenty of them. I want to scream, I want to call the cops, but I know that nobody can help me now. I hunch over the wheel, pedal to the floor, and that's when I see the white cliff come sliding into view on my right.
Chapter 13
I saw the steering wheel to the right and the pickup leaps over the highway's shoulder, nearly spinning out, and I scream and almost grab the oh-shit handle. Instead, I guide the car over the rough dirt road, which slopes down and then straight toward the white cliff. The bikers follow, almost disappearing in my plume of dust, so I slam the gas pedal down again and charge out over the rutted road, bouncing so high in my seat that my head nearly touches the cab's roof.
I come roaring around a stand of trees, and there they are. Some forty men and bears forming a loose circle, all of them turning to stare at me with wide eyes. I send a number of them diving as I drive right into their circle, figuring it's the safest place, and when I finally slam on the brakes, I see Torben standing in the center, bloodied and hurt, and facing a massive mountain of a man who bears an equal number of wounds.
I throw open the pickup door and spill out. "They're coming!" I point back toward the way I came. "Torben!"
"Saira?" Torben lowers his arms, wicked claws gleaming with blood, and looks beyond me at where the motorbikes suddenly emerge from my drifting cloud of dust. Five, fifteen, thirty, forty of them, a wall of bikes and feral faces. "Oh. Crap."
The man he was fighting - Krassok? - snarls in white rage. "What
It's his eye that holds me, though. His one eye. It glimmers and burns like a live coal thumbed into his skull. Burns with a vicious intelligence and savage cunning. One eye. The other milky white, a vertical scar running from brow to cheek.
I know who he is. Cassius Black. The leader of the werewolves who oppose the Claw.
"Stink?" I ask weakly, frozen into place by that terrible eye.
"Yes, stink." He begins to round the pickup, coming toward me. I'm trapped. I can't move. "The stink of werebear. The stink of his sweat and cum."
My knees are literally shaking, and I swear I can feel ice running through my veins. Run! screams a voice in my mind, and with a jolt I yank open the door and jump inside. Cassius is on me in a flash, smashing his elbow into the window and shattering it.
I slam the key into the ignition and turn it, causing Torben's pickup to roar to life. Without hesitating, even as Cassius reaches in through the window to grab at my hair I slam on the gas pedal, and the pickup leaps forward like a startled bronco. Cassius snarls as he holds on, and with a scream I plow into the motorbikes, sending yelling men spilling to the sides as the pickup bulldozes a path through a half dozen bikes, shattering glass and wrenching the bumper. I press the accelerator to the floor, pleading that I don't come to a stop, and wrestle the wheel away from the bikes. With a grinding roar the pickup's engine forces it on, and then I'm free, tearing across the gas station lot, Cassius holding on until with a cry of thwarted fury he lets go and falls away.
The pickup bounces over the curb and onto the wide shoulder of grass, down the sharp slope into the drainage ditch where I jounce and rattle violently and then begin to climb up the far slope to the highway. Looking behind me in panic I see the werewolves swearing and leaping onto their bikes, gunning their motors and starting after me like a swarm of killer bees.
"Oh god, oh god!" I roar out onto the highway, nearly colliding with a bus, and then swerve into an empty lane and slam on the gas. The pickup begins to build speed, its mighty engine giving me everything it's got. I keep an eye on the rearview mirror. The bikes come swarming out onto the highway right behind me, five, ten, fifteen, twenty of them. I want to scream, I want to call the cops, but I know that nobody can help me now. I hunch over the wheel, pedal to the floor, and that's when I see the white cliff come sliding into view on my right.
Chapter 13
I saw the steering wheel to the right and the pickup leaps over the highway's shoulder, nearly spinning out, and I scream and almost grab the oh-shit handle. Instead, I guide the car over the rough dirt road, which slopes down and then straight toward the white cliff. The bikers follow, almost disappearing in my plume of dust, so I slam the gas pedal down again and charge out over the rutted road, bouncing so high in my seat that my head nearly touches the cab's roof.
I come roaring around a stand of trees, and there they are. Some forty men and bears forming a loose circle, all of them turning to stare at me with wide eyes. I send a number of them diving as I drive right into their circle, figuring it's the safest place, and when I finally slam on the brakes, I see Torben standing in the center, bloodied and hurt, and facing a massive mountain of a man who bears an equal number of wounds.
I throw open the pickup door and spill out. "They're coming!" I point back toward the way I came. "Torben!"
"Saira?" Torben lowers his arms, wicked claws gleaming with blood, and looks beyond me at where the motorbikes suddenly emerge from my drifting cloud of dust. Five, fifteen, thirty, forty of them, a wall of bikes and feral faces. "Oh. Crap."
The man he was fighting - Krassok? - snarls in white rage. "What
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