The Hunted

Chapter Two

The Hunted

Chapter Two

As soon as the Daemon Hunters saw me they each let out a garbled hiss. I recoiled and swayed, Ben's hand gripping my arm tighter as Grant placed his shoulder in front of mine and assessed the threat.

"Too many," he declared, taking a few steps backwards and urging Ben and I to do the same. "Try the back window."

Ben swore as he nearly fell on the blood and alcohol on the floor but didn't pause. He planted one hand firm on my waist as he half lifted me through the motel room to the broken window in the back.

"I'll go first," Ben said as he handed me over to Grant. I watched as he tucked himself through the window, the broken edges of the window pane catching on his hoodie and nicking his skin. Ben crouched on the sloping roof and proceeded cautiously to the edge.

"Your turn, witch," Grant rumbled. I nodded and felt the world tilt. I swallowed the feeling though, determined to get through this. Grant swore as his fingers touched my upper arm, feeling the makeshift shirt-bandage—it was soaked through. His pale eyes met mine. "You're going to be the death of me."

I grimaced as I reached for the window, trying to coordinate my body but failing. My limbs weren't cooperating any more. All of my movements were slow and heavy and clumsy. Grant was patient but I could feel the tension rolling off of him. There was a threat approaching and I was moving as though I was hammered.

"Come on, Morda," Grant urged as he looked over his shoulder. "You need to get through this window." He barked for Ben as his hands held onto my back—trying to guide me through. I blinked as the trees ahead slanted and shifted. The window itself was starting to melt in my vision.

"Don't bother," I heard Ben say, "they've started to come around this side."

A growl of frustration and then I was yanked backwards through the windowpane. I whimpered as my arm roared in pain and Grant swore when the bleeding started to drip down my hand again.

"She needs stitches," he growled.

"I know," Ben agreed, "but this isn't the best time for performing a medical procedure."

"She's going to pass out any second," Grant argued, "look around you at the amount of blood she's lost." I started to feel heat bloom in my chest, growing hotter with each heartbeat.

Ben shook his head. "Are you going to stitch her up while you fight off those things?"

The heat was started to sink past my lungs, my ribs, my stomach. Grant was furious as he lifted the bandage on my arm. "She's not healing at all." He directed his next question at me. "What's the point of being half werewolf if you get none of the perks?"

Ben was starting to lose his composure as he paced. "We just need to get to the car."

"I'll have to shift and fight," Grant rumbled, "meaning you'll have to drive."

A moment of silence.

"I can do that," Ben said, voice shaking.

Grant swore. "If you she dies because you flip the car I will be pissed as all hell, mutt."

The heat was beginning to crest over my shoulders. Ben tried to sound more confident. "I'm not going to flip the car," he shot back, "this is the only chance we have anyways." Grant mumbled something under his breath and threw Ben the keys.

I felt the heat flare as it reached my broken skin. I cried out as it seared me, cauterizing the wounds as I bucked around. I was too far gone to hear Ben and Grant's voices—I could only feel their panic.