Read Online Huntbound (Moonfate Serial Book 2) by Sylvia Frost - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sylvia Frost
Ads: Link
hiss. Not really expecting him to respond, I’m more using the sound of my own voice to soothe me. To distract me. From what I almost did.
Thump.
Fuck.
The back of the van is empty. No seats. Nothing at all, really, except shards from the windows and the smell. That damn abrasive, chemical smell that stings my nose and makes me cover my mouth so I don’t inhale it. Silver nitrate.
In the corner is what looks like a bit of rope. No Lawrence. Damn it. Where is he?
Careful to keep my balance on the slanted floor of the van, I teeter back to the rope. Maybe he escaped? When I pick up the cord it doesn’t look like it’s been cut anywhere. Although I do notice something below it, a scrap of orange fabric, bright enough to probably be visible from space. It’s from Lawrence’s tank top.
A hysterical sob bursts from my throat. God, I can’t believe I only just last night teased him about wearing this shirt. I snatch the piece of fabric and clench it in my fist so hard my nails dig into my palms and draw blood. My left hand squeezes the gun just as tightly. Lawrence may not be here, but with Orion’s tracking abilities I have no doubt we’ll be able to find him.
If Orion doesn’t kill me first. Will he even help me after this?
My optimism only increases as the ringing in my ears stops. There hasn’t been a thump in the last couple of seconds. In fact, the only sound in the whole van is my breathing. It’s harsh and heavy in my ears. Loud. Too loud.
Every inch of me stiffens with an unnamed fear and I hold my breath.
But the breathing doesn’t stop.
Someone else is in here with me.
My hands flicker to my gun. The front of the van creaks.
Something’s moving now.
“Artemis. I’ve knocked him out. Get out,” Orion shouts from the other direction.
I flinch toward his voice and then back to the front, and meet a pair of bright green eyes bordered by three thin stripes of pied fur, but I don’t focus on them long. Because in an instant there is cold steel pressing against my throat and the eyes are matched to a lithe female body.
She opens her mouth, but it’s not me she’s talking to. “Let go of my mate, wolf! And I’ll let go of yours.”
The coyote’smate. She was what the smell was covering up, not Lawrence.
Chapter Thirteen
Some say that werebeasts marking their territory in blood is nothing more than a myth. Perhaps it is. But there is always a little bit of history hidden within our myths. A little truth in a lie. A little bit of reality buried in our dreams.
- Beasts, Blood & Bonds by Dr. Nina M. Strike
When I was fourteen, I entered my first-ever singing contest. I remember trembling under the lights, for the first time feeling small in the vastness of the auditorium. As my accompanist began the chords of Come Raggio de Sole , all I could think was that I was going to forget to come in at the right time.
And I did.
I missed the entrance, my brain fumbling over the Italian words, leaving the pianist looking up at me with a mixture of disappointment and alarm as she vamped the same chords over and over again.
I think she went another three times around the introduction before I finally remembered. And even then my whole body was tense, spine as taut as wire.
What saved me was that just before the final measure I took a breath. A singing breath that reached through my whole body and found the hidden, forgotten support I had trained into myself.
Now, in the darkness with a knife pressed to my throat, I try to do the same. Yes, I failed to notice her lurking the first time around. But I’m not too late; if I manage to use my werecall right now, I might be able to stop her.
I inflate my lungs with air slowly, hoping she won’t notice.
“WOLF!” she cries. “We’re coming out.”
The trick of singing, and of werecalls too I realize, is to not be afraid of the hidden parts of yourself.
Thump.
Fuck.
The back of the van is empty. No seats. Nothing at all, really, except shards from the windows and the smell. That damn abrasive, chemical smell that stings my nose and makes me cover my mouth so I don’t inhale it. Silver nitrate.
In the corner is what looks like a bit of rope. No Lawrence. Damn it. Where is he?
Careful to keep my balance on the slanted floor of the van, I teeter back to the rope. Maybe he escaped? When I pick up the cord it doesn’t look like it’s been cut anywhere. Although I do notice something below it, a scrap of orange fabric, bright enough to probably be visible from space. It’s from Lawrence’s tank top.
A hysterical sob bursts from my throat. God, I can’t believe I only just last night teased him about wearing this shirt. I snatch the piece of fabric and clench it in my fist so hard my nails dig into my palms and draw blood. My left hand squeezes the gun just as tightly. Lawrence may not be here, but with Orion’s tracking abilities I have no doubt we’ll be able to find him.
If Orion doesn’t kill me first. Will he even help me after this?
My optimism only increases as the ringing in my ears stops. There hasn’t been a thump in the last couple of seconds. In fact, the only sound in the whole van is my breathing. It’s harsh and heavy in my ears. Loud. Too loud.
Every inch of me stiffens with an unnamed fear and I hold my breath.
But the breathing doesn’t stop.
Someone else is in here with me.
My hands flicker to my gun. The front of the van creaks.
Something’s moving now.
“Artemis. I’ve knocked him out. Get out,” Orion shouts from the other direction.
I flinch toward his voice and then back to the front, and meet a pair of bright green eyes bordered by three thin stripes of pied fur, but I don’t focus on them long. Because in an instant there is cold steel pressing against my throat and the eyes are matched to a lithe female body.
She opens her mouth, but it’s not me she’s talking to. “Let go of my mate, wolf! And I’ll let go of yours.”
The coyote’smate. She was what the smell was covering up, not Lawrence.
Chapter Thirteen
Some say that werebeasts marking their territory in blood is nothing more than a myth. Perhaps it is. But there is always a little bit of history hidden within our myths. A little truth in a lie. A little bit of reality buried in our dreams.
- Beasts, Blood & Bonds by Dr. Nina M. Strike
When I was fourteen, I entered my first-ever singing contest. I remember trembling under the lights, for the first time feeling small in the vastness of the auditorium. As my accompanist began the chords of Come Raggio de Sole , all I could think was that I was going to forget to come in at the right time.
And I did.
I missed the entrance, my brain fumbling over the Italian words, leaving the pianist looking up at me with a mixture of disappointment and alarm as she vamped the same chords over and over again.
I think she went another three times around the introduction before I finally remembered. And even then my whole body was tense, spine as taut as wire.
What saved me was that just before the final measure I took a breath. A singing breath that reached through my whole body and found the hidden, forgotten support I had trained into myself.
Now, in the darkness with a knife pressed to my throat, I try to do the same. Yes, I failed to notice her lurking the first time around. But I’m not too late; if I manage to use my werecall right now, I might be able to stop her.
I inflate my lungs with air slowly, hoping she won’t notice.
“WOLF!” she cries. “We’re coming out.”
The trick of singing, and of werecalls too I realize, is to not be afraid of the hidden parts of yourself.
Similar Books
