Page 22 of Berserker Devotion

Chapter 2

Regie struggled, but her running shoes slipped in the gravel, and she couldn’t prevent him from dragging her toward the other car. His palm pressed too hard against her lips for her to bite him.

When she tried to scratch his face with her free hand, he just pushed her neck further down toward the ground so she couldn’t reach. Trying to keep her balance in the loose gravel, she grabbed the hand that covered her mouth. She screamed, but only a muffled groan came out.

They reached the car, and Regie forced down the panic rising inside her. If she gave in, she’d lose all coherent thought, and that would mean losing any chance to escape. She yanked on the hand covering her mouth again.

The man’s pulse throbbed against her thumb, beating almost as fast as her own heart. “Keep fighting,” he said. “I like my women feisty.”

Anger rose inside Regie so quickly her breath hitched. While her heart thudded wildly because of fear, this sick freak had an elevated heart rate because her struggle turned him on. The anger swelled to rage, filling her with a dark calm while the beat of his pulse felt stronger under her thumb.

She closed her eyes and embraced the darkness growing inside her. In her mind’s eye, she could see his blood pumping through the vein on his wrist on its way to his heart. The beating organ loomed in her mind, and she wished she could squeeze it as hard as he was still holding her.

Tendrils of her dark rage swirled from her hand through the man’s skin. They followed the vein leading to the man’s heart and weaved an ebony net around the pulsing organ. Every cardiac beat made the mesh stronger and pulled on the life force inside his heart, funneling energy to the dark fury inside her.

The man stumbled and tried to let go of her, but she kept her grip on his wrist. He crumbled to the ground.

Regie loomed over him, squeezing his wrist harder. She stared into his eyes that reflected shock and fear.

“Please,” he whispered.

“Is this feisty enough for you?” She didn’t recognize her own voice. It trembled with cold fury.

He opened his mouth again, but only a strangled wet gurgle escaped his lips as his eyes closed. His pulse stopped, and his body went limp. A cell phone fell out of his shirt pocket and skidded under the car.

Regie dropped his wrist, took a step back, and stared at her hand.

What had happened?

Did she really stop his heart, or did he have a cardiac arrest?

She took a few steps back and turned toward her car, but she couldn’t just leave the man on the ground. What if he was dead? She nudged him with the toe of her shoe, but he didn’t react.

Placing her fingers on his neck, she found a weak, fluttery pulse. She let out a relieved breath. Not dead, but close. The tendrils of darkness reached out again through her fingers, touching his skin.

Horrified, she snatched her hand back.

What kind of monster had she become?

Taking big gulping breaths of air, she refused to dwell on the weird darkness swelling inside her and the black tendrils she could see in her mind’s eye. Instead, she squatted down so she could reach the man’s phone under the car. The locked screen made her hesitate, but then she noticed the emergency dialing button. She pressed it.

The 911 operator asked her what emergency she had.

Regie wanted to scream about dark rage and black tendrils, but swallowed down her panic. “There’s an injured man in the cross-country trail parking lot next to the university campus,” she croaked out.

She wiped the phone with the man’s shirt, careful to keep the connection open.

The operator’s tinny voice kept repeating, “Ma’am? Ma’am?” as she placed the phone on the ground next to the man.

Regie sprinted to her car and got in. With fumbling fingers, she pressed the start button.

Gravel shot out from underneath the tires as she floored the gas pedal and got the hell out of the parking lot.

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