Page 63 of Sight of Fate

Aphone rings, piercing the cold night air, and everyone freezes. Martin pivots toward the sound, then bends down and picks up my cell from the ground, and answers. “Teague, what a surprise. Unfortunately, Charli’s too busy to come to the phone.” He continues to listen, then he laughs and holds the phone out for the other men to hear. “He’s trying to negotiate. For her.”

I open my mouth and scream the name of the restaurant. Martin snaps his fingers, and the big guy clamps his massive paw over my mouth, cutting off the sound.

Opening the hatch, Martin sets the phone down. “No deal. But I’ll let you listen to her scream while I fuck her.” He walks over and jerks me from the bald guy’s arms, his eyes almost incandescent with excitement and triumph.

Slamming me down onto the bed of the car, on my stomach, he grips my pants and yanks them down. Cold air washes over me, along with despair at what he intends to do. I try to crawl farther inside, but he grabs my ankles and hauls me back, stepping between my legs. Face pressed into the rough carpet, covering the trunk, I scramble to throw whatever I can find at him while I continue to scream for help.

“Get your fucking hands off her,” Andros’ snarl cuts through the night and the fear engulfing me.

Sobbing, I turn my head and find his caramel-colored eyes, silently pleading for him to save me. His gaze moves down my half-naked body, and his gloved hands clench with fury. Red streaks across the whites of his eyes, and he bares those long, sharp incisors.

Martin laughs and unzips his pants, the sound like a gunshot behind me, galvanizing me into action. “Shoot him.” His hands come down on my thighs, squeezing roughly. “Don’t stop until he goes down. Then, you can shift and⁠—”

With him preoccupied giving orders, I frantically dig through the box in front of me, praying for anything I can use. Stretching my fingers, I glide them over books, clothes, a first aid kit, and my old jewelry box. Come on. Sweat blurs my vision. Gunshots ring out. A man screams, but I don’t dare turn. My fingers skim a familiar object. Desperate, I bite my lip and inch forward a tiny bit. There.

Martin grabs my hips. “Where do you think you’re going?”

My hand wraps around the handle. He pulls me closer and bends over my body. I twist to the side, plant my knees, and rear up, driving the end of the screwdriver straight into his neck. He stumbles back in shock, blood arcing from the wound, and I waste no time scooting into the vehicle. Frantic, I grab the handle and tug the hatch down.

He lurches forward to stop it, but a body comes flying through the air, crashing into him, giving me time to get it closed. I lunge for the locks on the doors and slam my hand down.

They click, and I stare out the back window as Martin stands and pulls the screwdriver from his neck, then slams the hilt through the back window, shattering it.

“Think a fucking screwdriver can take out a wolf?” He laughs and grabs the handle of the hatch.

Yanking on my pants, I scramble into the driver’s seat and pull the spare key out of the console. Metal screeches loudly as he bends the frame of the car, trying to open the locked hatch. I shove the key into the ignition and turn. The car roars to life. Throwing it in reverse, I stomp on the gas.

Martin scrambles out of the way, but there’s a loud thud. I look back to see the big bald guy clinging to the back window. I don’t stop, ramming the car into the brick building behind me. Blood spurts from the guy’s mouth, but terrified he’s a wolf too, I keep my foot on the gas, crushing him between my car and the wall until I see him slump forward, eyes staring sightlessly at me in my rearview mirror.

A dark grey wolf lands on the hood of my car. I throw the car into drive, but before I can hit the gas, a blur takes him down. Andros and the wolf roll across the parking lot. Relief fills me. Andros is still here. The wolf latches onto his side and rips a chunk out of Andros, but it doesn’t stop him. He clamps his hands down on the wolf’s large head and pulls. The wolf yelps and rolls backward, twisting his body, until Andros releases him, then he scrambles away, nails clicking against the asphalt. In two seconds, he’s gone.

It’s then that I notice Martin, his fist wrapped around something in his hand, sneaking up on Andros.

“Behind you!” I scream, and he pivots, but he’s not fast enough.

Martin plunges the object into Andros’ neck and laughs. “Sanctimonious bastard. Think you’re better than me. I planned to give this to her, but this works out better. Pretty soon, madness will drag you down, distorting the world around you, obliterating the very thing you prize most: your control.” He steps toward me and laughs. “I only wish I could stick around to see it happen, but I have other plans.”

Andros’ gaze meets mine, and something flashes in the depths of his caramel-colored brown eyes as he pulls the needle from his neck. Almost like resignation. I shake my head, silently telling him not to do whatever he’s thinking about doing, but his face hardens, and the warmth in his gaze disappears, leaving the cold red eyes I saw that day in the office. With a roar, he blurs until he’s almost transparent and slams into Martin.

“Mine,” he snarls, sinking his teeth into Martin’s neck.

Blood drips down his neck as he flails against Andros. I know I should look away, but I can’t. Fur ripples across Martin’s arms and claws pop out on his hands. I hold my breath, waiting for the rest of him to shift, but nothing happens. Instead, his movements become slower and weaker until, finally, they stop.

Andros drops the body to the pavement and staggers back a step.

I grip the steering wheel and inch my foot toward the gas pedal, wondering if I’m going to have to flee again.

Andros falls to his knees, his gaze locked with mine, and I watch the red recede until all that’s left is warm caramel-colored brown. His hand reaches out, and I don’t think twice. I shift the car into park and get out, my arms wrapping around his body right before he falls the rest of the way to the ground.

Andros’ buttoned-down shirt and sharp, pressed slacks are ripped to shreds and covered in blood, but somehow the man still exudes sophistication. His chest rattles when he breathes in, sounding like death.

I sweep his thick, burnished brown hair back from his face. “Please, don’t die. Macklin and Teague need you.”

He lifts a gloved hand and runs it down the line of my cheek. “Charli.” He exhales. “They’re lucky to have you as a mate.” His lashes, dark and silky, fall against the sharp lines of his pale face.

“You can’t be sweet to me now,” I whisper to him.

The back door of the restaurant opens, music blaring, and Vic steps out with trash bags clutched in his hands. His eyes widen when he sees the carnage in his parking lot and me on my knees holding Andros.