Kathleen Peacock - Thornhill

Serena and Jason came crashing out of the stairwell.

Serena’s eyes were red-rimmed and she was supporting Jason with one arm. Face shining with tears and sweat, he leaned away from her and vomited. Eve tumbled after them a moment later, retching as she hauled off her powder-caked jacket and dropped it to the floor.

Eyes and nose streaming, Eve staggered past us and headed for the far side of the room. She thrust aside a plastic tarp revealing a wall so covered in graffiti that it looked like a living organism.

She ran her hand over a patch of blue paint as we approached. Her fingers closed on a metal loop that had been all but invisible, and arms shaking, she hauled out a section of wall.

I peered over her shoulder and into a passageway that was little more than a crawl space.

“It leads to a fire escape.” Eve stepped away from the entrance and turned. “It’ll let you out on the south side of the building.”

The space was less than a foot and a half wide. It was so narrow that you’d have to walk sideways and anyone taller than me would have to stoop. Complete blackness fell a few paces from the opening. Once the wall was closed, you’d be blind. I stared into the darkness and imagined being roasted alive as fire consumed the building.

“I’ll try my luck with the Trackers,” said Serena, voice shaky.

“We don’t have time for this,” snapped Eve. “The fire is on the other side of the building. The three of you have time to get out if you go now.”

She glared and the look on her face reminded me of my father.

“I’m going to regret this,” muttered Serena as she eased into the passage.

I hesitated as Eve’s words sank in. “Three?”

“Curtis isn’t here, and I don’t know how many people the Trackers have nabbed.” In a blur, she grabbed Jason’s arm. Her eyes locked on mine. “I got you out for Curtis, but the Tracker stays.”

“Eve, he didn’t have anything to do with this.” Kyle’s torso shone with sweat and the muscles in his shoulders and arms were so tense it looked as though he had iron under his skin. “Even if he had wanted to tell the Trackers about the club, there wasn’t any way to reach them without our phones.”

Eve’s gray-green eyes flashed. “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, he’s leverage.” She stared at Kyle like she was willing him to understand. “All of my friends are down there. Everyone I know.”

“If you think we’re letting you take him, you’re crazy.” I took a step toward her, but Jason shook his head.

“I’ll be all right, Mac.” With his free hand, he reached up and yanked on his torn shirt, ripping it even farther so that there was no way the black brand on his neck could be missed. “Enough Trackers saw me last night that someone will recognize me.”

“Jason . . . No. Absolutely not.”

He turned to Kyle. “Make sure she gets out.” His gaze flickered to Serena, just visible in the opening to the passage. “Both of them.”

Kyle nodded and grabbed my arm. I struggled but couldn’t break his grip. “Kyle! No!”

With his werewolf strength, it was entirely too easy for him to shove me into the passage behind Serena. “We can’t just leave Jason!”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a quarter heartbeat. “I’m not,” he said before slamming the door.

The darkness was absolute.

The walls pressed against me. For a second, I couldn’t breathe, and then I threw myself against the door. It didn’t budge. There was no release from this side. “Kyle! Kyle, open the door!”

Serena’s hand clamped over my mouth. Her skin smelled like smoke and a sharper, stomach-churning scent that was probably the tear gas.

There was a crash followed by shouting on the other side of the door.

A thud shook the wall and someone screamed. It sounded horribly like Jason.

Serena pressed her mouth to my ear. “If we can find the exit, maybe we can loop back and help them.”

As quickly as we could—which wasn’t quickly at all since we could only move sideways and I couldn’t see—we made our way down the passage.

There was a sudden grinding sound behind us and I glanced back as a triangle of light pierced the darkness.

“Go! I’ll be right behind you!” I pushed Serena. She was faster than I was. She could get away even if I were caught.

In response, she grabbed my hand. Holding it in a death grip, she hauled me through the rest of the passage.

Fresh air hit my face as the walls unexpectedly fell away. I stumbled forward and only Serena’s grip kept me from hurtling off the narrow metal platform at the top of the fire escape.

I glanced down: the ancient contraption of ladders and platforms looked like a rusted death trap.

“Come on.” Serena started down, moving at a dizzying speed before remembering I was a reg and slowing her pace.

Four stories down should have been easy, but my hands and feet kept slipping on the rungs. The metal let out a nonstop chorus of squeals and groans underneath my weight, competing with the shouts and screams coming from inside the building.

Just as we passed the second floor, a heavy, masculine voice crashed over us. “Come down slowly.”

Serena froze.

Heart in throat, I peered around her to the ground below.

Three Trackers had gathered around the bottom of the fire escape. For a second, I considered going back up, but then I realized that one of the men held a rifle. As I watched, he trained it on Serena.

There wasn’t any choice. We slowly made our way to the ground. Serena stepped off the ladder, and then held her hands in the air as she moved aside. I followed right on her heels.

Two men with Kevlar vests and Tracker tattoos pulled my arms behind my back and snapped a pair of heavy cuffs around my wrists. A second later, Serena suffered the same fate. One of the men grabbed her a little too roughly and she elbowed him in the ribs.

Gasping, the man reached for the butt of a holstered gun and started to pull it free.

“Kill her and it’s one less head we get paid for,” snapped one of the others before radioing in that they had found two more wolves.

Ash and burning shingles drifted to the ground around us as we were marched to the front of the building. The chain-link fence—which, just a few hours ago, had surrounded the property and made it a fortress—lay flattened on the ground. My sneakers caught on the links as we were herded to a group of wolves—two dozen, maybe more—who waited curbside in cuffs. Black shapes patrolled the edge of the small crowd: Trackers with guns drawn.

From this vantage point, it looked like the building was beyond saving. The fire had spread to the upper two floors and the roof was quickly becoming engulfed in flames.

I whirled as a familiar, smoke-raw voice asked if I was okay. Kyle. There was a burn on his arm and a gash across his chest, but that was nothing to a werewolf; his body would heal the damage in no time. He was all right.

I leaned into him and he pressed his chin to the top of my head. A shudder wracked my body as I pulled in what felt like the first real breath I had taken since he had shoved me into the passage.

After a moment, I pulled away. “Where’s Jason?”

A shadow crossed Kyle’s face. “I don’t know. They saw his tattoo and separated us as soon as we were out of the building.”

My stomach lurched. Under normal circumstances, the tattoo on Jason’s neck would keep him safe from the Trackers, but he had been found in the middle of a werewolf club. If he could convince them that he had gone in for some sort of nefarious purpose, he’d be okay. But if they suspected—even for an instant—that he had any werewolf sympathies . . .

A large truck rumbled down the street and came to a jerky stop in front of us. Two Trackers pulled open the doors to the cargo hold and threw down a ramp. It hit the pavement with a clang that seemed to reverberate in my chest.