Christina Skye - Bound by Dreams

She spit out blood but the man’s grip held firm. His growl of fury didn’t quite cover the sound of the car motor nearby.

Panic squeezed hard. Damn, damn, damn. How many more men were inside the car?

Then Kiera heard leaves rustle.

Something was moving toward her from the far side of the fence. There was no mistaking the snap of twigs, the harsh breathing, the sounds made by a very large animal.

There was something strange about that rough breathing. Or maybe it was hypoxia starting to kick in. She aimed two more satisfying collarbone jabs as her attacker’s fingers locked around her throat.

Dizziness tore at her vision.

Oxygen almost gone.

A dark shape exploded over the stone fence. Kiera heard the slap of a body and then the sound of bushes shaking. She could see almost nothing as she fought her furious captor. Then abruptly she was free, her attacker sinking to one knee.

Car lights cut across the road, closing in fast as Kiera shot across the pavement to the far slope, where the ground fell away abruptly at the edge of a creek. Diving over the bank, she tucked sharply and landed in a sprawl at the bottom.

The sounds were muffled here. Up on the bank she heard the squeal of brakes and harsh voices, followed by a scream of pure terror.

Something growled. The sound made Kiera’s hair stand on end. She had seen predators in zoos throughout Europe, but she had never heard that kind of growl, a sound that held cunning and intelligence.

Whatever the animal was, she wasn’t staying around for introductions. She stumbled along the muddy edge of the stream, keeping her body low so she would be invisible to any attacker looking down from the road. Following the stream would bring her to a second road. Her rental car was parked only a few hundred yards away from that point.

Safe.

Her hands shook. She forced herself to stay calm. She was alive, no one’s captive.

Then a bullet hit the bushes only inches away from her hand. Kiera plunged straight into the mud and stayed down, breathing hard.

Reining in her urge to flee blindly.

But that was what they’d expect. Rule Two: Never do the expected.

Behind her the wind carried a man’s guttural shout of pain and a rapid burst of gunfire from the road.

She heard another growl, this one the short, angry sound of an animal that was cornered. Wounded maybe. Something about the pain held Kiera still. Her hands opened and closed jerkily. Climbing the slope, she crept through the woods far above the point where she had been attacked. In a beam of car lights she saw motion and dim, grappling figures. Another burst of gunfire drilled the creek she had just left. Back on the road a man shouted angry orders, again in a language that sounded Slavic.

Kiera’s foot struck a boulder. When she looked down, she saw she had stumbled over a man’s body. He was alive, judging by his labored breathing, and a revolver lay on the ground inches from his twitching hand. She didn’t think twice, scooping up the weapon. Instead of turning toward her car, she crept back toward the road.

Going back? This had to be insanity, even with a weapon.

Then the animal, probably some kind of mastiff or mixed-breed husky, gave another sharp howl of pain.

Kiera’s fists clenched. They were killing the dog.

The moon broke from behind racing clouds, giving her a glimpse of the scene on the road. One man was climbing into a waiting car. A second man swayed sharply, clutching his arm. He turned and gave harsh orders, gesturing to the far side of the road, where Kiera had crossed minutes before. He was sending his men after her, she realized.

Two figures vanished down the slope of the creek, and she saw the remaining man back up, suddenly frozen by something near the stone fence. Her breath caught.

A shadow separated from the tall grass. It was the biggest dog she had ever seen, long and sleek. Every motion carried the stamp of effortless, fierce power.

The man with the gun cursed, but the animal was faster, leaping through the darkness. Kiera heard four shots in quick succession.

She flinched, certain that no animal could survive such an attack at close range. With the pistol weighing against her palm, she reacted by instinct, flicking off the safety, dropping behind the foliage of a small tree and aiming carefully.

Her first bullet drove up gravel near the car’s back tire. Her second shot hit the back windshield, cracking the glass. She didn’t stay to see more. One small diversion was all she could afford. As Kiera dodged back into the trees, bullets tore off a branch near her hand. Footsteps pounded over the road.

He was coming after her.

She ran through the woods, caught in darkness as the moon vanished behind the clouds. With the attacker bearing down, she caught the lowest branch of a tree and swung one leg up. She clawed her way up another ten feet, then curled into a ball, absolutely still.

Grass rustled, and then a man ran directly beneath her. His footsteps hammered on into the trees.

Long seconds passed. The car idling back on the road gave two sharp bursts on the horn. Leaves scratched Kiera’s face and she felt a bug fall down the back of her jacket, but she kept resolutely still.

Twigs snapped. The man with the gun returned slowly, swinging his outstretched arm directly beneath her.

Through the leaves, Kiera saw the car lights flash to high, then flicker twice.

Some kind of a message, that was clear. She prayed it would call him back. But the man didn’t move, studying the darkness intently.

Sweat trickled between her shoulders. Another bug hit her cheek. The car horn sounded sharply.

The man strode off. Seconds later the car roared away.

Silence fell. The wind brushed her face.

But Kiera didn’t move. Her legs were locked, her muscles taut with the aftereffects of fear. The temperature had fallen and she began to shiver. Running through damp fields and crossing streams hadn’t been in her game plan when she’d dressed that evening.

But she was alive. There was a sharp beauty to the night, to the chiaroscuro pattern of the leaves caught against the faint moonlight. Closing her eyes, she breathed a sigh of thanks.

Still shaking, she swung her legs over the lowest branch. With trembling hands she hung for a moment and then dropped to the ground, wincing at a sudden pain in her foot. There was no sign of pursuit. The night was silent as she crossed the road warily.

Dark tracks lined the mud. A man’s jacket lay nearby, dropped and forgotten. There was no sign of the big dog that the men had been tormenting, probably a guard dog from one of the surrounding estates. Yet there had been something strange about the animal’s size and its powerful movements. Even now the memory left her with an unsettling sense of savage strength held in precarious control.

And as she stood in the clearing at the edge of the road, looking at the distant line of the abbey’s roof, Kiera had the strangest sense that someone was watching her.

But nothing moved; nothing barked or stirred in the foliage.

“Who’s there?” she whispered.

A bird cried in the distance. Goose bumps rose along her arms. Time to leave, she told herself firmly. If someone found her here, with the marks of the attack all around her, she would have no easy way to explain. And there was always a possibility that the thugs might come back.

Fortunately, she had planned for a quick escape. Her backpack was hidden in the grass near her rental car, and her keys were under a rock nearby. Yet still she didn’t move. Something called her gaze through the trees, toward the moon touching the distant hills.

In the sudden silver light she saw the sharp outline of Draycott Abbey’s parapets. Kiera fought against a strange, almost hypnotic force of calm from the sight. Despite her anger at the Draycotts there was so much beauty here. So much history.