Page 6 of Shifting Tides
Mom’s body was cold and unresponsive.
Remembering from movies I’d seen, I pressed my index and middle fingers to her neck under her jaw, feeling around for a pulse. But there was no tell-tale thump under her skin.
“Oh no!” Shea gasped as she came into the room behind me.
“Call 9-1-1!” I shrieked, then turned Mom’s head the other way to search for a pulse on the other side of her neck.
But as I did, my fingers ran over a series of angry red punctures that looked like a bite mark. Adrybite mark. No blood. With a bite this deep, there should be blood everywhere, shouldn’t there?
Panic spiked in my chest as I tried to comprehend what I was seeing. Something had bitten her! But what? How could a bite hurt her this badly? Badly enough to… No, she couldn’t be dead. She just couldn’t!
My head was a din of white noise as I fought the heavy sob that threatened to constrict my chest. But I couldn’t cry. Crying would mean admitting defeat, facing the reality that my mom was…
I was vaguely aware of the sound of Shea dialing on her phone as she paced nervously around the kitchen and of the trudge of heavy feet coming in through the front door behind me.
A large hand landed on my shoulder, and I sucked in a breath before spinning my head around.
“You have to come with me,” said a man I’d never seen before.
His build was threatening enough. He could have easily been the one who attacked my mom.
I jerked my shoulder away from his hand. “Who are you? Did you hurt my mom?” I accused with a tremulous voice, my mind a clashing storm of sorrow, anger, and paranoia.
“No, but if we don’t leave now, the ones who did will get you, too,” he said.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I protested, lips twitching between a sneer and a pout.Don’t cry, don’t cry!
“If you don’t, you will die.”
The seriousness of his tone shook me, making me doubt myself even further.
“Please, we don’t have much time.” He held out a large hand. “If I wanted to kill you, don’t you think I would have already? I am not your enemy.”
I looked up at Shea, who was staring at the stranger with intense eyes, holding her phone to a deaf ear.
“Please,” the man urged once more, and I believed the sincerity and desperation in his voice.
Mom was dead. Someone or something had killed her. And I believed this man when he said I was in danger of being next.
I didn’t have a lot of options. Stay here and wait for the cops to arrive—and risk whatever fate awaited me if the murderer returned before then—or take a leap of faith and trust this man, who seemed to genuinely want to help me.
Without a word, I reluctantly accepted his outstretched hand. He pulled me to my feet, and together, Shea and I followed him briskly out of the house, my legs jumping ahead of my body as if whatever had attacked my mom was going to jump out at any second.
He charged toward a sleek black sedan parked along the curb and opened the back door. Trepidation rooted my feet to the sidewalk at the thought of getting in this stranger’s car, but I couldn’t find my voice to object.
“You never said anything about getting into a car,” Shea said, voicing my thoughts.
“We have to get off the streets,” he said, holding the door open impatiently. “We’re too exposed here.”
“Then we can go to my house. It’s just down the street.” Shea pointed in that direction.
“It’s too close.” The man shook his head. “They will follow Arya’s scent there.”
“Follow her scent?” Shea asked mockingly. “She’s not some rodent at a fox hunt.”
He cut a narrowed gaze at Shea. “I’ll explain everything, but we have to get to a safe place first.” His broad shoulders bristled with urgency. “Please, they may already be on to us.”
I stole a hesitant glance at Shea.
