I swung the knife, the blade slicing through empty space as he dodged with inhuman speed.
He came at me again, his movements a blur. I ducked, slashing out blindly, and this time the blade connected.
He hissed, more annoyed than hurt, and backhanded me across the face.
Pain exploded in my jaw as I hit the floor, the knife skittering out of reach. I scrambled backward, my vision swimming.
The vampire loomed over me, his fangs bared. “Pathetic,” he sneered, his voice cold and hollow.
He lunged again, and I kicked out, catching him in the knee. He staggered, just enough for me to roll to the side and grab the knife.
I lashed out, driving the blade into his shoulder. He roared, the sound reverberating through the cabin like a thunderclap.
The vampire grabbed me by the throat, lifting me off the ground. My feet dangled, the air forced from my lungs as I clawed at his hand.
“Gael,” I gasped, the name a whisper, a plea.
The vampire’s grip tightened, and black spots danced in my vision.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GAEL
The shelter came into view, its silhouette faint in the moonlight. Relief eased the knot in my chest, but only slightly.
The windows were dark, and no sound came from within. Good. That meant no uninvited visitors.
Still, I picked up my pace, eager to see Asher.
But as I approached, something tugged at the edge of my awareness. A shadow in the back of my mind, a feeling I couldn’t quite place.
I shook it off. I was imagining things. Asher was fine. He had to be.
Wouldn’t he?
And then I heard it. A muffled sound, barely audible through the dampened air, like a struggle. A gasp cut short.
The kind of sound that made my blood turn to ice.
I didn’t think. I just ran. As I neared the shelter, my heart lodged itself in my throat.
The door was hanging open, swinging limply on rusted hinges. Inside, the air was thick with the copper tang of blood.
My vision narrowed to a pinpoint as I took in the scene.
Asher was on the ground, one hand pressed to his side, crimson seeping through his fingers. His face was pale, eyes glazed with pain. His knife lay on the ground.
Standing over him, like a damn specter, was Bram. Rage ignited in my chest, a firestorm that obliterated everything else.
“Bram!” My voice was an almost animalistic snarl.
He straightened, turning to face me with infuriating calm. His eyes, cold and assessing, flicked to Asher, then back to me.
“This is for your own good, Gael,” Bram said.
I didn’t answer. Words were useless now. I launched myself at him, fangs bared. Bram met me head-on, our bodies colliding with bone-jarring force.
His hand shot out, fingers curling around my throat, but I twisted free, slashing at his side. He dodged, my clenched fists punching through empty air.
