That feeling refuses to fade, and I turn to glance out the back window.
But, of course, no one’s tailing us.
Nancy glances at with a frown. "Please sit properly."
"Sorry."
There’s a definite chill in her words now, but I have no idea what I did to change her attitude toward . Did I do sothing? Say sothing? Maybe one of the officers recognized and told her about Scott.
I try not to sigh as I turn to look out the window, absently scratching at the back of my neck. The hairs there keep trying to rise, as if warning of so unseen danger. My fingers trace my skin, attempting to soothe away the prickling sensation, but it persists, stubborn and unsettling.
Suddenly, a deafening bang rips through the air as the car lurches violently to one side. My heart leaps into my throat and lodges there. Nancy fights the steering wheel, fighting to keep us on the road and not down the giant cliff.
"Shit!" she curses, her voice tight with concentration.
I clutch my seatbelt, my nails digging into it as we careen across the road, and I squeeze my eyes shut. There’s no way I’m going to watch as we fall to our death. I’d rather not know exactly when it’s coming.
Yeah. I’m a coward, I think.
My stomach churns as I pray silently for this nightmare to end.
After what feels like an eternity—so probably only a few seconds—we finally skid to a halt. The abrupt stop jerks forward, the seatbelt biting into my chest. My tense body is stiff, my feet driving into the floor as if that will sohow stop everything.
I force my eyes open, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
We aren’t hanging over a cliff, staring at an abyss. That’s a good thing. We’re facing the right way, too. Sohow, we’ve spun full circle.
Burnt rubber is strong in the air.
We’re still on the road. We’re alive. The danger’s over.
Thank God.
I’m never getting in a car again.
"Are you okay?" Nancy asks, her voice shockingly steady despite what just happened.
I turn to look at her and feel my breath catch. A thin line of blood trickles down her forehead, stark against her pale skin. "You’re bleeding," I manage to croak out.
Nancy touches her forehead, wincing as her fingers co away red. "It’s nothing," she says, and unbuckles her restraint. "Stay in the car. I need to check the tire."
Through the windshield, I can see her making her way to the front of the car. The sun casts long shadows across the road; we’re well into evening. The dimr light of oncoming twilight makes everything look slightly sinister, like a scene from a horror movie just before sothing terrible happens.
My brain’s stuck in TV and movie plots after this last week, and I shake off the ridiculous way I’m painting the scene.
It’s just a blown tire.
These things happen all the ti.
But no matter how much I try to rationalize it, I can’t shake the feeling that this is more than just bad luck.
Nancy’s crouched by the front tire. I can barely see the tip of her bun over the dashboard. And there, behind her, standing in the middle of the street, is a strange, familiar figure.
"Officer—"
My voice cos out in a croak as I open the door.
"Ma’am, get back in the car, please."
Clearing my throat, I try again, ignoring the irritation in her voice. "No—Officer, behind you..."
Nancy whips around, her hand flying to her gun as she stares at the man in the middle of the road.
His rich mahogany skin glistens with sweat in the fading light, tight black curls hugging his scalp, and I swear I know him from sowhere. The tattered purple shirt hanging off his fra and bright red athletic shorts seem out of place on this desolate mountain road. My eyes drift to his bare feet.
So strange.
Who would walk around a mountain without shoes?
"Sir, I need you to stay where you are," Nancy calls out, her voice steady but laced with tension.
The stranger doesn’t respond. He takes a slow step forward, his eyes fixed on Nancy with an unsettling intensity.
"Close the door," she snaps over her shoulder, and I slam it shut with a shudder. "Sir, I’m asking you one more ti. Do not co any closer."
Another step. The man’s bare feet scrape against the asphalt; he barely lifts them with each step, in an unnatural gait.
Nancy’s hand tightens on her gun, but she doesn’t draw it. "This is your final warning. Stop where you are and put your hands where I can see them."
The man takes another step. And another. His movents are slow. Predatory.
And then it clicks.
I know exactly where I’ve seen him before.
He’s the black panther from my accident on this sa mountain.
Nancy’s patience wears thin. In one fluid motion, she draws her weapon, leveling it at the approaching figure. "Stop right there! Hands up, now!"
The stranger pauses, tilting his head to one side as if confused by the command. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flick from Nancy to and back again. I open the door, and she snaps, "I said to stay in the car!"
"He’s a panther shifter," I shout back, my words rushed.
The world slows to a crawl as the man lunges forward. At the sa ti, his body contorts, bones cracking and reshaping. In an instant, the human form vanishes, replaced by a sleek, muscular panther, confirming my mory of his face.
Nancy’s gun fires, the sound piercing through my stupor. But it’s too late.
A scream tears from my throat as the panther launches itself at Nancy. Its massive form collides with her, knocking her to the ground. I can’t see what happens next over the dashboard, but I can hear her scream, a sound that will be with until my dying day. Which, at this rate, is in another minute.
The panther appears around the front of the car a mont later, its muzzle dripping with what can only be Nancy’s blood, and my stomach churns.
Those intelligent eyes, so human despite the beast’s form, lock onto .
My fingers fumble for the door handle, desperate to seal myself inside the car. The panther pads towards , each step deliberate and nacing. I slam the door shut and lock it just as it reaches the vehicle.
My breath cos in ragged gasps as I watch the creature through the window. It stands on its hind legs to sniff at the door, bloodied whiskers twitching. For a mont, I’m certain it will find a way inside, tearing through tal and glass to reach .
But then, as suddenly as it appeared, the panther bounds away. I track its sleek form until it disappears from sight.
The silence that follows is deafening.
I force myself to move, to think. Nancy. I need to check on Nancy.
My hand trembles as I reach for the door handle. The tal feels ice-cold against my sweaty palm. I push it open, the creak of the hinges unnaturally loud.
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