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.
Then she felt the weight of the gun shoved into her pocket. It would have to be disposed of safely. She remembered there was a church about a mile from her hotel. She could remove the last remaining bullets and then slip the weapon into the mail slot.
One problem solved. Kiera took a deep breath.
That left her whole future yet to tackle.
HE LAY in the high grass, shaking.
Shaken.
His speed was gone, his muscles jerky. Blood covered his ear and dripped into his eye. He remembered the metal blade and then the sudden slam of bullets. He hadn’t reacted fast enough, never suspecting an attack at Draycott’s very border.
No excuse for bad judgment. No excuse for stupidly letting down his guard. He had too much to hide to ever be stupid or careless.
He made a short, angry sound and stood slowly in the darkness, wincing at sharp pains in a dozen places.
Wind in his face. A thousand sounds from the forest around him. None of them were caused by men.
He shook off the grass and dirt and watched the moon’s fierce silver curve climb above the abbey’s roof.
Change, he thought.
His nails dug at the damp ground, muscles tensed. But his body refused. Every nerve fought the familiar command.
From the woods came the low cry of a bird. The night called him to run, to feel the moonlight on his bare skin. Change, he thought furiously. And still nothing
