I’d no sooner stepped away from the tree line when bright light assaulted my eyes.
I stopped cold, reflexively turning my head, shrinking away from the light. Behind me the snowmobiles whined louder. I caught the sound of a man’s voice, shouting above the noise, and turned back toward the clearing as a fresh round of adrenaline surged through my tired body.
Ahead, nestled against the trees on the other side of the clearing, a massive house loomed in the night. I’d tripped the floodlights by stepping into the clearing.
Hope bloomed in my chest. I’d stumbled on the mansion of one of the rich assholes who kept a vacation home on the mountain.
Now I just had to hope someone was home.
It was harder to run now that I’d stopped. I was moving even slower than before, the snow deeper in the clearing without trees to catch some of it on the way down. I felt like I was in one of those dreams where you run and run but don’t get anywhere, except slowly — so slowly — I got closer to the house.
And now I could see that someonewashome. Either that or the lights were on a timer, because the rooms beyond the walls of tinted glass glowed with light.
I reached the wide porch and dragged myself up the stairs to the front door of the house. It was even bigger up close, built to look like it belonged in the woods but clearly expensive, and I reached the front door — a monstrosity built of thick, darkened glass — and slammed my hand against it before laying hard on the bell.
“Help!” I screamed. “Please! Help!”
The snowmobiles roared into the clearing behind me as the door opened.
I spilled into a wide cozy hall, the tiles incongruously warm as I fell to my hands and knees.
Three sets of muscular legs surrounded me.
“What the fuck…?” a deep male voice said.
I peered up at the three men who stood over me, then gasped as I registered their features. They were older now — in their twenties instead of teenagers — but their faces were engraved in my memory.
I would know them anywhere.
I glared up at them, the familiar fire of fury — of hatred, of shame — warming my chest as I sputtered the only word I could manage. “You!”
2
NOLAN
I registeredher physical condition before anything else: skin pale and waxy, eyes glazed, lips blue. Her jeans and black long-sleeve T-shirt were soaked through, her honey-blonde hair hanging in wet ropes around her face.
But the second she looked up at us, her expression turning from fear and relief to accusation, I knew it was her.
Lilah Abbott.
Her green eyes flashed. “You!”
In the split second before I remembered what we’d done to her, I was almost surprised she could muster the energy to be pissed. She looked like she was on the verge of death.
“What the fuck…?” Jude said, because he was a man of few words and that summed up the situation as well as anything else.
“They’re coming!” Lilah gasped, glancing back at the open door, her anger momentarily forgotten. “They’re… coming…”
I’d heard the snowmobiles a couple minutes before and hadn’t thought anything of it. We lived in the woods. People used snowmobiles and ATVs for recreation, although theNo Trespassingsigns usually kept them out when they weren’tlocals who didn’t need aNo Trespassingsign to know there were risks involved in stepping onto our property.
Rafe slammed the door fast, then locked it and strode to the closet where we stored some of our gear and weapons.
I wasn’t surprised he didn’t say anything. He was a man of few words too, although for a different reason than Jude.
My medic training kicked in and I reached for Lilah.
She shrunk back. “Don’t touch me!”