Or the sharp whiz of a projectile fired.
We’re too late to recognize the shot when it comes, our keen hearing muddled by distraction. The bullet zips out of nowhereand skims Grayson’s shoulder, leaving a smoldering trail of smoke and charred skin behind.
He yells, pivoting to face the direction of the gunshot and shoving me behind him at the same time.
The scent of the wound fills my nostrils and I flinch, eyes popping wide.
Chaos reigns like a finger snapped or a white flag dropped. The peaceful front lawn in the otherwise quiet neighborhood fills with noise and life and mess as RJ sends a blast of energy toward the tree line, intuition guiding the shot.
Her countermove slams against one of the trunks and demolishes it.
Movement flashes from several feet away and another shot rings out, this one close enough to burn the air near my cheek.
I drag in a breath, lungs heaving, Grayson moaning and gripping his shoulder where the bullet wound refuses to heal. It smokes and adds a noxious scent to the air.
“Silver.” I coat the word in dread when it slips free.
We’re so fucking screwed.
I bend in time to avoid another shot and help Grayson out of the direct line of fire. His skin is burning up and smoke funnels out of the wound.
RJ and Aimee work their magic to protect us, to give us enough time to duck for cover, Lacey and Colt already in the van.
Another blast sails through the air. It hits the side of the van where I’m heading, a reminder. There’s nowhere to run.
A film falls over my gaze, refusing to budge when I blink.
“Come on, Grayson, we have to move.” I struggle with his weight.
Silver is one of the worst pains to experience. It’s not as bad as the moon madness slowly eating away at us, but a blast of agony sucked straight into the bloodstream. Even a surface wound like the one on his shoulder makes it impossible to think.
You focus on surviving the pain.
Someone curses, a fog of magic in the air.
The hunter emerges from the tree line in camouflage clothing designed to help him blend in with the shadows. He lifts his gun, a line of silver bullets strapped across his hips and another on a sash across his chest.
Trained. Lethal. Designed to hunt our kind.
Terror is bright as recognition clicks into place. It’s the same hunter who tracked us through the woods before. He’s found us again.
My numb hands flounder for the door to the van to get it open. Grayson is heavier than I can handle alone. With RJ and Aimee holding the line?—
“Lacey! Colt! Help me get him inside,” I yell.
Time means nothing, not when it slows down like this. Every second counts and I’m squandering them with my weakness. Voices twine through my ears with their insidious whispers and the hunter’s gaze paints a target on my back.
The click of the gun. The reek of the silver wound.
Then a blast of cold announces the vampires as the doors swing open. Cool, capable hands help lift me and Grayson into the back of the van and keep us safe when we’re shut inside.
“Get us the hell out of here,” Colt demands.
RJ scoffs and the engine roars to life, one foot already on the gas pedal and the other leg out the door. “What do you think I’m doing?”
“Mandi, are you okay?”
I blink to find Grayson staring at me, his fingers manacled around my wrist before I knew he’d moved. “Me? You’re the one who got shot.”