Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
At least I'm not in my glow-in-the-dark outfit. I'm still wearing Bern’s borrowed hoodie. It's black. That's good. I gather my braids and tuck them into the hood. Between the black hoodie and my jean skirt, hopefully I can blend in to the landscape. Unless the assassins have some sort of night goggles with heat sensors that allow them to see me in the night. Then I'm screwed.
Behind me, my pink backpack glows on the top of the sports car. Darius must have put it there for some reason. He’s walking slowly towards the line of SUVs, with his hands in the air.
The SUV’s doors are open, spewing a bunch of men in black. The glare of the car’s headlights illuminates the long barrels of their black guns.
“Don't shoot,” Darius calls. “Don't shoot.” He sounds so calm. He’s standing in the middle of the road, right in the path of the headlights. The perfect target.
The wet work team raises their guns into place.
Someone's radio crackles. “She's in the hills. We're going after her.”
A loud crack of sound bounces off the walls of the canyon. I flinch, flinging myself to the ground, even though the gunshot didn't hit me or land anywhere near me. It must have hit Darius.
Down on the road, there's a roar and a huge dark shape rushes the assassins. Darius, in werebear mode. Bullets crack over and over again. The roaring only gets louder.
I have to do something. Darius is down there fighting or dying, getting shot over and over again. Teddy healed up fast, but that was a cut on his head–oh… and the bullets from the drones. How many bullets can a werebear take before it dies?
On hands and knees, I scramble up the incline. I've got to get to the top. Come on, Teddy. I need you to rescue me.
Teddy
The beat of a helicopter’s blades sounds like home to me. Ironic that my bear, as big and bad as it is, loves the feel of fresh wind on its face. In the Army, I learned that I loved the sky. Of course, not much can kill a werebear. Maybe that fearlessness makes it even more fun.
Tonight I’m not in the pilot’s seat. Bern is there, in his headset. I hang half out the door, searching the terrain. On the other side, Canyon does the same. We’re headed to the coordinates Darius’ phone tracker sent all of us. If it moves, we’ll follow.
So far, it hasn’t moved.
I’m coming, brother. Hold on.
Matthias flies another bird with Hutch and Everest. Axel took the third helicopter up towards Taos to pick up as many of the Black Wolf pack as will fit.
If we’re lucky, we’ll arrive on the scene in time. If we’re not—
My chest shakes with my bear’s growl. We have to get to Lana in time. There’s no other option.
Bern mutters into his headset. “We’re almost to the location. Do you have a visual?”
The road is a smooth seam between the hills. Somewhere down in the barren, rocky canyon, Lana is running for her life.
“Tracking signal's down there,” Bern reports. “Where are they?”
A bright pink backpack glows in the dark right on top of Matthias's sports car. “There.” I point, even though no one can see me. “Pink backpack at two o’clock.”
“10-4. Thunderbears are go.” Bern angles the helicopter to take us down.
Lana
I’ll say this for denim: it’s durable and always in style. You can dress it up or down, work all day in it and show up to a party looking like a rockstar. The one thing I don’t recommend doing is running in it. It’s a small consolation to know your skirt is cute when you’re running from a pack of assassins.
I’m still half-running, half-crawling in the vague direction of the hilltop. My knuckles and palms are scraped from the rocks, and sweat sticks the t-shirt to my back.
Downwind, the gunshots and roars have died away. Now and then, the excruciating quiet is punctuated by a random scream or muffled roar. The sound of my own heartbeat thunders.
How long have I been running? My thighs are chafed, and my boobs are bouncing, but it doesn't matter. Adrenaline pushes me up the hill. I don't know if someone’s still following me or whether I’ve gotten away. I might have to run/crawl for miles.
I’m clambering around a boulder when I hear it: the tak-tak-tak sound of helicopter blades chopping in the air. I’m high up enough to see the terrain stretching away from me. There’s my pink backpack, glowing on Matthias’ car on the road below. Moonlight washes over the rocks and scrub trees. Two helicopters hover above the land. One is white. The other behind it is black and harder to see. They’re dipping down, sending gusts of dust billowing into the air.
There's a whoop, and a figure leaps out of the white helicopter. I can't see who it is, but whoever they are, they're wearing a kilt. More shouts, and two more figures leap into the air. Lightning flashes in the distance, illuminating three figures hanging from parachutes, floating down.