Authors: Jenna Black
moves. Even so, my car slipped and slid, and I gripped the steering wheel tightly as I struggled to
keep control. The damn driveway meandered through trees too evenly spaced to be natural
growth. I wished whoever had done the landscaping had kept the trees farther back from the
road. There wasn’t a hell of a lot of room for error if I lost control of the car. Streetlights would
have been a nice touch, too.
My nerves were taut, and I had to remind myself to breathe every once in a while.
Driving in snow I can handle, but the sleet was a nightmare. I worked my way around yet
another curve in the driveway, one that seemed specifically designed to send cars careening into
the trees. I let out a sigh when the driveway finally straightened out, the lights of the house itself
just visible in the distance. Anxious to find Emmitt and get out of there, I gave the car a little
more gas than was strictly wise.
My only warning was a glimpse of movement in the trees off to my right. Then, as if he’d
appeared literally out of nowhere, a figure stood in the middle of the road, barely two yards from
my car.
With a shriek of alarm, I instinctively slammed on the brakes. If I’d had half a second to
think about it, I’d have remembered that slamming brakes on an icy road was a bad idea. The
wheels locked up, and the car skidded forward, the back slewing to one side.
The figure in the road made no attempt to get out of the way. At the last moment, he
raised his head, and I recognized Emmitt’s face in the glare of the headlights. His eyes met mine, and I’ll never forget the small smile that curved his lips. Then the car slammed into him with a
sickening wet thunk.
I screamed again, my car now spinning like a top as the airbag exploded out toward my
face. The impact slammed my head back against the headrest. Though I tried to turn the wheel
into the skid, I was so disoriented, I didn’t know which way that was.
Out of the side window, I saw a tree trunk heading my way. The side of the car crunched
with the impact, safety glass shattering and peppering my face as I held up my hand to protect
my eyes. The car door crumpled under the pressure, and something sharp and hard stabbed into
my side, the pain blinding. Even as my head snapped to one side, the car caromed into another
tree. Something struck the other side of my head, and everything went black.
TWO
When I came to
, the engine was off and the air bag had deflated. My whole body hurt,
and with the windows all broken, frigid air and sleet had frozen me to the marrow. With a groan,
I looked down at myself to assess my injuries. My vision swam and my stomach lurched when I
saw the huge gash in my side. Blood soaked my sweater and the top of my pants and coated the
crumpled door.
My brain was working in slow motion, my head throbbing. I suspected I had a
concussion in addition to my other injuries. Shivering, sick, and scared, I forced my nearly
frozen fingers to release my seat belt. I didn’t need a medical degree to know I needed help, but
when I reached for my cell phone, I found it hadn’t survived the crash.
The door was far too badly damaged to open, so I had to drag myself out the broken
window. It hurt so much that I wondered if I wouldn’t be better off just keeping still. Surely the
people in the house had heard the accident. Someone would come to check it out, and then they
could call an ambulance for me.
By the time this brilliant thought occurred to me, I was more than halfway out the
window, and gravity took the decision out of my hands. I came close to blacking out when I hit
the ground, but I fought for consciousness. I couldn’t be
sure
anyone in the house heard the
accident, and if I didn’t find shelter soon, the sleet and cold would finish me off even if I didn’t
bleed to death.
I staggered to my feet, swallowing a cry of pain. Clutching my side, hoping I wasn’t
killing myself by making the wound bleed faster, I limped and stumbled back to the road.
Without the headlights, the dark was thick and oppressive, but the ambient light was just
enough to illuminate Emmitt’s body. He lay by the far side of the road, where he must have been
tossed by the impact. He wasn’t moving, and the angle of his neck was all wrong, but I had to
check on him, just in case I was wrong and he was still alive.
My feet slid out from under me the moment they hit the icy road, and I slipped and slid
the rest of the way on my hands and knees, leaving a trail of blood. In the distance, I could see
three small yellow lights bobbing up and down from the direction of the house. Flashlights, I
decided with relief. Good. Someone in the house
had
heard the accident, and help was on the
way. I’d be a dead woman otherwise, because I didn’t think I’d be able to make it to the house on
my own before I collapsed and the elements had their way with me.
I came to a stop beside Emmitt’s body and let out a sob at what I saw. His neck was
obviously broken, his eyes wide and staring. The sob hurt like hell, but once I’d let go of one, I
couldn’t restrain the rest.
I was on my knees, clutching my side, which oozed more blood, and crying
uncontrollably when the beam of a flashlight hit me square in the face. The light sent a stabbing
pain through my head that almost made me vomit. My vision still blurred with tears, I held up
one bloody hand to shield my eyes from the flashlight’s glare. There were three flashlights,
though only one was focused on me. The other two illuminated Emmitt’s ruined body.
“Aw, shit,” said a man’s voice softly.
One of the men behind the flashlights knelt beside Emmitt. I recognized Blake Porter,
one of the supposed cultists I’d been doing such a fabulous job of investigating. He was the
quintessential pretty boy, though he didn’t look so pretty now with his blond hair plastered to his
scalp and the look of raw sorrow on his beautiful face. He brushed his hand gently over Emmitt’s
face.
“Keep your fucking hands off him!” one of the other two growled, the one who insisted
on shining his light right in my eyes. He took a menacing step in Blake’s direction.
Blake looked up at the speaker blandly. “I was just closing his eyes.” He sat back on his
heels and held his hands innocently to his sides.
My head was still spinning from a combination of concussion, shock, and blood loss, but
everything around me had taken on a surreal quality that had nothing to do with my injuries.
These men weren’t acting at all like first responders to an accident. There was no sense of
urgency or shock. No one had spoken to me, asked if I was all right. And the man who’d ordered
Blake to keep his hands to himself had sounded distinctly protective. But why would the
cultists—
any
of the cultists—feel protective of the man who’d been trying to lure one of their
members away? Did they even know who he was?
My teeth were chattering, my feet and hands almost completely numb. The wound in my
side was anything but. I didn’t know how long hypothermia would take to kill me, but if I had to
guess, I’d say I was halfway to the grave already.
“C-call an ambulance,” I stammered, since it obviously hadn’t occurred to these wingnuts
that I was in need of medical assistance.
“Shut up, you fucking bitch!” roared Mr. Hostility, the flashlight in my eyes still keeping
me from seeing his face.
“Jamaal, no!” Blake suddenly yelled, reaching out, but he was too late.
I didn’t see the kick coming until the heavy boot connected with my face, and the world
went dark again.
When I came to, I wished I hadn’t. My side still screamed in
pain. I was still freezing,
and soaked, and light-headed. And now my jaw felt not so much broken as crushed. I tasted
blood in my mouth as I forced my eyes open.
I was lying on the road, being pelted by sleet. All three of the cultists’ flashlights were on
the ground. With none of the beams directly in my eyes, I could actually see what was going on
around me.
The man who had kicked me—Jamaal—was being held back by a third man, who I
recognized as Logan Fields, the man Maggie had run off with. It was hard to believe that Logan
was physically capable of restraining Jamaal, who was even bigger and more imposing than
Emmitt.
I had no idea what Jamaal had against me, but whatever it was, he was beyond livid. His
face was twisted into a feral snarl, and he was struggling against Logan’s hold with every ounce
of strength, his head lashing back and forth, whipping the beads at the ends of his braids across
Logan’s face. Somehow, Logan held on, though his face was dotted with welts, and the uncertain
footing should have seen them both sprawling on the ground.
“Take it easy, Jamaal,” Blake said. He was standing between me and the two struggling
men, but he looked even less able to hold off Jamaal than Logan did. “You’re not helping
Emmitt by acting like a mad dog.”
That enraged Jamaal even more. His howl sounded scarcely human, sending a
superstitious shiver down my spine.
Incongruously, Logan laughed, even as he struggled to hold Jamaal back. “You sure have
a way with words, bud.”
Blake looked sheepish. “Sorry.”
Again, my sluggish brain struggled to make sense of things. Why were these guys talking
about Emmitt like he was a friend of theirs? He was supposed to be the enemy. At least, that’s what he’d told me. But I was beginning to wonder if anything Emmitt had told me was the truth.
“Jamaal,” Logan said sharply, trying to get the other man’s attention. “I don’t want to
hurt you, man, but I’m getting pretty damn tired of playing referee.”
“Then let me go!” Jamaal snarled in reply, his eyes fixed on me with such hatred it was
amazing I didn’t go up in a puff of smoke.
“Enough!” Logan said, but Jamaal continued to struggle. Logan heaved a sigh, and then
… I’m not really sure what happened. Maybe it was the multiple blows to my head, or the shock,
or a cold-induced hallucination, but it looked to me like Logan shoved the bigger man forward so
hard that he flew all the way across the road and slammed into the trunk of a tree on the other
side. And when I say flew, I don’t mean stumbled—I mean he flew through the air with the
greatest of ease.
Impossible, of course. Even if the men had been more evenly matched, it wasn’t possible
for one human being to throw another human being that far and with such force. Icicles rained
from the branches of the tree as it shuddered with the impact. When Jamaal collapsed to the
ground over the knotty roots, he didn’t get up.
Logan gave me a quick glance, his face registering mild distaste—which I much
preferred to Jamaal’s rabid hostility—then turned his attention back to Blake. “Take her to the
house. I’ll hang out here until Jamaal comes to. And I’ll try to talk him down a bit when he
does.”
Blake looked at Jamaal’s crumpled form doubtfully. “I think she may have just killed the
only person capable of talking him down.”
Logan looked grim. “Maybe. But I might have a chance if you just get her out of sight.”
Blake didn’t look convinced. “Good luck with that.”
I tried to form some kind of protest. I didn’t need to go to the house—I needed to go to
the
hospital
. I didn’t know just how badly I was wounded, but I was sure it was pretty damn bad.
Even before Jamaal kicked me in the face.
I doubt Blake would have listened to my protest, even if I’d managed to muster one. My
jaw sent spears of agony through my head the moment I tried to move it, and I was now
shivering so violently I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get words out anyway.
Blake squatted beside me, slipping one arm behind my shoulders and one behind my
knees. Then he rose easily to his feet, making no particular effort not to jostle me. I couldn’t help
crying out at the pain, but Blake ignored me.
Behind us, Jamaal let out a little groan.
“Shit,” Blake and Logan said in unison. And then Blake began jogging back toward the
house, slipping and sliding like mad, and I was in too much pain to think of anything other than
how much I wished I would pass out for a third time.
Blake carried me all the way around the house to a back entrance. He knocked on the
door with his foot, and moments later I heard footsteps approaching. The lights went on, and the
door swung open.
I was barely conscious, my clothes soaked through with melted ice and blood. I felt I’d
never be warm again, sure I was going to die if I didn’t get medical attention stat. Through eyes
narrowed in pain, I saw a few more cultists—including Maggie—standing in the hall with
anxious looks on their faces.
“What happened?” one of them asked as Blake stepped inside.
He shook his head. “Emmitt’s dead.”
Someone gasped, and Maggie covered her mouth to stifle a cry. Even in my shocked,
semi-lucid state, I was once again aware of how off everything seemed. Not only did everyone
seem to know and care about Emmitt, but Blake was carrying the obviously battered body of a
woman soaked in blood, and no one seemed to even consider calling an ambulance. What was
wrong with these people?
My eyes finally adjusted to the brightly lit hallway, and I did a mental double take.
Despite my distinct lack of success in investigating the cult, I had at least managed to identify