Shadow's Awakening: The Shadow Warder Series, Book One (An Urban Fantasy Romance Series) (38 page)

“I’m going to fucking kill you, you bitch.”

“Really?” Hannah managed to sound easy, as if they were just sitting around having a chat. “I don’t think Michael would be very happy about that. He’ll already be mad about this bump on my head.”

Henry suddenly looked sick, realizing that Michael would be furious he’d not only let Hannah get past her locked door, he’d injured her. Now Henry didn’t just have to get her back in her room, he had to do it without causing further damage. His complexion tinged green as he absorbed the difficulty of his task.

“Why don’t you come here and try to catch me?” Hannah taunted. She sounded careless, but she was intently focused on Henry’s position in the hall. Understanding what she had to do, Hannah repeated her plan over and over in her mind. Her mother had always said she had to visualize success before she could make it happen. Hannah was visualizing the hell out of taking Henry’s keys.

Just before he made his move, Hannah made hers. Her execution wasn’t as smooth in reality as it had been in her head, but it wasn’t ineffective. Watching for Henry to shift his weight forward in preparation for attack, Hannah lunged. Her sudden movement took him by surprise and he wobbled, not sure if he should step into her or retreat. Displaying his lack of intelligence, he continued to fixate on her mostly useless dinner knife.

Hannah swung the knife at his left side in a wide, slow strike. Henry dodged in a deep, almost comical lean to the right, baring the side of his body. Hannah darted in and snatched the keys from the clip on his right hip, feeling a surge of triumph as the fabric of his pants tore and the key ring pulled free. Henry swore, trying to regain his balance. Hannah had to lead him back to one of the rooms and lock him in. It would be easier if she could resonate him into a room. She’d need a lot more training before she could focus the skill in the middle of a fight. Hannah glanced around the hall, searching for her best option. She didn’t have a chance to pick one.

In an uncharacteristic burst of speed, Henry was on her again, tackling her once more. This time he had the wrong angle to hold her down with his bodyweight. She slid to his side, heels slipping on the floor as she tried to gain traction and shuffle away from him. This time, when she swung the knife it wasn’t as a diversion.

Henry rolled away, evading her strike by a wide mark. Hannah managed to get her feet under her, staggering back into the wall. She had no time to think before Henry came at her again, left hand outstretched. His right hand dug into his lab coat pocket and drew a small, thin, mean-looking scalpel. The affronted rage in his eyes told her that he’d forgotten his need to keep her whole for Michael.

Henry was furious and he wanted payback. Two long strides put him inches away. Hannah twisted to the side, narrowly missing the flashing scalpel as Henry stabbed at her face. Her panicked turn pulled her cheek out of range as it threw her upper shoulder directly into the razor sharp blade.

The scalpel sank into her flesh, slicing a deep furrow. Hot, sticky blood welled up, soaking into the thin hospital gown and running down her arm. Hannah registered the pain, vaguely thinking that she was at least glad he got her left shoulder. She still held the dinner knife in her right hand.

Henry’s face paled at the sight of blood streaming from Hannah’s broken skin. In a desperate bid to bring Hannah back under control, he advanced, arms outstretched, still brandishing the now bloody scalpel. A wave of panicked fear swamped Hannah. She flailed at him, smacking his grasping hands to the side. Then, moving as fast as she could, she swung the dinner knife in a hard, sweeping arc, sending all the power in her body into the blow.

Driven mindless by fear and pain, she drove the dull knife at Henry’s face, burying it to the hilt in his left eye. His muscles abruptly limp, Henry fell to the floor, a thin stream of blood pooling on the linoleum beneath his face. The shiny handle of the dinner knife protruded from his mangled eye socket at an odd, tilted angle.

Hannah stared at him for a moment, trying to convince herself he was dead. The last thing she needed was his reanimated body popping up later to attack like a bad horror movie. He remained still, the pool of blood under his head pouring into a narrow red river flowing away from his body. She nudged him with her toes. At the shift of his shoulders, a copper amulet worked free from the collar of his shirt, catching the light. Hannah peered at it, needing a better look but not wanting to bend closer to Henry’s body. The marking on the amulet looked like the markings Conner had used to make the wards at the cabin.

Comprehension flashed through her tired, shocked brain. Of course the lab was warded. Stupid that it hadn’t occurred to her that she’d need to get through wards. Hoping that the amulet was her free pass, Hannah grasped it, wrestling it over Henry’s heavy head with hard tugs. She tried to keep it away from the knife buried in his eye.

Gross. Necessary, but gross. The copper disc slipped off with a sickening thunk of Henry’s head on the floor. Ignoring the blood dripping from the amulet, Hannah secured it around her own neck, looking away from Henry’s body. Bile rose in her throat. Hannah swallowed hard. After all this man had done to her, planned to do to her, she refused to feel sick over his death. Michael might be back at any moment. It was time to get the hell out.

Holding tight to the keys, Hannah headed toward the area where the Shadow girl thought she’d seen the door. The far end of the hallway was cluttered with items that had been pushed out of the way. An old desk, torn boxes, stacks of files, a battered IV stand and more unidentifiable detritus made it difficult to see if anything was there. Looking over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone, Hannah began to rip random things off the desk.

At first, the wall behind the desk appeared flat and plain like every other wall. Hannah was afraid she’d have to go back to Henry’s body and see if he had a code or key card to operate the elevator. She worked faster, throwing boxes to the floor, pushing files off in fluttering cascades of paper. Just before she was about to give up, she saw it. A narrow crack in the white paint, outlining a barely visible rectangle. Hannah grabbed another stack of boxes and shoved. They tumbled to the floor, revealing a brushed chrome metal handle.

With renewed energy, Hannah worked to clear the desk. Every few seconds she stopped to see if she could budge it. It resisted as if bolted to the floor, so heavy she wondered how they’d gotten it to the end of the hall. Finally, a mess surrounded her feet and the desk was light enough for her to inch it back a foot. She grasped the door handle, flooded with relief when it turned. A quick shove and the door was open. The copper disc around her neck flared with heat as she turned sideways and squeezed through the narrow opening.

The dark, cobwebby stairwell was the most wonderful thing Hannah had ever seen. It might have been filthy compared to the antiseptic white of the lab, but it meant she was out. At least, she was out of the lab. Now she had to get out of the building. Reality struck as she realized the stairwell had no lights. Hannah didn’t have a source of illumination. No flashlight. No matches. There might be something back in the lab, but now that she’d gotten this far, going back seemed foolish. If Michael returned, it would be over. She wouldn’t get another chance.

Retreat was not an option. Neither was panic. Still holding the door open a crack, Hannah examined the stairwell in the dim shaft of light leaking from the lab. A long, round metal railing was set into the wall on the left. If she held on to that, it should lead her up to the way out. Shouldn’t it? When she took a step forward and let go of the door, she be in the dark. Surrounded by cobwebs and who knew what else.

Hannah’s knees were watery, legs shaking in terror. Alone in the pitch black. No guarantee there was a door above her. It could be locked. She could be about to trap herself in this abandoned stairwell.

Taking a deep breath, tasting musty air and the iron scent of her own blood, Hannah lunged for the stair-rail. The door shut behind her with a dull clang, and absolute dark fell like a curtain. She knew a moment of sensory deprivation as she reached for the rail, only her toes touching concrete, all sense of her surroundings gone.

A heartbeat later, her fingers glanced off the cool metal railing. She grasped it like the lifeline it was. A clatter at her feet told her she’d dropped Henry’s keys. A moment of searching with her toes turned up nothing but thick dust. She hoped she didn’t need them since there wasn’t time to find them. Using both hands, Hannah followed the railing carefully up the stairs.

When she hit the landing, the railing disappeared. It was impossible not to feel completely disoriented. She hadn’t known how comforting the metal railing was until she was left with only a rough concrete wall as a guide. Hannah gasped as a twist of panic made her nauseous with terror. The worst thing she could do was let her fear take over. Her heart pounded frantically. Her head was light. It could be from blood loss, but Hannah was pretty sure she was having an anxiety attack.

Stop thinking
, she told herself.
Shut it down and put one foot in front of the other. That’s all. One foot in front of the other
. Lacy cobwebs brushed her face with each step. Dust coated her fingers and built up between her bare toes as she slid her feet along the landing. At least her gasping breaths and shuffling feet were the only sounds. If she heard anything else in the dark, Hannah was pretty sure her heart would explode in terror.

Feeling her way along the landing, Hannah moved cautiously from one wall to the other, until her big toe slammed into a step. Sliding her hands across the wall, she found the next stair-rail.

It took three flights, moving blindly through the curtains of cobwebs, hands either gripping the railing or sweeping the dirty walls, before Hannah’s fingertips passed across an expanse of cool metal. Heartbeat speeding even faster, she swirled her palms in a spiral pattern, praying the metal was a door. After a few desperate seconds, the side of her right wrist struck a protrusion. A handle. Fingers closing over it in relief, Hannah turned it and pulled back. The dim shaft of light cutting into the blackness brought tears to her eyes.

Easing open the door, she peered through the crack to see another concrete stairwell. Disoriented all over again—a stairwell that led to a stairwell?—she stepped into the new space. Stairs leading up and a metal door with a glass window. Peeking through, her heart surged in elation. A parking garage. Cars meant the street was nearby. The city street was freedom.

The lot appeared full, but empty of people. Taking a chance, Hannah left the stairwell, making sure to note her position in case she couldn’t get out through the garage and had to return to the stairs. It wouldn’t be the first time someone got lost in a parking garage.

Looking for an exit, Hannah began to work her way through the cars, moving steadily upwards. Everything looked the same. Trucks, SUVs, sedans. A few sports cars. Repeating over and over. Gray concrete stretched everywhere. No arrows or signs helpfully pointing out the exit. Only the slope of the floor provided a sense of direction. How many levels had she gone up? Two? Her burst of adrenaline at escaping the lab had been consumed by her terror in the dark stairwell. Blood leaked from her arm. Too late, Hannah realized she was leaving a trail of red splotches behind her. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? She couldn’t hide if her own blood would lead Michael right to her.

Frustration swamped her, bringing tears to her eyes. So close to escape and she couldn’t find her way out of this fucking garage. The pain in her shoulder was making it hard to concentrate, but Hannah was dimly aware that the garage was probably under surveillance. Didn’t most parking garages have security cameras? Even if the cameras missed her, they could still catch her trail of blood.

She didn’t have time to wander in circles. Dizzy from blood loss, swaying on her feet, Hannah tried to study her surroundings to determine the way out. Anything would help. An arrow, a hint of daylight. She was so focused on looking for clues, she didn’t see the slight, elegantly dressed blond woman until she almost bumped into her. Seemingly also lost in thought, the woman whirled to face Hannah, recognition dawning on her pretty face after a moment.

“Holy shit,” she breathed. “You got out.”

Her comment confused Hannah. Not sure what to do, Hannah stood there, frozen with fear, pain and indecision. After a few seconds, realization trickled through. She knew this woman. This woman had given her to Michael. Conner’s handler. Alexa. Despair and fear froze Hannah in place. Alexa looked her up and down, shaking her head.

“You look like shit,” she said. “If you manage to get to Conner, he’s going to lose it when he sees you.”

“I need to get out,” Hannah whispered. Alexa gave a nod, studying her with a clinical detachment. Hannah’s brain told her to bolt. Her feet remained glued to the concrete floor. This Warder was not her friend. If she had to, if it looked like Alexa was calling Michael, Hannah would attack her. Or run. Neither option was appealing. Alexa looked like a lawyer but she moved with an efficient grace that suggested she knew how to fight.

With a quick glance around, maybe to check for observers or cameras, Alexa surprised Hannah by gripping her upper arm, avoiding her injured shoulder. Angling Hannah back where she’d come from, the woman pointed to a spot where the garage ramp made a sharp turn up and to the right.

“That way,” she said. “Go that way and follow it up. It’ll take you to the street. Then get the hell away from this building. If you’re caught, you never saw me. I’ll take care of the security tapes.”

Hannah gave a weak nod, whispering her thanks. Gathering every spark of energy she could with the blasted collar blocking her Shadow abilities, Hannah jogged for the exit. The few minutes it took her to reach the street were a haze of pain and terror. Each step rattled her torso, sending a blaze of agony through her left shoulder. She was terrified she’d meet another person. Hannah had no idea why Alexa had helped her, but she knew she wouldn’t be so lucky again. The sight of the bright, midday sunlight streaming into the garage gave her a last burst of strength. Hannah stumbled past the arm of the security post into the alley ahead, not thinking of the picture she made—wearing a thin hospital gown, covered in blood, dust and cobwebs, blinking in the spring sunshine.