“Mary.”

She didn’t recognize the voice, so she did the only thing she could.  

She ripped free of the hold, fisted the handles of the duffel, and rushed to the window. She fought when the man reached for her again. He was covered in shadow, but she could see portions of his face. His dark hair crept over his forehead and the bristles across his jaw indicated he hadn’t shaved in days. His urban attire—black leather coat, faded jeans, and biker boots—told her he wasn’t a Shepherd, but that didn’t mean anything. Her uncle could have paid someone to come after her, hiring a mercenary to get the job done.

The man’s grip on her arms increased until she gasped in pain. He loosened his hold and looked her in the eye. “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The room felt as if it shook from floor to ceiling as the door to her apartment burst off the hinges. The man in front of her immediately let go, turned, and faced the intruders. These Shepherds also had guns, and the barrels were targeted directly at the man standing between her and danger.

“Use the bedroom window,” the man ordered. “Get out. Help is waiting. They’ll find you.”

Questions hovered on the tip of her tongue, but there was no time to ask them. The window panes had been broken apart—undoubtedly by the man in her apartment—making it easy for her to climb through. She felt a hand swipe at her head and jumped to the side. An ear-splitting roar made the hair on her nape rise. When she glanced back, the Shepherds were busy protecting themselves from the man who was in the process of kicking their asses.

A solid rail along the old metal fire escape allowed her to slide past each floor. Despite the speed of her departure, the sounds of fighting were still too close. The moment her feet hit the ground, she started running. And as she did, she released a bloodcurdling scream.

The shrill sound was as loud as she could make it.

Everyone in the building next to hers would call the police.

If she was going down, she wasn’t doing so quietly. Let the sadistic assholes on her heels work for their blood for a change.

In fact…

She changed direction, running for the main road through the small shopping center. Why hide when she could scream in the open? There was a chance someone would help. Her thoughts were focused on making it to the street. If luck was on her side, someone would be traveling this late at night.

Maybe her good fortune would hold.

Her hope died when something snagged a handful of her hair, an arm wrapped around her waist, and she fell. She hit the ground hard, landing on her duffel and scraping her chin on the road. The weight of her assailant pinned her to the ground. Regardless of her chances of gaining freedom, she struggled. She wasn’t ready to die. There was so much she hadn’t seen. So much she wanted to do.

The weight vanished as the fingers in her hair coiled, causing her scalp to burn. “On your feet.”

It was awkward and painful to rise with her head at an angle. When she finally stood, fisting the handles of her bag, she saw the men directly in front of her. Her heart lodged in her throat, blocking her intake of air, making it difficult to breathe. Shepherds formed a semicircle around her, and she knew her time was up. They were dressed the same—brown dusters, button-down shirts, and Stetsons that created shadows around their eyes. She didn’t recognize any of them, so they had to have been sent from another compound.

Did she run? Scream?

Try to fight?

Dismally, she realized the answers were no, no and no.

She’d only give them a reason to kill her faster.

Not necessarily a bad thing.

Her will to live was as strong, but it was better if they killed her now.

“What are you waiting for?” She had to force the words out. Her body quaked in fear. She knew what her uncle was capable of. If he wanted, he could extend her anguish for days.

A firm yank on her hair was the only response she received.

So she was right. Since Elijah wasn’t with them, they planned to take her to him.

A van pulled off the road and drove toward them. The Shepherds in front of her turned and strode toward the vehicle.

Transportation had arrived.

This is it. The final showdown.

She brought her free hand to her head and grasped the fingers in her hair. When she found her assailant’s wrist, she clawed at his flesh like a crazed alley cat. He released her hair, which gave her the opportunity to flee one last time. She ran as fast as she ever had in her life. The only thing she could hear was muted shouts from behind her. The fence barring her path to an alley was one she’d scaled numerous times. She tossed her bag over the side as she ran. When she made it to the chain-link obstacle, she jumped, grasped the top bar, and hoisted herself over it.

“Shoot her!” someone yelled. “Elijah will understand. She’s damned.”

It sounded like bees buzzed past her when she scooped up the duffel and took off. Then a sharp burning sensation lanced her temple. She lost her balance, tripped, and had to use one of her hands to remain upright as she landed her knees. Warm liquid spread over her scalp. Then it dripped down the side of her face. Lifting her free hand, she touched the oozing pool coming from her head. The ground started spinning, and suddenly she felt like she was floating.

The dark concrete rose to meet her as she collapsed on her stomach.

Warmth bloomed from the wound in her head, her blood spreading like thick, hot paint through her hair. She didn’t notice the shouts from the men chasing her, nor did she pay attention to the snarls and growls that accompanied them. All she could think about was how cold it had become, how weak she suddenly felt, and how much she wanted to close her eyes and go to sleep.

“Kill them all!” a hoarse voice thundered. “We don’t have time to fuck around. Get your woman. We have to leave.”

Footsteps approached, but she couldn’t run—not like this.

She waited for death with her pride intact.

No one could say she hadn’t tried.

Unexpectedly gentle hands turned her so that she was no longer facedown. She blinked several times to bring the man staring down at her into focus, to get a glimpse of the person who would see her life come to an end.

“Mary,” he whispered.

She closed her eyes and basked in the sound of those hushed syllables. She’d know that voice anywhere, would recognize it no matter how much time had passed.

Emory.