Chapter 22: The Corridor

Torin's POV

I shifted before his knife reached me.

The change tore through my body in a heartbeat, bone and muscle and skin, and I hit the corridor floor on four feet with my jaws open.

The driver slashed.

The blade was silver.

It opened a line across my shoulder, and the pain was bright white.

I did not feel it for long.

I took his forearm in my teeth and shook him.

He screamed and the knife rang off the tiles.

He was trained. He rolled and kicked me in the ribs, and I let go, and he came up with a second blade from his boot.

He was fast, and he was good, and he did not care whether he lived.

That made him dangerous.

We went across the corridor in a tangle, claws on tile, his boots against my chest.

I heard the pack doctor shouting.

I heard Hazel's voice, and a siren, and the crash of a gurney.

I had one thought, bright and clear: the door behind me.

She was in that room.

The driver feinted left.

I went for it, and it was not a feint.

He drove his heel into my bad shoulder and I went down sideways, and the silver burned through me, and my legs would not hold.

He stepped over me.

He walked into the room.

I tried to rise.

My body would not answer, and my wolf was howling in the back of my skull.

"Mrs. Rowland paid for two jobs," the driver said in the doorway, in a calm voice. "The girl, and the heir. She said the heir was worth double."

Joanna sat up in the bed with her back against the wall and her hands over her stomach.

She did not scream.

"Come on, then," she said.

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