Frostbitten (19 page)

I started to run, but kept slipping on gravel, losing my speed advantage fast. There was a small building ahead, some kind of storage for the factory. I ran for that.

Just keep ahead. One step ahead
. That was all I needed to do until Clay arrived. He couldn’t be far.

I made it to the building and raced around the front corner, then along the wall. Tesler’s footfalls were at least a half dozen paces back. Too far to lunge and grab me. Too close to sneak around the other way. Now I just had to keep him going around the building in circles until Clay showed up.

I zipped around the rear corner… and found a fence blocking my path. I skidded and swerved, my boots sliding. He dove and caught the back of my jacket. I wrenched, but he had a firm grip. I yanked down my zipper, trying to get out of the coat. His foot caught mine and down I went.

I fought—kicking, clawing, writhing—but within seconds he had me pinned. And he was a man who knew exactly how to pin a smaller opponent so she couldn’t get away, couldn’t fight back, couldn’t do anything but scream. And I would scream. I didn’t care how mortified I’d be later, because all that mattered was getting away before he did what he wanted to do.

I barely got the first note of my scream out before he jammed his forearm down on my throat, cutting me off, a move so deft it was almost instinct. I knew now who’d been responsible for those missing girls around Roman’s territory, and who was responsible for the ones here. I knew what Tesler had done many times before and what he was about to do to me.

Even as I struggled, that voice inside told me to stop.
You can’t fight. Just lie still and go someplace else. Find the old place, the one where he can’t touch you. Just go there and wait until it’s over
.

His hand pushed under my shirt, under my bra, fingers digging in, nails scraping. I snarled and twisted and tried to hit, to claw, but he had my shoulders pinned so I couldn’t do more than lift my hands a few inches off the ground. I rocked and heaved so hard I thought I was going to dislocate my shoulder, but I didn’t care. I bucked and squirmed until he had to shift his weight to keep me still, one arm at my throat, the other hand squeezing my breast. And when he shifted, I got the momentum I needed to wrench my arm free.

I grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked. His hand flew from under my shirt, catching my wrist and wrenching until it was at the breaking point. I kept pulling, but came away with a handful of hair, my grip lost.

He pinned me again. When his hand went back under my shirt, he twisted my breast hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I rocked and bucked and flailed, but I couldn’t get free. I just couldn’t, no matter how many fights I’d won, no matter how many years I’d trained, no matter how strong I was and how many times I’d told myself that no one,
no one
would ever touch me like this again. It was happening and there was nothing I could do.

The more I struggled, the harder his forearm jammed down on my neck, until finally I couldn’t breathe. I kept fighting. I heard myself gasping. I saw the world tilting and darkening. But all I could feel was his hand at my waist, ripping at my jeans as he clawed and grabbed and grunted.

Then he was flying off me, Clay’s face behind him, twisted with rage. Clay spun, holding Tesler by the back of his jacket, his skull on crash course with the wall, and I knew that’s where it was headed. Clay was going to kill him. And I didn’t care.

No, I
did
care. I was glad of it. I would do it myself if I had the chance. I could say I was doing it for the girls he’d raped and killed, to make sure there wasn’t another, and while that was part of it, I was really doing it for me—so he would never get the chance to come back and rape
me
.

It only took a split second for Clay to whip Tesler around, for me to think I was glad of it, for Tesler’s body to spasm in panic as he realized he was about to die. But in that moment, a second mutt flew around the corner.

I leapt to my feet to cut him off, but he was already in flight. He smacked into Clay’s shoulder and threw him off balance. Clay didn’t drop his prey, but that moment of reprieve was enough for Tesler. His feet found the ground and his fist headed for Clay’s jaw. Clay ducked the blow, but in doing so, released him.

The second mutt was a smaller, wiry blond. I recognized his smell. He’d been in our hotel room, Dennis’s cabin and the museum. Tesler’s buddy, the one who’d introduced himself to Reese as “Dan.” He grabbed Clay by the back of the coat, but I yanked him off his feet, breaking his grip on Clay.

And so we paired off. Dan gladly turned on me, leaving his bruiser of a friend to Clay. His first few strikes were half-hearted—if he dispatched me quickly, he’d have to leap into the fray with Clay.

When I dodged his blows and landed two of my own, Dan started fighting in earnest, still slow at first, like a pro with a full card ahead of him, trying to figure out the least amount of energy he can expend. But he soon figured out that a lower weight class doesn’t necessarily mean an inferior fighter.

After a few hits Dan ducked a blow, danced to the side… and kept going, taking off across the parking lot. I chased him past two buildings, and then circled back to Clay.

Clay was having only moderately more trouble with his matchup. Tesler might be an expert at overpowering women, yet his fight skills were little better than the average Saturday night brawler’s. If he landed a blow, it sent Clay reeling, but Clay was faster and more agile and easily dodged most of them, and soon figured out the guy’s routine.

When a solid right hook sent Tesler spinning, Clay eased back and looked over at me.

“You want to take over, darling? Finish him?”

“Fuck off,” Tesler snarled, spitting blood.

He swung. Clay ducked.

I stepped forward. “I’ve got it.”

“Good. Just watch your clothes. He’s a bleeder.”

Tesler charged with a roar. Clay deftly veered out of his path… and I veered into it, catching Tesler’s arm, wrenching and flipping him over my shoulder. He landed on his back, winded and blinking.

Again, I watched his leg muscles and sure enough, they bunched, and as soon as I was within reach, he sprang. He tried to grab my leg and yank me to the ground, but I wasn’t going down. Even if it meant taking a blow I could have dodged, I wasn’t going to give him any chance to get me on the ground again.

It didn’t matter that Clay was there to protect me. I needed to know that I could best him.

At first, as long as I stayed on my feet, it was an even match. But I had rage on my side, and the balance started to shift. I landed a few good blows—cracking ribs and knocking out a tooth. Not that it mattered. This was only an exercise—me needing to prove something to myself—because when it was over, he wasn’t walking away.

I took a glancing blow off the chin and reeled back, concentrating on keeping my balance. As I shook it off, Clay spun. Dan had returned, sneaking up behind us. Then a shadow passed overhead. I looked up to see another mutt on the roof.

“Clay!”

It was a split-second distraction that my opponent took full advantage of, diving at me and grabbing me around the waist as he tried to take me down. I locked my knees. Pain shot through my legs as they tried to bend in a way they weren’t supposed to. I twisted and stumbled, but kept my balance.

The mutt on the roof jumped. He knocked Clay’s shoulder as Clay tried to dance out of the way, then both mutts went at him. The new one was smaller than Dan—only a little bigger than Clay—but the family resemblance to Tesler was clear. This was the relative I’d faintly smelled at Dennis’s cabin, the younger Tesler brother. A kick and a right hook from Clay sent him sprawling, leaving Clay with the smaller blond mutt.

Tesler senior rushed me. A high kick caught him in the chest and he stumbled back, then caught himself. I waited for him to rebound, but he stood there, rubbing his jaw. Playing possum again. The guy had a very limited repertoire. I waited for his move. But he didn’t run at me… he went the other way.

Only after I’d chased him about a kilometer did I realize my mistake. I glanced back and, sure enough, Clay was in hot pursuit, his prey abandoned. Any other time, he’d have waited for my signal saying I needed help, but he wasn’t leaving me alone with this one.

Even on open ground, Tesler kept his advantage, and a stabbing pain in my left thigh slowed me down, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.

When I heard the squeal of the train leaving the station, it gave me an idea. I waved my plan back to Clay. I didn’t really need to. We’ve been together long enough that if he sees a runaway mutt and an oncoming train, he’ll know what I’ll have in mind.

I slowed. Clay changed direction, circling wide around Tesler. The mutt, hearing my pounding feet slow to a patter, glanced back and although I was a good ten meters away, I swore he smiled. I looked at him, then behind me, searching the empty horizon, as if looking for Clay.

I whistled. Then I whistled again, louder and more shrill, moving from “hey, where are you?” to “oh, shit, where
are
you?”

Tesler bent over, hands on his thighs, catching his breath. The wind had died down and I could hear him panting, almost in time with the chug of the approaching train. Behind him, Clay circled, unseen.

Still bent, Tesler studied me. He really wanted to finish it, but long fights and long runs weren’t his forte and he was winded. He had to weigh the thrill of dominance against the smack-down of potential defeat at the hands of a woman, maybe his
last
defeat if Clay caught up. I could say the survival instinct won out, but I suspect it was ego—if he didn’t choose to fight, I couldn’t beat him. He straightened, then started turning to run.

I rushed at him before he noticed Clay. He wheeled, fists going up. I danced back. He swiped a fresh gush of blood from his lip and smiled. I was spoiling for a fight, but I was afraid—an irresistible combination. He turned his back square on Clay. I took one boxer’s two-step forward, then back, going a little farther back than for ward, as if inching away while trying to convince myself I was ready to take him on.

Finally Clay reached the point where Tesler smelled him. His nose jerked up and he spun so fast he almost lost his balance. Then he tore off south… just as the train started to pass—a solid wall of slow-moving cars blocking his escape route.

He turned almost full circle and realized he was trapped. I braced myself for him to charge the weakest obstacle—me—and he started to, then he feinted to the side and ran full out toward the train.

“Fuck no,” Clay growled under his breath.

“Fuck yes,” I said as Tesler grabbed a ladder between cars.

We followed. It always looks so easy in the movies. But even with a slow-moving train and werewolf agility and strength, getting on that ladder was a feat… particularly with a 250-pound mutt at the top of it, determined to keep you from catching his ride.

Clay was almost to the top when Tesler’s foot shot out, aiming for his jaw. Clay grabbed him by the ankle and wrenched. Tesler went down, scrabbling and kicking to keep from being pulled over the edge, holding on with every ounce of strength in his overpumped arms. Meanwhile, I was hanging from the bottom rung, trying to keep my back from scraping along the tracks.

Tesler scrambled out of Clay’s reach, got to his feet and took off across the tops of the cars. We gave chase.

At any moment, I expected the train to grind to a halt, throwing us through the air as someone spotted us and sounded the alarm. But it kept chugging along, picking up speed as we raced over the cars, bent forward, the metal vibrating under our feet, train rocking from side to side, every freezing-rain-filled dent enough to send us skating, the stink of diesel filling our nostrils, the whine and grind of metal setting our teeth on edge, drowning out every word Clay called back to me. Well, not every word… just the ones like “stay there” and “keep back” and “wait.”

And of course every car had to end… in a fifteen-foot drop over ground whizzing past fast enough to make my stomach lurch. That leap between shaking cars set my stomach plummeting every time, no matter how much clearance I had. My first foot would land and it always slid a little, just enough to rip an “oh shit” from my lips before I found my balance.

Finally Tesler reached a flatcar loaded with timber, took one look and decided that jumping onto those logs was one feat he didn’t care to attempt.

He feinted left, then right, then took a running leap toward the side of the car. Clay did the same, and leapt off… as Tesler checked himself at the last moment and stayed on board. With me.

He turned to face me, that ugly smile twisting his lips—then disappearing as it met my fist. It took him a second to recover from the shock, not of the hit, but of finding me standing my ground when surely I should be running as fast as I could. I hit him again, knocking him over. Predictably, he tried to grab my legs and bring me down with him. I stomped his hand hard enough to make him howl.

As he scrambled up, I kicked. He instinctively closed his legs, but I wasn’t aiming there. When it works, it works, but if that move was as reliable as it looked in the movies, no man would ever get the best of a woman in a fight.

As he concentrated on protecting his valuables, he hunched over, his jaw coming into perfect alignment with my foot. I kicked him, and he fell back hard enough to make the roof twang.