He couldn’t help but think about the pretty blonde he’d left in Eureka Springs. He never remembered having such a strong attraction to a woman, human or werewolf, before. A part of him wanted to turn around, seek her out, and make sure she was okay.
Braxton shook his head. That was not even a remote possibility. He was the one in trouble, not her. At least whatever she was facing wasn’t as bad as being hunted down and killed. He needed to start looking out for himself and stop worrying about someone who didn’t care what happened to him. Old habits died hard.
A loud boom ricocheted down the highway and between the mountains.
His first thought was that his tire had blown out until pain exploded between his shoulder blades and spread like fire to his chest. Confused, he glanced in his rearview mirror to see three Harleys speeding toward him. His heart nearly stopped as he realized he’d been shot.
Assassins.
He gripped the handlebars of the bike as blinding pain spread through his body at a dizzying rate. He tried to tighten his grip on the handlebars in an attempt to keep the bike upright, but the paralyzing effect of the silver bullet was too strong.
The bike tilted to the right. Braxton tried to lean the other way, but his body wouldn’t obey. The bike went down hard on the road. His leg was caught underneath as the bike skidded a few feet on the asphalt and toward the cliff. He held his breath, unable to do anything as he, along with his bike, plunged down the mountain.
Disengaged from his Harley, he continued to fall, crashing between limbs and bramble and trees. Pain splintered through his body as bones snapped. Being a werewolf, he could normally survive the fall and his bones would knit themselves back together unnaturally fast. But the silver bullet lodged in his shoulder would prevent any healing.
The silver would slowly poison him as he died a painful death.
His body met the ground in a bone-crushing thud, knocking what breath he had left out of his lungs. Nausea and fiery pain swept through his body in indescribable agony right before his vision grew dim and he passed out.
***
Braxton blinked, his body jerking alive with excruciating pain. Night had fallen and the temperature had dropped several degrees. Pitch-black surrounded him and the bristle of pine needles stuck his face. He wasn’t dead.
Yet.
He tried to lift his left arm. White hot pain shot up his arm and into his chest. He knew immediately his arm was definitely broken. He raised his right arm, feeling his body for bone and excessive bleeding. Though no bone stuck out of the flesh, he could feel the awkward bend of the arm.
He shoved down his nausea and continued assessing his injuries. His side burned with each breath, and he knew he had suffered some broken ribs as well. He bent his knees. Despite bruises, his legs were not broken.
He closed his eyes, wondering why the Assassins didn’t finish the job. Maybe they saw him fall off the mountain and didn’t think he’d survive the drop coupled with the silver bullet.
He shook his head, not daring to give that thought an ounce of hope. It was more likely they were waiting until dark to come back and make sure he was dead.
Urgency flooded his veins. He had to get the hell out of there. His heart thudded against his ribs as he bolted upright. “Fuck!” Pain radiated throughout his core as his stomach twisted in nausea. He leaned over and emptied the contents of his stomach.
He didn’t plan to stick around and wait for those assholes to finish him off. He wiped his mouth with his uninjured arm. Grabbing the nearest pine tree, he attempted to stand, but his shaky legs wouldn’t bear his weight.
He panted as cold sweat beaded across his forehead.
He had no choice. Not if he wanted to live. He needed to keep going. If he stayed, he was as sure as dead.
Focusing his energy on his inner wolf, he shifted. He gritted his teeth, trying to not yell as his broken bones twisted into his wolf form. Bones shifted and cartilage stretched. When the transformation was done, he lay on his side, panting. His injuries were still there, but in his wolf form he might have a chance to keep moving. He eased to his feet, growling as the pain reminded him he was running out of time.
He forced one paw in front of the other and began his trek.
He just prayed he was walking toward the Missouri border.
***
Braxton walked for an eternity under the cover of the inky night sky. Although his keen sense of sight helped him avoid running into a tree or stepping in a hole, he had no idea which direction he was going since he had no stars to guide him. His head spun as he pressed on, each step pure agony. Surely he had crossed the Missouri border by now.
Glancing up, he hoped the sky had cleared. He needed those stars to guide his course. Once again, fate, being the bitch she was, had left him without a fucking star in the sky.
His broken ribs cried out with every breath he took, and his body begged him to stop and rest. He knew better. If he stopped, he would die.
A tiny light broke through the thick trees. It must be someone’s home. He sucked in another painful breath and pressed on, his eyes never wavering from his illuminated hope of harbor.