Chapter 5

"Shut up and move."

He doesn't let go. Just drags me through the underbrush like I'm a dog on a leash, and I hate him for it. Hate the way my legs scramble to keep up, hate how every branch that slaps my face feels like Derek's hand all over again.

I rip my arm free.

Cain stops. Turns. His eyes are flat in the dark. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm faster without you."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I've been running my whole life," I snap. "I know how to disappear."

His jaw works. For a second I think he's going to grab me again, but he doesn't. He just stares at me like I'm the dumbest thing he's ever seen. "You ran from one man. These aren't men."

"They're hunters. So are you."

"I'm one hunter. They're a tracking team." He steps closer. I step back. "You think you can outrun them? Fine. Go. See how far you get before they put a bolt through your spine."

Another whistle cuts through the trees. Closer this time. Maybe a quarter mile.

My heart kicks against my ribs. I can feel it, the thing under my skin, the wolf or whatever the hell I'm supposed to call it. It wants to run. It wants to rip through the woods and never stop.

But Cain's still looking at me with those dead eyes, and I don't know why, but I believe him.

"How do they track?" I ask.

"Sound. Scent. Blood." His gaze drops to my hands. I look down. My knuckles are still scraped from when I shifted, raw and red. "You're bleeding. They'll have your scent by now."

"So what do we do?"

"We lose the blood trail. Then we hide."

He moves again, and this time I follow.

We don't run. That's the part that makes my skin crawl. Cain walks, deliberate and quiet, like we've got all the time in the world. I want to scream at him. Want to shove past him and sprint until my lungs give out.

But the whistles keep coming. One from the north. One from the east. They're boxing us in.

"They're herding us," I whisper.

"Yeah."

"You knew?"

"It's what I'd do."

He says it so calm. Like this is just another Tuesday. Meanwhile I can barely feel my legs, and my hands won't stop shaking.

We reach a creek. It's shallow, maybe ankle-deep, cutting through a gully choked with ferns and fallen logs. The water's black in the moonlight. Cold enough I can feel it from here.

Cain stops at the edge. Looks upstream, then down. "Get in."

"What?"

"Get in the water. Walk downstream. Stay in the current."

I stare at him. "That's your plan? Walk in a creek?"

"You want them to follow your blood to my cabin? Because that's what happens if we don't break the trail."

He's already stepping in, boots sinking into the mud. The water barely makes a sound. I hesitate, then follow.

It's colder than I thought. The current tugs at my ankles, and the rocks are slick under my feet. I almost go down twice in the first ten steps. Cain doesn't look back. Just keeps moving, slow and steady, like he's done this a thousand times.

Maybe he has.

We walk for what feels like forever. My feet go numb. My teeth start to chatter. I bite down hard, trying to keep quiet, but every breath sounds too loud.

Then I hear it.

Voices.

They're not close. Maybe a hundred yards upstream. But they're getting closer.

"Cain," I breathe.

He hears it too. He stops, head tilted, listening. Then he turns and looks at me, and for the first time since the whistles started, I see something that might be fear.

"Down," he says.

I don't understand. "What?"

"Get down. Under the water. Now."

"I can't—"

He doesn't wait. He grabs my shoulder and shoves, and suddenly I'm under.

The cold hits like a fist. I try to gasp and get a mouthful of creek water, metallic and bitter. My lungs seize. I thrash, trying to get up, but Cain's hand is locked on my shoulder, holding me down.

I'm going to drown. I'm going to die in a creek in the middle of nowhere, and Derek's going to win after all.

Then I feel it. Cain's thumb, pressing into the muscle of my shoulder. Not hard. Just steady. Like he's saying *I'm here. I've got you.*

I stop thrashing.

The voices get louder. I can hear boots on rocks, the slosh of water. Someone laughs. It's a woman's voice, low and easy.

"Trail stops here," she says.

"She went in the water." A man this time. Younger. "Tracks lead right to the edge."

"Then we follow downstream."

"Vera's going to want a scent confirmation first."

Vera. Cain's mentor. The one he told me about.

I hear them moving closer. My lungs are screaming. Black spots creep in at the edges of my vision. Cain's hand doesn't move.

Then, overhead, a light. Bright and white, sweeping across the water.

It passes over us. I don't know how they don't see us. Maybe the water's too dark. Maybe the ferns hide us just enough. Maybe we're already dead and this is what it feels like.

The light moves on.

"Nothing here," the woman says. "Check the banks."

Footsteps. Moving away.

Cain pulls me up.

I break the surface gasping, choking, water streaming down my face. He clamps a hand over my mouth before I can make a sound. His eyes bore into mine.

*Quiet.*

I nod. He lets go.

We stay frozen in the water. My whole body's shaking now, violent and uncontrollable. Cain's hand is still on my shoulder. I don't know if he's holding me up or holding me down.

The voices fade upstream.

We wait.

And wait.

Finally, Cain moves. He pulls me out of the water, onto the bank, behind a tangle of roots. I collapse against the mud, coughing up creek water, trying not to sob.

He crouches next to me. Doesn't say anything. Just watches the trees.

I should thank him. I should say something. But all I can think about is his hand on my shoulder, the way he held me under, the way he didn't let me go.

Derek used to hold me down too.

But Cain pulled me up.

"Why'd you do that?" I finally whisper.

"Do what?"

"Save me."

He doesn't look at me. "Told you. We're stuck together."

"That's not a reason."

"It's the only reason you're getting."

I want to argue. Want to push. But I'm too cold, too tired, and my lungs still feel like they're full of water.

We sit there in the mud, listening.

The woods are quiet now. No whistles. No voices. Just wind in the trees and the creek babbling past.

Cain stands. Offers me his hand.

I take it.

He pulls me up, and we start moving again, away from the creek, deeper into the trees. My legs barely work. Everything hurts. But I keep going, because what else is there?

We make it maybe fifty yards before we hear it.

A fourth whistle.

Different direction. South, where we just came from.

Cain stops dead.

"No," he says. Just that. *No.*

"What?" My voice cracks. "What does that mean?"

He turns, looking back the way we came. His face is stone. "It means they split up. It means they found something."

"Found what?"

He looks at me. At my hands.

At the blood still smeared across my knuckles.

"They found your trail," he says. "They know you were at the cabin."