“Crap,” she muttered, hurrying to stand. All the blood rushed to her head and she wobbled forward.
Sam would absolutely leave her, especially if she’d hooked up with someone. Granted, she’d be an enormous fool to drive drunk, especially on the small, winding road out of this place, but if she’d sobered up and taken off, Charity would be screwed.
She peered in a window as she passed. No one waited in the darkened room. No shapes writhed in the corners or on the couch. But there were a ton of rooms in that house—hopefully the rest weren’t deserted.
She rounded the house, but instead of heading for the front door, she hobbled down the driveway to the line of parked cars, thankfully about as full as when they’d first shown up. A bird blared out a warning, this one from the poolside of the house. Either it sensed her, or someone else was wandering around the area. She hoped for the latter. People awake meant a chance at a ride out of here. A couple of them went to the same school, after all. They’d probably live in a similar area.
Halfway down the line of cars and the bumper of Sam’s Porsche peeked out around an Audi. Charity’s sigh of relief felt like it came up from her toes. Sam wouldn’t leave her car behind. She was still here.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Charity jumped and slapped a hand to her chest, where her heart was trying to break free and sprint away. A guy drifted out of the darkness. Graceful and covered in lean muscle, he reminded her of the guys hanging out with Devon. She didn’t remember seeing his face, but then, she’d barely glanced at anyone but Devon.
“Once you go in, you don’t come out,” he said, his voice low and rough and full of menace. Danger radiated from him, that predatory essence she’d been encountering a lot lately.
Her small hairs stood on end and warning vibrated through her body.
“Wh-what?” she asked. She minutely shook her head, trying to get her thoughts back on track. “Look, bud, I don’t want any trouble. I’m only out here to check on my ride situation.”
“You haven’t completed the change yet, have you?” He continued to stroll closer, his energy advertising his vicious intent.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She ambled backward, pissed that she didn’t have a change of footwear. She’d never fought in heels before, especially unforgiving, abnormally uncomfortable heels, but she’d do what she had to.
“No?” He increased his pace, not about to let her get away. His button-up shirt drifted to the sides of his defined chest, but his advance wasn’t sexual. “How many cups of elixir did you drink?”
“I don’t drink,” she said. Moving backward was slowing her down, but she wasn’t about to turn her back on this guy.
He cocked his head, and in the dim lighting, she could just see his eyes narrow. “Now, now, you don’t need to lie to me. You already smell different.”
“Now you’re talking crazy.” She gritted her teeth against the pain of blisters forming from the shoes and pushed faster, twenty yards from the house and ten from him. Except he kept gaining on her.
“You should’ve stayed in the nest until you morphed. You would’ve had a better chance. But it’s better this way. I’ll kill you quick and easy. It’ll be painful for you, I won’t lie, but at least it won’t be prolonged, right? I don’t even need to change to do it.”
Her heart quickened, which was amazing, because it was already beating a mile a minute. She took long strides just short of a run, knowing he’d probably spring into action as soon as she tried to book it. She needed to distract him until she could make a fast hobble-sprint into the house and scream for help.
“Why are you loitering outside, anyway?” she asked, turning for a few fast steps before glancing back. Sure enough, he’d jogged a couple of steps forward. Her breathing harried, she nearly wanted to stop and strip off the heels, but she didn’t have time. He’d be on her before the first buckle was through the loop.
His thin lips pulled up into a sneer. “Waiting for you, of course.”
She shook her head. Fifteen yards to the house, five from him. She’d never make it. She’d need to stand her ground, get in a hard shot to a vulnerable area—eye, throat, or groin—and then hobble-sprint.
She stopped and faced him, her feet planted and her hands out, pretending to ward off his advance. He’d think she was helpless, lose his wary edge, and give her an easy in.
She hoped.
“I don’t even know you,” she said, allowing fear to ride in her voice. Playing into her role as a helpless damsel in distress.
“Did you even ask what was in that drink?” he asked, his energy becoming eager. He sensed blood about to be spilled and it excited him.