Page 35 of Brandon’s Mate

Back at the Inn, Kitty dropped one of Brandon’s twenties on the bar and headed for the back exit. She took the fire stairs up to the third floor, walking as quietly as possible, and then peeked out the fire door into the hallway.

No crows.

She was halfway down the hall to her room when the elevator doors opened and two leather-clad Talons walked out.

They all froze, and then Kitty turned and ran for the stairs. She could take them, but she wasn’t doing it in the middle of a hotel hallway. Too public.

She banged through the fire door and, after a split-second hesitation, ran up. The stairs turned every half-flight, with landings in between, and she swung around the first corner and crouched behind the balustrade, peering down between the thin metal rods.

The Talons burst through the door and paused at the top of the stairs, looking down. Kitty flipped herself over the railing and kicked the back one squarely between the shoulder blades.

He cannoned into the other one and they went tumbling down the stairs, slamming into the wall at the next landing.

Kitty dropped onto the steps and then flipped herself over the lower railing to the next flight down, bypassing the crows. While they were swearing and trying to untangle themselves, she hiked her hip onto the bannister and slid down. Around the corner, jump, slide. Repeat until she hit the bottom.

There was a fire exit there and she dashed through it, setting off the alarm.

Good. The confusion should give her enough time to get away.

She ran for the Catalina, parked in an out-of-the-way corner under a tree. Thank goodness she’d been too tired to put the top up.

She just hoped they hadn’t staked that out, too.

She got lucky—or else they’d run out of manpower. There was nobody on the Catalina. She vaulted into the driver’s seat and started it up just as two of the Talons burst out the front entrance of the inn.

She backed up, did a slide turn and took off in a squeal of tires.

She headed for the highway. The more lights and people there were, the less likely it was the Talons would try anything—assuming they were following her. Oddly enough, though, it didn’t seem like they were.

Why would they go to all the trouble to come after her, and then not follow?

She found a gas station and pulled in. Taking the scanner from her glove compartment, she flicked it on and circled the car.

It beeped when it she got near the right rear wheel well.

Kitty knelt down and felt around until she found the tracker, attached to the inside of the wheel well. Not bad for amateurs, but not good enough.

The lone customer pumping gas had an Ohio license plate. She waited for him to go inside and pay, and then she meandered over by his car, dropped her purse, and slipped the tracker on his car as she bent over and picked it up.

Following him should send the Talons on a hell of a wild-goose chase. She’d heard Ohio was nice this time of year.

Then she went back to the Catalina, put Brandon’s address into the GPS on her phone, and headed back to Farville.

Half an hour later, she’d stocked up on supplies and was driving down Sawmill Road past the garage, looking for number 86.

She almost missed it; the mailbox was lying down at the edge of the road, looking like it had been knocked down a few times and probably run over.

Tall trees rose above her on either side. The leaves rustled as if they were telling secrets, and she could smell fresh damp earth and tiny creatures running in the woods.

A feeling of peace came over her.

This is a good place, her wolf said. Let’s go running.

Not our territory, she said. We don’t know what’s out here.

But she felt it too. Something calling to her, here in this place. Something that felt like home.

The driveway wound through the trees and ended in a large cleared area with a scraggly, overgrown lawn. The house was huge—a regular mansion—but it was practically falling down, although the porch light was on and one of the windows was lit up. It was almost welcoming—if you squinted.