Further complicating matters are a call from the home she left behind and the sudden arrival of a werewolf motorcycle club with ties to her past. An unexpected ally is found with Parker Hayes, a hunter facing down his own demons and searching for a future not based in bloodshed, who inspires feelings she hasn't felt in years.
Amidst the clash between her past and present, Molly finds herself questioning everything she knows about not only those she's meant to protect but the Sentries themselves. Could everything she's been taught be a lie, and if it is, can she protect those she cares about?
The metallic scent in the air made her feel she would never outrun the snarls andhowls that chased her through the woods. Logic pointed out the blood was on her so why wouldn’t they be able to follow? A blink to clear her vision had blood sliding down to replace the sweat beading along her brow. It made her eyes burn but swiping it with the back of her hand was useless. Blood and grime coated her fingers, almost as much as the palms.
A sharp pain stabbed through her stomach, forcing her to double over. One handbraced against her stomach in an attempt to comfort her unborn daughter except the familiar kick didn’t come. She bit back a sob and pushed herself up, beginning to hobble along to the best of her abilities. Her lips moved in a silent prayer, aware of the blood running down her arm in fat globs from the torn mess of her shoulder.
The sound of a triumphant howl raised goosebumps on her flesh as she stumbled forward. Oblivious to the rocks and sticks stabbing the tender soles of her sock-clad feet, she stumbled on and tried to dismiss the sound of running paws and menacing growls that seemed to surround her.
It was faint and distant but ever closer as she ran. Her chest burned with pain, her feet ached, and her own fear threatened to choke her. Blood continued to drip into her eyes, from her shoulder, and onto the ground in a visible trail; however, she had neither the strength nor the time to bother hiding it as her stomach was assaulted with a fresh wave of pain.
Stumbling out of the tree line, she darted toward the house. Every muscle she possessed screamed with agony and her toes burned with numbness from the cold night air. It took everything she had to stumble onto the porch, a hand still searching for a sign of life from her daughter except she felt nothing.
Where there had once been a solid, reassuring kick against her fingers, she felt nothing. A rough sob escaped as she managed to close her blood-stained fingers around the edge of the screen door. It swayed under her touch, slamming the door jam as her hands fell away, and she sank down with a cry of pain.
“Help.” The word came out a hoarse croak as she curled up, forehead against the cool wood and arms curled against her stomach, though the ability to stay conscious became difficult while the door began to open. “Please, help . . . the baby’s coming . . .”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Valerie Evans is a modern fantasy addict living in Georgia who finally took the plunge to self-publish her first novel after nearly seven years. She is the author of The Anberlin Chronicles series and the forthcoming Wolves of Worsham series. In her free time, she likes to read all genres with a focus on fantasy, entertain her very clingy dog, and collect Funkos pops plus journals.