After the war, London is in chaos.
Packs are battling it out for dominance in the streets, lycans are killing each other in illegal fight dens. The Royals are being murdered.
All Juliet wants to do is forget - forget Sebastien, forget the wa...
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The street outside was unnervingly quiet.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I glanced around, my gaze sweeping over the shopping centre. There was no sign of anyone — lycan, at least. It was like the fight den had never happened; there was no hum of energy in the air, no crackle of tension lingering like the aftermath of a thunderstorm.
Where the hell are Mia and Thomas?
A shiver of unease ran down the length of my spine.
Pain pulsed through my ribs, my arms, my back — and the effort it took to remain standing left me sore and panting — but I used the pain to ground me. To drown out the panic and anger and noise crowding my head. I tried to breathe as deeply as I could with a damaged lung, pushing back the urge to phase so I could focus on my surroundings.
Concentrate, Juliet.
I had to get back to the apartment. I had to find Theo, we had to... "You have twenty-four hours to leave London safely..."
Panic surged through me.
I pushed back. I couldn't afford to panic — especially not now, when my instincts were screaming that something was very, very wrong. Mia and Thomas should have been waiting out here. There should have been a car — something.
Just get home, Juliet. Get home and find Theo.
I glanced down with a grimace. The darkness hid most of the carnage on my clothes but I knew there was no way in hell I'd be able to flag down a taxi looking the way I did — which, given the stench of blood clinging to me, was going to be a problem. Catching my scent wouldn't be hard.
But what choice do I have?
My trepidation grew as I ventured across the road, my senses on high alert.
I was acutely aware of the fact that I couldn't defend myself in this condition as I hurried onto the path. I was protected from the packs, but that wouldn't stop another stray — or someone I'd provoked — from coming after me.
Or following me...
I made it a few more steps before I sensed movement behind me.
The street was so quiet that even the slightest scrape of feet against the concrete would have raised my internal alarm. I whipped around, my eyes landing instantly on the dark silhouette of a person emerging from another side-street, a few yards away. As they passed under a streetlight, I realised it was a man — someone I didn't recognise — and his eyes were locked on me.
When I caught sight of the gun in his hand, my heart started to race.
