Ania didn’t feel the cuts along her arms and hands because the terrible agony inside her refused to let up. They were in pursuit of her now, the last of her family. The only person left who could exact revenge. She had to get away. Dimly she heard yelling. Orders. She couldn’t make out the words. She only knew she had to escape. Run. Run so fast she wouldn’t have to know what he was going to tell her.
Her father was dead. Dead. Dead. She was alone in the world and there was no one to blame but herself. She screamed again, the sound bursting from inside her like a terrible storm raging. She climbed onto the railing and leapt, not even hesitating.
Jewel was close to the surface, pushing to take over, trying desperately to help her, but the fury and distress in the leopard only added to the chaos and agony in Ania’s mind. She’d never used her leopard before, not like this, leaping from a second-story balcony. She landed on the roof of the porch, slid, got her feet under her and ran to the edge. No one was below her and she jumped a second time, landing on the ground in a crouch.
A leopard called behind her. This was no challenge but a command, and the adrenaline in her veins increased tenfold. She ran. She had always been a fast runner, but now she called up Jewel, and she ran like the wind. The cool air slapped her face, but it couldn’t remove the stain of guilt. Or the rage. He hadn’t let her try to stop her father from shifting.
She screamed again, lifting her face to the dark, rolling clouds, allowing Jewel to take charge while she cried. While the tears blurred her vision. He’d always stopped when she called to him. Always. She might have found the right doctor to save him. She’d contacted so many. She hadn’t cared whether they were the doctors Antosha had approved. He was all she had left. He’d fought to live. He wanted to live. He’d told her so a million times.
She ran as if the devil was behind her, heading across the rolling grades, away from the Amurov land. Her closest neighbor was miles away, but she knew her property. She’d grown up there and she knew every acre. She knew the trees and brush. She had a good chance of escaping.
As she ran, she tried to clear her head. She always had a plan. She always thought clearly. She couldn’t seem to slow her brain. It was looping through her head, a white noise that wouldn’t stop. Just ahead of her, a man stepped out of the brush. He wore only a loose pair of jeans. She skidded to a halt, recognizing him instantly. Sevastyan.
He held up his hand. “Take a breath, Ania. Everything is going to be all right.” His tone was soothing. He was deliberately trying to calm her.
“Stay away from me!” she cautioned, yelling. Her throat hurt.
She turned away from him, ran a few feet and had to stop as Vikenti stepped out of the tree line, still zipping his jeans. There was sweat on his body. She felt drops running down her skin to pool in the valley between her breasts. Her arms were wet. Slick. She glanced down at her arms. In the dark of the night, with only a pale bit of moon desperately trying to come out from behind the clouds, her arms looked shiny, almost black.
Vikenti did the same thing Sevastyan had done. Holding his hand palm out, he stepped toward her, cutting her off from that direction. “Sweetheart, you know me. Take a breath. Your leopard is out of control and only you can get her to stop.”
Her vision was blurred, and she didn’t know if it was the weird way she was seeing, in bands of color that wavered, or the liquid in her eyes she couldn’t quite get rid of. Her body hurt. Her lungs. Mostly her arms.
She shook her head and eyed the two men warily. Sevastyan was walking toward her with slow, unhurried steps. Vikenti did the same.
“Don’t come any closer. Stay away from me.” She didn’t recognize her own voice. It was low, husky. She wanted to rake at them, scream, strike back.
Ania whirled around and ran in the opposite direction, running toward the Amurov estate. It was the only way open to her if she wasn’t going back to the house and disaster. She would have to face the truth, and she couldn’t. Not when chaos, rage and guilt ruled her mind. She had no plan. No idea what she was doing. Nothing made sense.
“Ania, stop.” Just ahead, Zinoviy was hopping around, dragging on his jeans for her modesty, and coming toward her. Slowly. He gave her a tentative smile. “Honey, I know you’re upset. You have every right to be . . .”