I don’t hesitate. It’ll take him a minute, maybe two to get out of the busy lot, even if the light is green. Hauling ass through the trees, I sprint for the parking lot of the motel and my own bike.
The fucker isn’t getting away.
I dart across the street, narrowly avoiding a collision with a Jeep. The driver honks and yells something obscene out his open window, but I keep running. I’ve got my senses turned up, shifter hearing on high. Harleys are loud. They’ve got engines that roar, so they’re not the kind of bike you want when you’re trying to outrun someone.
They’re also not as fast as my Ducati.
I sail onto the back of my bike and get it in gear in the blink of an eye, before I whip out of the parking lot on a squeal of tires. Down by the strip mall, Kian’s Harley is just pulling through the red light, turning away from the motel toward the empty highway.
I look both ways, then run two red lights—earning a few irritated honks for my disrespect of traffic laws—and take a right onto the street behind him. Once I’m past the strip mall, the traffic thins.
So I open the throttle and speed.
The wind whips around me, and my long hair snags at my face and neck. Away from civilization, the air smells wild, like freedom and fir trees and the musk of dead things. I close the distance between our bikes and grin like a fool because I’ve got the faster one. There’s not a chance in hell he’s going to outrun me.
Four lanes merge to two. Even though there are fewer cars here as we leave Oscura behind, we still pass a few traveling the speed limit. Kian whips around them in the emergency lane, and I follow suit, praying I’m not about to blow a tire on a stray nail or broken glass.
We leave behind the outskirts of the town for open desert filled with shrubs and lined by low hills painted red in the sunset. Another couple miles down the road, the desert gives way to deciduous forest, thick with spruce and fir trees.
He has to stop eventually. I’ve got a full tank of gas. I can go all night.
But then Kian veers off the road.
I cringe at the way his bike’s suspension bounces over the rough embankment. Harleys aren’t made for off-roading any more than they’re made for speed.
My Ducati flies down the embankment like a goddamn champ, and I speed after him into the trees. It’s the end of the road—literally. There’s no path here. Only thickening undergrowth, giant tree trunks, and wilderness. Birds scatter from us, screeching their discontent to the forest. I bounce over a small fallen tree, then barrel right into a thicket of dead thorns, cringing at the paint damage. A sharp branch lashes at my cheek, and heat flares where it cut me, but I keep going.
I’ll always keep going.
Kian brakes suddenly, letting his bike lay down on its side in the undergrowth. As it slides to a stop, he leaps off with deadly grace. Before he even hits the ground, he’s shifted to wolf.
Motherfucker.
I really don’t want to damage my bike more than necessary, but I want to catch Kian more. So I mimic his movements, laying down my bike and then using it as leverage to launch into the undergrowth before it can pin me beneath it.
When I hit the ground, I’m on four paws. I allow myself a brief second of despair for my destroyed leather jacket, then zoom after him.
The sun’s hanging so low on the horizon that it’s already night inside the trees. That works to my advantage, given my near-perfect night vision in wolf form.
Of course, that means Kian has the same advantage.
Kian’s huge, muscular wolf crashes through the forest much faster than I expected. But despite his speed, he’s loud. I can hear every thundering beat of his paws on the dirt, and the undergrowth rattles beneath him. I keep my vision trained on him, but I focus on my hearing.
Even if I lose sight, I won’t lose him.
Then he stumbles.
It’s luck. Pure dumb fuckery of luck. The wolf stumbles over something on the ground, and he goes down hard. Kian rolls twice and lands with his legs splayed.
I’m on top of him before he can stand.
I latch my teeth to his scruff and use my momentum to throw him over my body. He slams into a nearby tree trunk, all the air expelling from his lungs. The blow doesn’t stun him for long. He’s on his feet with a low, furious growl before I can follow.
We leap at each other, teeth snapping. I grab hold of his ear and shake my head with the intent to rip it the fuck off. His teeth grab the soft underside of my neck and tighten on my windpipe without breaking skin. I hold out as long as I can, but I need to breathe. So I release his ear and back away with a snarl.
Kian stands his ground, teeth bared. But he doesn’t make a move to attack. We eye each other in the dim light, and I feel like he’s taking the measure of me.
I’ve already measured him and found him wanting.