Chapter Seven
Ryan’s phone rang as he was driving out of the building. He glanced at caller ID. It was Winter, and he ignored the call. A few seconds later, another call. This time, it was Graham. He ignored that one as well, then switched off his phone and tossed it onto the passenger seat.
Light snow was falling as he drove though the city. His brain scrambled to come up with a plan, but he couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact that Marissa had his nephew.
What the hell was he supposed to do? That bitch hated him. No way would she let Liam go, even if Ryan did turn himself over to her. He needed a plan and his brain wouldn’t work. Christ, he’d thought he was doing so well, keeping his distance from Liam.
He was out of London now and on the M25, circling the city. It would take him at least four hours to reach his old hometown of Kendal.
Resting his head against the seat, he stared out into the darkness. The snow was getting thicker as he headed north, big fat flakes that swirled and splatted against the windshield. The roads were quiet, but he slowed his speed to a crawl. If he crashed, he was fucked. And Liam was dead. If he was stopped for speeding, then Liam was dead. Hell, likely Liam was dead anyway.
A car had slid across the road, blocking the exit from the motorway, and he sat for an age, waiting for it to clear. He could feel his anger and frustration rising. Nothing he did would ever be enough.
He’d failed his sister. Now he was failing Liam.
He was guessing Sally had planned to tell him she was sick last Christmas. Instead, he’d been attacked, and he’d never spoken to her again. Stage four breast cancer. By the time she went to the doctor, it was too late for anyone to do anything for her. The sad part was, if she had told him, he could have saved her. Roz was a witch and a healer. She would have cured his sister.
Sally had left him a letter…and the guardianship of his nephew. In the letter, she’d asked him to keep a watch over Liam. She’d said he was a good boy and asked Ryan to try and see that Liam had a better life. How the hell was he supposed to do that? He was a newly turned vampire. He didn’t even know the boy. And he’d convinced himself that Liam was better off without him.
He’d contacted an old school friend, one of the only people he’d kept in touch with after he left. Steve had been his best friend at school, and he’d also joined the police force, albeit the local one. He’d married his childhood sweetheart straight out of school, and they had four children. Which meant they were always short of money. Ryan had offered him an obscene amount to take Liam into his home for the next three years until the boy was eighteen.
He’d done his best. So why did he always feel guilty when he thought of his nephew? Why did he feel he should have done more? Now it was probably too late.
And in that moment, he swore that if they got out of this, he was going to be part of Liam’s life.
At last he was finally moving again. The snow was thickening. He switched on the radio to get a weather report. Fucking “Jingle Bells” was playing, and he switched it off again.
The swirling snow was almost mesmerizing, together with the rhythmic whir of the windshield wipers. He couldn’t see far in front of him, and he kept his gaze fixed on the road directly ahead. He seemed to be getting nowhere after driving for hours.
Lights flared in his rearview mirror. A vehicle was coming up behind him, fast. A big vehicle. Probably some sort of lorry, from the height of the lights. He waited for it to slow down, but instead, it just got closer. There was nothing else on the road. Why the hell didn’t they just pass him if they wanted to be total arseholes and drive too fast in these conditions? He flashed his lights to encourage them to go around him. But they were still coming.
He squinted. The lights were almost blinding him now. At the last minute, he realized they weren’t going to slow down, and he jammed his foot on the gas pedal. The SUV leaped forward, but it was too late. The truck rammed into him from behind. He fought with the wheel as his car skidded. Then he was rammed again. He hit a bend in the road and he was sliding sideways. Somehow, he gained control once more and grabbed his phone, switched it on, and pressed speed dial. He was pretty sure that he wasn’t coming out of this alive. But he wanted someone to know what had happened. Winter was going to be pissed. Looked like she’d failed as a bodyguard. He hoped Piers wouldn’t be too hard on her.
“Graham?”
“Where the hell are you? I’ve been—”
“I’m just north of junction 26 on the M1, and I’m about to crash.”
His car was rammed again, and this time, it left the road. He was skidding sideways, and he dropped the phone and grasped the wheel. But the tires could get no traction, and then he was rolling. Down the steep bank. Over and over.
He blacked out for a moment. Or longer. He couldn’t tell.
The cool, soft caress of snow falling on his skin brought him around. When he opened his eyes, he was upside down in the overturned vehicle, hanging from the seat belt. The windshield was shattered, and the thick sweet scent of blood filled his nostrils. For once, the scent didn’t raise his hunger, probably because it was his own. He felt no pain, but blood was dripping from a wound on his forehead. And gushing from a cut on his right arm. He felt around with his left hand, fumbling for his phone, but couldn’t find it.
Hell, he was going to die here. And then Liam would die.
No way.
He knew enough about werewolves to know that if he shifted, he would heal himself. Inside him, his wolf clawed down his sides, howling to be free. But Ryan didn’t know how to let him loose.
He breathed deeply, calming himself. He needed to get out and away from the vehicle. Whoever had forced him from the road would no doubt come and finish the job. But when he tried to pull himself free, his right hand was useless, his arm almost sliced through.
Shit.
The wound would heal, given time. And he’d recover…if he got food. But he suspected time was not something he had much of.
Which meant he needed to free himself right now, grab some blood from the trunk, and get the hell out of here.
He peered through the broken windshield and up the embankment. A lorry was parked up on the hard shoulder and two figures passed in front of the headlights. They were coming for him.
But there was something else.
He heard a siren in the distance, getting louder, and saw flashing lights. The vehicles were closing in and the figures hesitated. They were talking together, and then they retreated. A minute later, the lorry pulled away, and a minute after that, a police car halted just above him. Then another. And an ambulance. Graham had managed to call in the cavalry.
It looked like he would live to see another day—well, another night, at least. His wolf whimpered. Ryan relaxed his hold on his control and felt the encroaching darkness. He needed to stay conscious, but the strength was seeping from him with the steady flow of his blood.
Flashlights headed down the embankment. He fixed his gaze on the lights, trying to keep his eyes open, but his lids were heavy. He was cold, but then he was always cold. At the thought, heat flared inside him.
Sleep, he whispered.
And his wolf slept.
He relaxed his control and the darkness took him.