Night Falls on the Wicked - By Sharie Kohler Page 0,14

Their howls filled the air in a terrible cacophony of sound. They toyed with her. They could have had her by now. She was sure of this.

Elation filled her as suddenly lights appeared ahead, dipping and rising with the undulating road. Headlights. Someone was coming. Adrenaline shot through her, mingling with a sudden burst of joy, the wild hope for survival.

She was moving again, her arms pumping hard, her legs faster. She was going to be all right.

“Hey!” she cried, her voice wild in the suddenly silent air. She waved her arms violently over her head.

The night held its breath all around. No more howls. The trees were still. The only sound she heard was the low hum of the distant car approaching and the rush of blood in her overexerted veins.

She slowed to a stop. Bending at the waist, she pressed her hands against her thighs and squinted, peering intently into the press of foliage, into the sparkling snow and ice-covered undergrowth.

Nothing. They were gone. Nothing lurked there except the bite of a late-clinging winter. They must have heard the car coming. She was going to be okay. She released a shuddery laugh, straightening.

Then the trees shifted, something moved, and she realized she wasn’t staring at the glint of ice upon trees at all, but a pair of silver eyes.

The thing moved so fast she couldn’t process, couldn’t absorb. She only knew that it wasn’t a wolf coming at her.

And then there was nothing else.

DARBY JERKED FROM SLEEP with a sharp gasp, lurching upright in her bed to the usual sounds of her apartment. The rattling heater fighting to work, the steady click of the wall clock, the creak of the mattress springs as she shifted her weight.

And another sound. An unfamiliar sound. It scraped down her spine and she shivered beneath the heavy bedding.

She cocked her head and listened, absorbed the sound of the fading scream that seemed to stretch and hold itself above familiar noises like the fading note of a guitar string.

She reached for her lamp and pulled the chain. A yellow glow instantly flooded the small room. She flung back the thick shroud of blankets that cocooned her, instantly missing the baking warmth of her electric blanket as she hopped down.

Driven by the ghost of that scream, its echo rattling around in her head like a loose marble, she darted across the room to the window that faced Main Street, her fuzzy socks protecting her from the worst of the cold wood floor. She really needed to ask Sam for a rug.

Pressing hands flat against the bitter-cold glass, she stared out the window at the silent street. Her breath fogged the glass and she wiped it clean with a squeak of her fingertips.

The snow-covered mountains stretched in a wide, jagged outline against the ink-dark night. She scanned the street as if she could somehow see the source of that shriek. There was more light than usual. She looked to the night sky. A full moon stared down at her. Her breath caught in her throat.

Nothing stirred out there in the vast whiteness of the town, and she began to wonder if she’d heard the scream at all. Or had it been in her head, a wisp of a nightmare? Maybe tonight’s run hadn’t been enough protection, after all.

Surely there’d be light from other windows along the street if it had been real. Mr. Gilberry, the barber across the street, lived in his shop. How could he have slept through that terrible sound? There had to be someone else concerned, curious. Someone …

And then she saw him, a shadowy figure out late on a night when everyone else remained warm indoors, snug and safe. When every other soul was in bed, this figure was strolling the sidewalk with a steady, purposeful pace, as if waiting for someone. Or something.

As though he felt her stare, he stopped and turned. His gaze swung up, directly to her window and into her eyes. A small shiver rushed over her. Her chest grew tight, her breath hard to catch. Instantly, she knew him.

Even across the distance his eyes glowed. She felt those indigo eyes like a stroke, a touch against her shivery skin.

Before she had a chance to turn from the window and pretend she didn’t notice him, a distant howl floated on the air. Others joined in, the sound awful and eerie.

She tried to peer down the far length of the street to the single blinking stoplight. She didn’t