MacRieve (Immortals After Dark) Read Online Free PDF Page A

sanity and—equally important—this game.
    “T-Rex!”
    Chloe jerked her head around. She had missed a pass, missed the entire tide of the game changing. And now Handbagger had the ball, charging across the midfield, about to pass to her own striker. . . .
    Eyes narrowed, Chloe ran down the woman, giving her a two-foot slide, tackling the living hell out of her from behind.
    “You twat!” Handbagger screeched, just as the ref blew the whistle.
    Dirty tackle. Yellow-carded. Shit!
    Coach went ballistic on the sidelines; Handbagger got a free kick in scoring range.
    As the woman positioned the ball, Chloe told herself she couldn’t fix her dad’s breakdown right now—all she could do was finish the few minutes left of this future-making game.
    Dad was the one who’d taught her to focus, to stand her ground and see things through when the going got tough.
    The keeper snagged Handbagger’s missile— aww, too bad —then punted it into Breaker territory.
    One of her midfielders fed Chloe a hospital ball, a pass that would likely result in injury.
    She charged for it anyway with Handbagger breathing down her neck. The bitch slid, knocking Chloe off the ball and onto her ass. Chloe’s ankle twisted. Handbagger couldn’t resist a late hit, a nice elbow to the throat.
    No whistle? As Chloe scrambled up, she raised her hands in a WTF gesture. Tied game, two minutes left in regulation—she didn’t have time for this shit. The crowd booed, but the ref gazed on stonily.
    Trying to shake it off, Chloe trotted to position, wincing as her ankle began swelling up like a balloon.
    She ignored the pain, repeating to herself, Rub some dirt on it.
    For all of Chloe’s life, coaches had been telling her that in response to everything from a skinned knee to a concussion. It was coach-speak for Grin and bear it, or I’ll send in second string.
    The saying had become her life view. Bad practice? Rub some dirt on it. Fender bender? Rub some dirt on it. It’d turned into an optimistic catchphrase that allowed her to grit her teeth at any obstacle, and muster an I’m just happy to be here, Coach smile. It made her hunt hard for an upside.
    Her dad going loco was hovering outside the realm of dirt rubbing. There was no upside. He was all the family she had in the world.
    Concentrate, Chlo. Focus.
    But just as she finally settled in and got her head back in the game, from the other end of her dad’s phone call came a . . . roar —the most terrifying animal roar she’d ever imagined. Chills breaking out on her sweating skin, she swung her head toward her father.
    Then stood there, in the middle of the field with thousands of spectators, gaping in shock.
    Because when Dad had heard that sound, he’d smiled —
    A toe-kicked ball took her square in the face like a cannon shot. Her body was sent airborne. Pitched onto her back, she lay there dazed, watching the stadium lights swirl above her as the crowd grew quiet.
    Rub some dirt on it. Upside? She now had her dad’s full attention, his call disconnected, and the wolf’s haunting roar was no more.



TWO
Orleans Parish, Louisiana
    ONE HOUR EARLIER
    Never let it be said that you doona drive like an ace,” Will told the three-thousand-year-old mad Valkyrie in the driver’s seat beside him, “but if we’re in a hurry, perhaps driving in reverse is no’ the best solution?”
    Nïx the Ever-Knowing was doing about twenty miles per hour in the left lane on the Lake Pontchartrain bridge section of I-10. Backward.
    She was slinking along with the flow of traffic, somewhat, but the headlights of her abused Bentley were beaming the driver following them.
    To navigate, she used the rear-view mirror—and bloody foresight, for all he knew.
    Though vehicles were backed up for miles behind her, she seemed oblivious. Cars would pass, their bellowing drivers shooting her the bird—until they got a look-see at the hot mess that was Nucking-Futs Nïx.
    She was preternaturally beautiful but