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hours. Screeching tires again interrupted my horror, and the sedan skidded beside me before I could do much more than scramble away from the body. The killers had managed to lose the cops, and now they'd returned to retrieve the body.
    They hadn't bargained on having a witness.
    The cold-cocking of guns set my body on fire.
    It also did something worse. With mortal fear gripping me, my imminent Change refused to take second place anymore. My body churned the fear and my Panther grasped at the visceral power of the adrenalin in my veins.
    I ran.
    A gunshot echoed around the garden, the sound ping-ponging off the aging brick walls of the surrounding apartment buildings.
    I gasped as a blast of searing pain slammed into me, as a bullet buried itself deep within my shoulder.
     
    ***
     

Chapter 5
    I crashed through the lot, leaving countless well-loved plants and flowers smashed in my wake. The Rehab Center backed onto a communal garden, through which I now ran headlong, desperate to get to the safety of my office.
    I flinched as a bullet whizzed by, so close to my ear I could smell the heat of the spinning metal, could feel the scorched air move against my skin as it missed its mark. A second slug plummeted into a bed of chives inches behind me. Dashing through a line of wilting delphiniums, I dove for the safety of the shadows. The back wall of the Center simmered in pitch darkness, sufficient cover as I stumbled inelegantly up the short flight of stairs to the rear entrance.
    No time or courage to look back.
    When I reached into my hip pocket for the keys, pain coursed through my shoulder. Damn . I curled my right hand around my abdomen, struggling a little before I managed to fish my keys out without dropping them, a miracle in itself considering my shaking fingers.
    Another bullet buried itself into the wall next to me, spewing a cloud of fine dust onto the stairs. I ducked too late, and grimaced. An inch to the right and I would've been pleading my case to the good Lady Ailuros, hoping for her kindest mercy.
    My hands trembled from the spiking agony in my shoulder. Thick night plastered the building, hiding me from the shooters. As I bent to jiggle the key into the rusty lock I felt blood warm my back, thick and slick.
    I wasn't scared.
    Of course not. I'd just witnessed the death of a Walker, seen the result of his horrible torture. I'd also just been shot in the back by a couple of morons who couldn't shoot straight.
    My fingers shook so much the key wouldn't slide into the damned lock.
    Nope, not scared at all.
    Visions of meeting an undignified end, splattered across the back door of the Center, teased the edges of my mind. I was way too young to die like this, not to mention way too smart to have gotten into a situation like this in the first place. Sure, I hunted the ruthless wraiths, and killed them too. But what use were my poisoned arrows and fighting fists against the blaze of bullets?
    I gasped as another murderous metal missile struck a foot from the door. No use counting rounds—two shooters, and no idea how much firepower or ammo they packed.
    Just move.
    I groaned in relief when the door swung open. Slipping inside, I pulled it shut behind me, waited until the lock clicked, then raced up the dark stairwell at breakneck speed. My boots echoed on the concrete steps, disorienting and slightly disconcerting. Down the hall I fled, pain and my Panther fighting for priority.
    My jelly knees quivered, and I made it only as far as the end of the hallway. I bent over, holding onto the wall, waiting for my legs to behave, trying to catch my thunderous breath. The wall felt cool beneath my fingers, a stark reminder that my body burned, on fire with need. Agony spiked my wounds, fed my urge to change, fired my Panther's desire for release.
    This wasn't the usual way my hunts ended. My conscience flicked me an admonition as my mind's eye drew an image of my dad, his scowl shadowed by his graying eyebrows. He wouldn't