Amber lay there, gasping, dimly aware of the sound of a chain scraping against the ground. Then she was hauled up, and that chain was being wrapped around her neck, and her eyes snapped open and she started to struggle and a fist came in and her thoughts bounced away from her in a flash of white.

She fell to her hands and knees. An engine revved. Her neck was cold. Why was her neck cold? Oh yeah.

The chain.

The bike took off at speed and the chain went tight and Amber was pulled off her hands and knees.

Chapter 24

THE ROAD WAS ANGRY and rough and blurred beneath her as she was dragged along its surface. Her scales rose instantly on her elbows and thighs and on her belly. She grabbed the chain with both hands, tried to stop it from choking her, tried to stop it from pulling her head off. The bike picked up speed. Her sneakers and socks were already gone. She heard her shirt rip. The road snagged at her pants.

She pulled herself forward, then brought her legs in and around until she was sliding along on her ass. The seat of her pants tore away. Her scales scraped. They covered her feet as well, and she put her heels down as she pulled herself, hand over hand, closer to the bike. When she had enough slack, she held on with one hand while the other unwrapped the chain from around her neck. Then she raised herself up, straightening her legs like she was on waterskis.

Despite herself, she grinned.

She risked a glance over her shoulder, made sure the other Hounds weren’t following, and then hurled the chain upwards. It wrapped around a branch and Amber let go, went tumbling into the undergrowth a heartbeat before the chain snapped tight. She expected the bike to be jerked up on to its front wheel. She expected the Hound to be thrown. What she didn’t expect was the thick, heavy branch to snap off like a matchstick and skip and jump down the road after him.

He slowed, then swooped back round.

“Balls,” said Amber, and plunged into the trees.

She caught sight of the farm truck’s lights and started on an intercept course. Behind her, around her, motorcycles revved and roared. She tripped, went flying, scrambled up and ran on, on to the road again. She glimpsed the truck disappearing round the next bend and hurtled into the treeline, always going downwards, letting gravity lend her speed. She crashed into trees and branches and fell again, tripped again, sprawled again, but she was up, always up, and now she could see that the truck was driving towards a building. A farm.