She felt it. The energy flowed through the ground, the air. It flowed through her battered body, through her trickling blood – it would have forced her to shift if she wasn’t already in demon form. Through the trees, from where she was hiding, she saw what it did to Benjamin. In the moonlight, she could see how tall he had gotten. His skin looked red, a dirtier red than her own, and he was standing straight. He looked bigger, healthier. Stronger. He held the rifle with the butt resting on his hip. His laugh drifted up to her.

“Amberrrr …” he called, like they were playing a game.

Gritting her teeth, she started moving again, no longer going up the hill, but circling him, doing her best to get back to the farmhouse. She needed his truck. She needed to get away.

She lost sight of him, but every few seconds he’d call her name, allowing her to track his position. So far, it was working. She was moving sideways and he was moving up. Hopefully, he’d keep going. Hopefully.

She almost fainted. The blackness came on so suddenly that it rocked her. But she kept her eyes open, fought against it, and the feeling passed and when she looked up she could see the farmhouse. Along the side was a tall stack of chopped wood, held in place by an old gate Benjamin had rigged up. Beside the gate was a large wooden block with an axe buried in it. The last time she’d swung an axe, the Narrow Man had taken it away from her. This time would have to be different.

Amber was thirsty. God, she was so thirsty.

She started down, finding it hard to keep her weight on her injured leg. The uneven ground made things a whole lot worse. She slipped, nearly went tumbling, but lunged sideways, managed to slam her shoulder against a tree to stop her fall, managed to keep from howling in agony. She clung on, biting her lip against the pain, and once she was steady she listened.

Benjamin wasn’t calling her name anymore.

She couldn’t wait. Time was against her. Every moment that passed was another precious drop of blood. Holding on to the tree, Amber moved round it, let go, allowed her lead leg to slip through the dirt. Controlling her descent, she reached out, snagged a branch, snagged another one. Down here the ground was firmer and she was walking again – well, limping – and she got to the next tree and took a moment, scanning her surroundings, listening for Benjamin.

All she heard was the wind and her own heartbeat and, in the distance, gunshots. And screams.

The axe was maybe ten steps across open ground. Ten limping steps across open ground. Amber didn’t have a choice. She stepped out of cover, started for the farmhouse.

“Boo,” Benjamin said from behind her.