I hurried to the end of the Row and down the exit steps before pausing to look in either direction before taking a guess and heading right. The knives’ pulsing sharpened abruptly.

Overhead, thunder rumbled ominously, and my skin prickled with its power and the awareness of the storm. I hurried on, gaze sweeping the street, looking for a shimmer in the air or some other indication I was drawing nearer to the man and the woman. Still nothing.

Another rumble, louder and closer, and this time the force of it rolled through me, otherworldly and fierce. For one heady moment, my senses sharpened, and I saw not only the bubble of distortion that was the shadow shield, but the vague outline of a figure within it; a figure that was running at pace and carrying another.

He was fast. Shifter fast.

I swore again and ran after them. As I did, the storm unleashed and the rain hit, a deluge of water that not only made it difficult to see but the old cobblestones dangerously slippery. But at least it would cover the noise I was making.

Lightning split the dark skies. In that brief but fierce illumination, I again spotted the bubble and its occupants. They were turning left into the lane up ahead.

Behind me, someone shouted my name, but I paid them no attention. I didn’t have the time to pause or even risk a look behind me. If I slipped, I’d lose my quarry for sure.

The lane was narrow and lined with old and rather unglamorous-looking brick buildings. A small parking area dominated the far end, and there were three cars parked down there. As I sprinted after my quarry, headlights came on, bathing the lane in light and ripping the shadows from the stranger.

He was whip-thin and bald, and carrying the woman like she was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. The way her head was flopping about had me worrying about neck injuries—but unless I stopped the shifter before he reached that vehicle, neck injuries might be the least of her worries.

The stranger must have finally realized I was behind him, because he looked briefly over his shoulder. He didn’t seem all that concerned to see me, and a second later, I realized why. Something—someone—barreled into my side and sent me flying. I hit the road hard and skidded along the wet stones for several meters, my breath leaving in a painful whoosh. The air stirred around me, whispering of incoming movement—which it could have fucking done before I’d been tackled.

I scrambled upright and turned to face the man who’d sent me flying. He was large, fast, and furious, but he never reached me a second time, because suddenly there was someone between us. Someone my hormones recognized even if I couldn’t see his face. A second later, my attacker was on the ground, the rain washing the blood pouring from his mashed nosed down his cheeks and onto the stony ground as he howled in agony.