Weaken the Knees (The Immortal World Book 6) by Shannon A. Hiner

Author:Shannon A. Hiner [Hiner, Shannon A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-01T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

The higher the sun rose, the harder it was to stand. It crept across the cell much as it had the day prior, inching its way toward her. By afternoon, Rene once again found herself curled tight against the wall.

She was exhausted once it set, from nothing more than holding herself in the tightest ball she could manage. As the last ray disappeared from her cell, Rene collapsed in relief. She didn’t get long to relax. The sound of the prison door opening and footsteps down the stairs put her back on alert. Mind foggy and muscles aching, she still managed to stand up and face whatever the new threat might be.

The dark wolf, the one the other had called Silas, strode down the hall towing an elderly looking woman. Rene’s nose twitched at the scent of death that lingered on the human. More than half her weight was supported on the werewolf’s shoulder as he came to a stop in front of Rene’s cell. The human’s eyes were nearly shut and she seemed to be even more exhausted than Rene.

Rene glanced at the werewolf’s face as he unlocked the cell. Her mind screamed at her to rush him, but her fuzzy senses and aching muscles—not to mention the ankle that was still badly burned—warned she wouldn’t get far. The settlement was filled with werewolves. Healthy, vampire-hating werewolves. In her current state, she didn’t even think she’d get past the first one.

His dark eyes were knowing as he shook his head at her and carefully maneuvered the dying woman into the cell. The tension in his shoulders told her he wasn’t quite sure Rene had come to the same conclusion about her current state of affairs.

Rene hissed at him under her breath, but stayed still.

Closing and locking the cell, he crossed his meaty arms. “I wouldn’t wait long, shadow-lurker. She won’t be fresh much longer.”

“She isn’t fresh now.” Rene’s voice shot across the room like a barbed whip.

He shrugged and walked out of the hall.

Rene stared at the white-haired crone lying weakly against the hard stone wall near the entrance. Dressed in a diaphanous white gown, her hair sticking out at angles and no shoes . . . She looked as though she had just been lifted from a hospital bed and laid down in a nightmare. Her breathing was shallow and labored.

She may have been short on blood, but Rene was not one to be drawn to the scent of death. She craved life, youth, refreshingly hot blood. This poor old woman, this grandmother, held no appeal. Rene felt the base of her fangs aching in spite of that fact, felt her muscles bunching in preparation to pounce. Her body knew what her mind avoided. Blood was blood. She needed strength, she needed to heal. And as the werewolf had said, if she waited too long out of choosiness, she would be sucking cold blood from a dead body.

Tongue too thick in her throat, she gagged at the thought.

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