“Do you remember your name?” A woman’s voice echoes in my mind.
My eyes open. Fluorescent lights stare back at me from the ceiling as my surroundings begin to register. I am lying on a steel gurney, wearing a dingy set of medical scrubs.
“Nelson. Nelson Duran.” I cock my head at the sound of my own voice. Is that right?
I was surrounded. There, atop the ruins of what was once a great symbol of power, I lifted my hands in surrender.
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He wants to dig up the body.
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper to my father beneath the light of the moon.
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The man came to a stop in a beam of sunlight struggling through the dust-smeared windowpane, and the glow peeled a mask of shadow off his face, revealing white skin pulled tightly over his skull and teeth visible through paper-thin lips.
I clutched the countertop to keep from staggering. Okay. Not Indy. “What are you?”
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Only someone with a death wish would risk trespassing on werewolf territory during the full moon, but Tari was good as dead anyway.
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The firm, resounding thunder of combat boots fills the tunnel, a drumroll announcing my impending doom. A moment later, boot tips stop a breath away from me. I listen as the beats between sound waves stretch, the peaks falling into stillness.
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