Then suddenly they were going straight down the side of the cliff. Her heart was in her throat. Instead of the road in their path, she saw trees and rocks. Jagged rocks scraped the underbelly of the car raw, the metal screeching and grinding, tree limbs snapping.
For some inane reason, she hated that he was destroying the trees. Forget about what would happen when the car crashed at the bottom of the cliff and resulted in the destruction to their bodies.
Branches tore at the doors, scarring the paint job. The rocks shredded the tires, and they boomed as the air whooshed out of them. Both the windshield and the back window wore spiderweb cracks all across their width, the wipers still sweeping across the windshield, clearing the sleet away only to be covered in the slippery stuff again. The car slammed to a stop, and a jarring jolt crashed through every bone in her body.
It wasn’t over. They were hanging precariously midway down the cliff, hung up on rocks and trees, the only things that kept them from falling any farther. Baird wasn’t moving, his head slumped over the steering wheel.
“Baird,” Calla cried out, torn between wanting to leave the car without him and wanting to ensure he wasn’t going to try anything further to injure her. Her clothes were damp from the run in the sleeting rain, and her head was still pounding furiously.
She leaned forward a little to try to reach him, but the car shuddered, and she realized then how precarious their situation still was.
“Baird,” she said again. She wanted to open the door and jump out and take her chances, but she was afraid any move she made would shake the car loose and send it plummeting to the bottom of the cliff. She saw then that a tree trunk was jammed against her door.
Baird slowly raised his head and groaned. He glanced up at the mirror as if he suddenly remembered her in the backseat, then glanced at the door. She realized before he even swung open his door what he intended to do.
“Nay, Baird, don’t! We can’t move. The car isn’t stable enough, and any slight movement could send us down to the rocks below,” she said.
“Says you,” he said.
Her heart was hammering so hard that she was sure it would break through her ribs any second.
She’d have to climb across the seat to the other passenger door or attempt to maneuver over the driver’s seat to exit through Baird’s door, if he managed to get out. Baird pushed his door open partway, and the car shuddered and slipped and caught, a rock keeping the door from swinging very far and the narrow gap making it difficult for him to squeeze out. He wasn’t wearing a seat belt, but the car was at an odd angle and he was having a time climbing out. She remembered what Cearnach’s car had looked like after Baird’s kin had sent it flying over the cliff. It had turned into a squashed metal can. If she lay on the floor, would she fare better?
The car moved again.
“Bloody hell,” Baird swore as he struggled some more, then managed to fling himself out of the car.
The vehicle slid another five feet or so, and her heart went with it. It ground to another precarious stop.
From the rear window, she could see Baird clinging to a tree, not out of danger yet himself. Then he pulled out his cell phone, moving around to lean his back against the tree to brace himself. “I’m where Cearnach’s car went off the cliff. I need to get picked up on the road south of here. I’m okay, but the car is probably not going to make it.” He glanced back in Calla’s direction.
“I can’t get her out of the car. I don’t know what we’re going to do. I guess we’ll tell the pack I had an accident. Which I did. Tell them that Calla was coming with me and didn’t make it. There’s not much else I can do.” He smiled at Calla, the look pure evil. “Nay. I can’t get her out without risking my own neck.” He listened for a second and said, “Pick me up, Vardon. We’re still in this together.” He slammed his cell in his pocket and began stripping off his clothes.
She got the impression Vardon didn’t like the circumstances any more than she did.
Baird hadn’t even tried to get her out! Did he think the pack would buy his story? And let him get by with it? She hoped that if she didn’t make it, they would deal with him the way she wanted to right this instant.
Ignoring him and concentrating on what she had to do to save herself, she wondered—could she climb the cliff face better as a wolf? Could he? He must have thought so or he wouldn’t be getting ready to shift.
She was afraid to unfasten her seat belt in case the car started moving again. Then she’d be in more danger, thrown through a car window or stuck in the car as it plummeted down the cliff, or no telling what. She heard the sound of tires screeching up above and her heart nearly died. If it was Guthrie and his family coming to rescue her, or really anyone, they could end up sliding off the cliff like Baird, slam their car into Baird’s, and send her crashing to the bottom. Their vehicle would land right on top of Baird’s car…and her.
Then she saw that Baird had shifted and was trying to make his way down the cliff as a wolf. She realized he had to, or face the wrath of Guthrie’s family, if that’s who was up above on the road. Baird was getting away.
She listened for the sound of anything up above.
Silence.
Then the slamming of doors from farther down the road. Running boots pounded on pavement, nearing the location where Baird’s car had sailed over the edge. Three men, it sounded like. Good thing she hadn’t shifted, in the event that whoever was coming wasn’t Guthrie and his kin. Someone else might try to rescue her if she was a woman, but not as a wolf.
Rocks rolled down from above. Gooseflesh erupted all over her skin as the rocks bumped the flattened tires.
“Calla!”
“Guthrie.” She barely whispered his name. “I’m okay!” she shouted. She wasn’t really okay, but she wasn’t exactly injured—except for the new bruise on her temple—and she had to let him know that. But then she was scared for him. What if he slid to his death on the cliffs?
“Don’t move!” he shouted back.
“The car keeps moving,” she said, hating that she couldn’t get out of this by herself like Baird had done. But she would have to do a lot more moving around in the car than he did just to reach a viable exit. Her door was no longer wedged against the tree trunk, but a branch still prevented her from opening the door.
More branches snapped behind her. More rocks skittered down, striking other rocks. She was afraid any one of them would shake the car loose and spell disaster.