Hard to reach? Henry scoffed at his laziness. More like he would’ve had to climb inside and leave DNA at a crime scene.

  Henry swore under his breath and pressed his fingers into his right leg. It ached, but there was no blood and he thought nothing was broken. Maybe it was the adrenaline clouding his old brain.

  Unclipping his seatbelt, he dragged himself over the front seats, his knee catching on the gearstick as he wriggled his way out of the pretzel that used to be his car. Finally tumbling out of the passenger side door, he crawled along the grass towards a clearing near the side of the highway.

  Looking back at the wreck, Henry shook his head in surprise. The ute had not only cleared a barbed wire fence, but it’d bent around the gum tree, the heavy metal shell curving like a banana, forcing the driver’s seat away from the brunt of the carnage.

  He had to give it to the olden days. The ute, as much of a pile of junk as it was, had saved his life. Modern cars crumpled and shot out airbags, but the cars of yesteryear—meaning the 1980s—were built like tanks. If he’d been in anything else, he would’ve carked it on impact.

  Looking up at the night sky and the billions of stars that twinkled, and as the engine bay caught fire, he thanked God a thousand times over that he was alive.

  Then he took out his phone.

  CHAPTER 11

  The first thing Grace was aware of was that she was moving. Then the hard surface beneath her and the droning sound of road noise echoing off metal.

  Through her foggy mind, she knew her shoulders ached and her wrists felt raw from metal cuffs. The clink of chains was another clue, but as her perception returned, so did the realisation that she was screwed. One hundred and ten percent up shit’s creek without a paddle.

  Blinking, her vision remained dark, and for a sickening moment, she wondered if she was blind, but the flutter of fabric against her skin caused her to gasp. The black bag the unknown soldier had dragged over her head was still in place, and it stuck to her mouth, the inside damp with condensation from her breath.

  “She’s coming to,” a muffled male voice said. “You think we should stick her again?”

  “Nah, nook at her,” a second man replied. “She can’t do anything, even if she wanted to. Besides, we’re only thirty minutes out, and they’ll want her awake.”

  Grace panicked, the bag suffocating as her anxiety rose. She jerked against the chains wrapped around her handcuffs, her ankles meeting resistance. Then she released they’d bound her to a metal bench in the back of a matching metal truck, like she was a dangerous serial killer.

  Did they suspect…?

  “Bloody hell,” one man said. “It’s so annoying when they do this.”

  Unknown hands rolled up the bottom of the bag, freeing her mouth, and she drew in lungfuls of cool, crisp air. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  The men said nothing. ‘They,’ being other kidnap victims, probably asked the same questions. Still, Grace knew the best thing to do was play dumb. Maybe she could lie her way out of this. Maybe they wouldn’t…

  She swallowed hard. If they tested her blood, then she would end up in the same cage that ruined Lawson’s life—tortured, experimented on, drugged.

  And then there was Henry. Did he get away or had they caught him, too? She turned her head from side to side, but she couldn’t see through the bag or under the gap where it’d been rolled up.

  Thirty minutes.

  Could she plead her case with her guards? If she could get through to them, maybe they’d let her out before they reached their destination. No, it was the longest shot of the lot.

  They weren’t actual army, but soldiers drafted into the secret operations of Colonel Winslow. They knew what they were doing. They weren’t innocent. They understood what ‘off book’ meant. There was no bargaining with men like these, but there was a chance she could get some information out of them.

  “I’ve done nothing wrong,” she declared, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. “You have no right to—” A sharp blow stung across her left cheek as one of the men struck her.

  “Shut up. You have no rights here.”

  Sweat prickled on her forehead and a bead trailed down her spine until it met the hem of her leggings. “If I have no rights, then who gave you the right to kidnap and assault innocent women?” The truck bounced as it turned a corner, her chains rattling against the metal bench.

  “Are you sure we don’t want to stick her again?” the first soldier asked.

  “Listen, bitch,” the second man hissed, his breath hot on her face. “If you don’t shut up, I’ll make the next twenty-five minutes worse than anything you’re going to get once they offload you from this truck.”

  Grace felt her expression fade as her stomach rolled. So, they weren’t just going to question her. She had no idea what she was going to do, or how she would withstand what was coming. Her heartbeat pounded painfully in her chest as the sound of her blood pumping through her nauseated body whooshed in her ears.

  She had to be prepared for the fact that Winslow would do anything to get the panthers back into their cages, and anything included using her to get to Lawson.

  Breathing deeply, her senses spiked as she detected smells she hadn’t realised were there before, like gunpowder, sweat, and blood.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered, flexing her fingers.

  Grace had to do this on her own. Lawson was probably a thousand kilometres away—that’s why he’d sent Henry.

  Her back arched as a stabbing pain erupted in her spine and she cried out. Please, please, no!

  “Bloody hell,” one of the soldiers said. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s one of them!” the second soldier exclaimed, ripping the bag off her head. “Look at her eyes.”

  Suddenly, Grace’s vision filled with bright, artificial light.

  One of the black-clad soldiers lifted their rifle in panic, but the other pushed it away. “We can’t shoot her, you idiot,” he hissed. “Winslow will want her alive. She’s our new patient zero.” He opened a pocket on his armoured flak jacket, the velcro ripping loudly. “Now, we stick her before she transforms.”

  Grace’s eyes widened when she saw the syringe appear. She thrashed against her restraints, but the metal just cut into her skin, filling the enclosed space with the metallic tang of fresh blood.

  “No!” she cried, shoving against the man as the truck hit a pothole.

  He stumbled and dropped the syringe. It rattled across the floor, rolling towards the back doors and lodging itself into a groove in the metal join.

  In that moment, Grace thought how surreal it felt when total understanding clicked into place. The circumstances didn’t matter, it was the clarity that overcame her that did, and that clarity told her one simple thing—her humanity had lost.

  It occurred to her that the process was meant to be a kind of slow torture of its own, all snapping tendons and breaking bones, but it wasn’t like that for her. Maybe it was the fear she was experiencing, or the slow burn of the ‘magical virus’ in her blood. It could’ve been any number of things…

  There was no time to ponder why as the worst case of heartburn she’d ever experience in her entire life erupted in her chest and spread across her body. Then everything changed. Her perception narrowed, her senses exploded, and the power she felt was tremendous…but it was the feeling she wasn’t alone that drove her to do what she did next.

  The soldiers shouted frantically as she slipped her restraints, her transforming arms and legs giving her enough flexibility that the cuffs slipped off. Her leggings tore and her shoes slid across the floor as the truck screeched to a stop, the rest of her clothes either shredding or clinging on for dear life.

  “Don’t shoot!” one of the soldiers shouted. “The ricochet! Get the tranqs!”

  They didn’t have time to get anything as Grace felt the presence within her spring into action. It took control of her limbs, and she opened her jaws, yowling in anger as the soldiers fought back against the sleek, shadowy wall of muscle and supernatural strength bearing down on them.

  Launching herself onto the closest soldier, her claws raked at his arms as she pushed him down. It was a simple thing in such close quarters—there was nowhere for her prey to run.

  The soldier’s flak jacket was too tough for her to tear apart, the modern ballistic armour too tough for panther teeth, but underneath his helmet was an opening. She shoved his head to the floor with her enormous paw, her body pinning the rest of his as she bit into his neck…and ripped.

  The second soldier fell against the back doors, his hand grabbing at the syringe.

  Grace snarled as the needle pierced her side, but the drugs didn’t change a thing as she turned to her next target. He didn’t last long after that. With nowhere to run, one bite in the soft spot under his chin rendered him obsolete.

  The reek of death surrounded her, filling the back of the truck to the brim. She basked in it, her inner panther begging for more. This was what Lawson had warned her about, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care.

  Grace stood on all fours, her flanks heaving, the taste of meat on her tongue, waiting for the doors to open. When they did, there’d be guns—but if they were loaded with bullets or tranquillisers, she didn’t know.

  There had to be at least two more soldiers up front. They wouldn’t risk transporting her in a convoy—it’d be too conspicuous.

  What now?

  A voiceless understanding answered, and she knew there was only one way. And that way was forwards.

  Lawson gripped the steering wheel of the stolen Toyota Hilux ute and glanced in the rearview mirror. The country road stretched out behind him, long and dreary as it carved a path between two large fields of recently harvested canola. The sun had already begun to set, making his perception of time shrink even further.

  He didn’t feel great about pinching some poor person’s car, but it was the only way to get back to Targangil in time, and even then, he might be too late to help Grace.

  He came to a four-way intersection just as he needed to turn on his headlights. A highway crossed the back road he’d been travelling, the emerald-green road sign pointing out the directions of the nearest towns and cities. Right to Bendigo, and north to Echuca. Checking for traffic, he went straight, cutting across the major road and into more farmland, knowing it didn’t matter which way he went, the drive would still take him at least nine hours.

  Back roads were safer, especially if they suspected he’d go back to Targangil.

  A shrill, rising sound broke through the droning of the radio and road noise. Lawson picked up the burner phone from the centre console, his anxiety rising.

  Recognising Henry’s number, his heart forced itself into his throat. “Henry?”

  “Lawson?” The old man’s breathing was laboured, and in the background, he could hear the distinct sound of sirens. “Got some bad news, mate.”

  “What the hell is happening there? I can hear sirens.”

  “They rammed my bloody car off the road. Wrapped it around a tree.”

  “Shit.” He glanced at the darkening road, watching for kangaroos, who loved to throw themselves towards bright lights at dusk. “Are you all right?”

  “That old piece of junk saved my life,” he replied, gasping. “It’s on fire, though. So is the paddock. They didn’t check to see if I had a pulse. Played possum. They thought the fire would take me out, bastards.”

  “Sloppy, but you should take all the luck you can get.”

  “The firies and the cops are almost here. Listen, Lawson, I was five minutes from the Atkinson farm. I warned her like you asked, but I don’t know if she got out in time.”

  “How long ago?”

  “At least fifteen minutes. I called as soon as I could.”

  Lawson thought about calling Grace, but if they had her phone, they’d be able to trace his location. It might already be a risk talking to Henry.

  “I can’t help anymore,” Henry went on. “I’m stuck. Ah, shit.” The sound of rustling and thudding footsteps echoed across the call, mingling with the sirens. “I’ve got to get out of here. Embers are coming down on the road.”

  “Get yourself out of there,” Lawson told him. “I’ll go after Grace.”

  “You think they got her?”

  “Yeah, most likely.” His heart twisted. “And I know exactly where they’ll take her.”

  “Be careful, kid.”

  “You better be careful, too. When they figure out you’re still alive, they’ll try again.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Lawson. I’ve got fifty years’ experience hiking the Snowies. They’ll never find me…but you’d better help Grace.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  “You better.”

  The call ended, and he tossed the phone back into the console, his foot pressing down on the accelerator.

  They’d take her to the facility where they’d held him. It was deep within a known military range, hidden in plain sight but still underground where satellites wouldn’t be able to map it. Smoke and mirrors.

  It was another two hours before he reached the northern section of the military base, his anxiety taunting his inner panther the whole time. He didn’t slow, he didn’t look sideways, he just kept driving. Even if they were travelling at top speed, they wouldn’t have made it anywhere close.

  They wouldn’t come from the east—it was all main highway from there, all the way to Canberra. He’d be looking for a truck that’d been camouflaged as a civilian vehicle, likely newly painted and travelling on lonely roads like he was.

  He headed north-east, taking the route towards Nagambie and the Goulburn Weir, before turning onto another back road through patchy farmland.

  There were a lot of ways they could’ve come. If he’d chosen wrong, then he could pass right by and never know it. All he could do was rely on his training and hope he’d picked right.

  It wasn’t long before the ute’s headlights glinted off something reflective in the distance. As he got closer, he realised it was the blinkers on a small truck that’d veered off onto the side of the tree-lined road.

  It could be them.

  Lawson drove past, then swung the ute around and pulled off the road a few dozen metres behind.

  Instantly, he knew it wasn’t a civilian vehicle. The back doors were open unevenly, and he made out several black lumps lying in the back and on the side of the road. The interior was lined with bulletproof metal, and there was nothing inside but the ghostly outline of two matching benches, one on either side.

  Something had definitely happened here. Something bad.

  He flicked on the high beams, and he tensed when he saw the blood smeared on the open doors, knowing the moment he got out he’d be overwhelmed by the stench.

  His gaze moved to the blackened lumps that were revealed as soldiers wearing the full kit of black tactical military gear—helmets, goggles, body armour, and rifles.

  The only thing that could tear through four highly trained soldiers was—

  Lawson killed the engine, switched off the headlights, and jumped out of the stolen ute. The moment the door opened, his senses were assaulted by the blood coating the entire scene.

  Approaching slowly, he assessed the carnage in front of him, using all his senses. The men in the back of the truck had their throats torn out and clothing ripped in long, jagged strips. The two on the ground had opened fire, but had only got off a few rounds before they too had been taken down.

  The toe of his boot collided with an empty shell casing, the metal tinkling as it rolled across the gravel and into the ditch on the side of the road.

  Kneeling, Lawson dipped a finger in the blood splatter on the asphalt and raised it to his nose. Human. He tried again, sensing he was missing something. This time, he recognised the distinct odour of panther. Those few shots had been enough for the soldiers to wound their attacker, but nowhere near enough to stop them.

  Grace.

  Lawson gritted his teeth. He’d known before he’d even got out of the car, but he didn’t want to believe it. It wasn’t meant to go like this.

  Rising, he began searching for her trail.

  CHAPTER 12

  Lawson lingered by the side of the road, studying the ground with narrowed eyes.

  His human senses were sharpened, but not as much as they were if he shifted. But if Grace was out there somewhere, still in her panther form, then it was best he remained a man. He might not have much time.

  When those soldiers didn’t turn up at the base, someone would come looking, and he’d rather not be here when they arrived.

  He walked around the truck, looking for panther tracks. Spotting a half-formed paw print in the ditch beside the road, he followed the direction it pointed until he came to the barbed-wire fence marking the edge of the bordering field.

  There, a tuft of black fur was stuck to the wire, the barb tipped with blood. She’d cut herself as she dragged her body through the fence and into the field.

  Pulling the tuft off the barb, he stuffed it into his pocket so no one could follow her trail. Then he ducked through the fence, pressing down the wire with his boot so he could safely pass.

  Larsson emerged into the paddock beyond and surveyed the path ahead. The night had an unsettled warmth to it, the summer radiance lingering amongst the rocky landscape. Ghostly gums grew in patches, their twisted limbs shadowing him from the heavy curtain of stars above.

  This whole swathe of Victoria was a mixture of forest, farmland, and the rocky remains of a violent volcanic past. The outer edges of the Great Dividing Range cut straight through here before reaching the Grampians, where he’d been earlier that day.

  Evidence of the turbulent geological past could be seen in more places than that. Hanging Rock wasn’t that far from where he now stood. The landmark, made famous by the book and movie, was more than just a giant pile of boulders—it was the eroded remains of an extinct volcano that had died millions of years ago. Places like that carried magic. It seemed fanciful to think of it that way, but how else could he explain what he felt when he roamed the mountains? How could he explain what he felt right now, seeping out of these rocks?