Page 60 of Outrun The Devil
Olivia's heart raced as she squeezed the trigger, and the deafening crack of the gunshot echoed through the room. The silver bullet found its mark, striking the massive wolf with a searing intensity.
A guttural snarl erupted from the wounded creature, its eyes flashing with a mixture of pain and fury. The wolf's body convulsed as the silver's effects took hold, and for a moment, Olivia's heart swelled with the vindication that her gamble had paid off. There was a taste of victory on the edge of her tongue.
"Looks like these bullets actually do work," Olivia quipped, making a mental note to thank Xavier later. But the wolf was not out. No, with a roar that reverberated through the room, it lunged forward, its instincts fueled by both pain and rage.
Caught off guard by the wolf's ferocity, Olivia stumbled backward, her footing faltering beneath her. The pistol slipped from her grip, clattering to the floor as she fought to regain her balance.
The werewolf's clawed hand lunged, a primal hunger in its eyes as it sought its prey. Olivia's heart thundered as she barely managed to evade its grip, but a searing pain sliced across her abdomen as the fabric of her shirt tore under the force of its attack. The pain became a distant echo as she scrambled urgently into the cabin's foyer.
As the two adversaries locked eyes, Olivia Collins made a silent vow. She would fight with every ounce of strength and skill she possessed. She would defy the odds, defy the supernatural forces that threatened her, and protect the ones she loved.
With unwavering resolve, Detective Olivia Collins braced herself for the imminent clash. The air crackled with tension, a battle of wills about to unfold within the confines of that treacherous cabin. And as she faced the towering werewolf, she refused to surrender to fear.
Just as the werewolf lunged forward, ready to deliver a potentially fatal strike, a bone-chilling howl reverberated through the air. Olivia's eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and relief as the sound of approaching footsteps thundered in her ears. The werewolf’s claws slashed across her abdomen in her moment of distraction.
In a whirlwind of fur and power, Nathan burst through the cabin door, his form transforming into that of a majestic werewolf. His eyes locked onto the other werewolf, his instincts taking over as he charged with a force that matched his opponent's.
The clash between the two werewolves was a spectacle of strength and fury. They tore through the room, their snarls filling the air as they grappled with one another, teeth and claws clashing in a battle for dominance.
Olivia, her breath labored, seized the opportunity to catch her breath and regather her strength. She watched in awe as Nathan fought with a primal grace, his every movement a testament to his years of training and innate power. It was a sight that filled her with a mixture of awe, gratitude, and a renewed determination to end this deadly encounter.
But with the werewolf occupied with Nathan, Olivia looked up the staircase. If Vincent was here, if that werewolf wasn’t him, then he was waiting for Olivia to come to him. Or he wasn’t here at all.
Straining, Olivia tried to listen for any sounds other than the clashing of the two fighting wolves, but it was impossible to hear anything.
Olivia all but sprinted up those stairs, gun raised as she came around the corner. Pounding in her chest would give no rest as she cleared the corner and walked down the short hallway. The cabin was small, only a bedroom and a small washroom were upstairs. Slowing her walk so that the floor wouldn’t creak, Olivia prayed to whatever deity would listen to her.
On the floor below her feet leading to the door of the bedroom were streaks of red. Deep red. And her heart dropped.
No, no, no, no.
Please be alive. Please be alive.
The bedroom door stood before her closed and forbidding. Olivia's hand trembled slightly as she reached for the doorknob, her fingers wrapped around it tightly. She took a deep breath, steadying herself for whatever awaited her on the other side.
With a silent prayer on her lips, Olivia turned the doorknob and pushed the door open slowly, revealing a dimly lit room. The flickering glow of a solitary candle illuminated the space, casting eerie shadows along the walls.
As she stepped into the room, Olivia's eyes scanned every corner, every shadow, searching for any sign of Vincent Blackwood. The air was heavy with anticipation, her senses on high alert, listening for the slightest sound, the faintest whisper.
A sudden movement caught her attention—a figure, huddled in the farthest corner of the room. Olivia's heart skipped a beat, hope mingling with trepidation as she cautiously approached. As she drew nearer, the figure slowly came into focus, revealing the trembling form of her daughter, bound and gagged.
Tears welled up in Olivia's eyes as relief flooded through her. She wasted no time, rushing to her daughter's side and carefully freeing her from the restraints that held her captive. Their embrace was a mixture of fear, relief, and a profound sense of love and protection.
With her daughter safe in her arms, Olivia's gaze once again turned toward the room, her instincts urging her to be vigilant. Vincent Blackwood may not have been present, but she knew better than to underestimate his cunning.
As she prepared to leave the room, a chilling breeze swept through, causing the candle flame to flicker and dance. Olivia's heart skipped a beat as a whisper of a voice brushed against her ear, sending shivers down her spine.
Dizziness enveloped Olivia, causing her surroundings to blur into a disorienting whirl. At her side, her daughter's panicked voice pierced through the chaos. Blood stained the area near her, a stark reminder of the wound she had sustained. The adrenaline coursing through her veins had momentarily masked the pain, but now it surged with a vengeance, pulsating through her entire body.
“You're hurt,” Jessica exclaimed, her trembling hand applying pressure to Olivia's side.
“It's nothing serious,” Olivia attempted to downplay the severity, a weak smile forming on her lips, but it was quickly replaced by a fit of coughing, exacerbating her discomfort. “Just a scratch,” she rasped.
“Mom, you can't joke about this,” tears streamed down her daughter’s face.
Downplaying her injury, Olivia mustered a weak smile as she pushed Jessica's hand away from her side, careful not to reveal the severity of her wound. She focused on her daughter's trembling face, her voice carrying a mix of strain and determination.
“Listen, sweetheart,” Olivia began, her voice quivering slightly. “I want you to know that I'm not going anywhere. We're going to get out of here together, okay?”