Excerpt

Jenna Reilly was swear-til-you-turn-blue lost. Not the making a left instead of a right lost, but the where-is-the-damn-road lost. She'd come out to just outside of Barstow, a desert town more known for being a stopping point to Las Vegas than for anything important, for what she thought was a newly discovered ancient burial dig site to gather supporting evidence for another dissertation. But there had been a large stand of trees, big ones, where there shouldn't have been anything larger than chaparral. Then her not so reliable ten-year-old car died, her cell phone gave its last gasp, and she'd brilliantly thought of walking the rest of the way to the location.

That had been two hours ago, and she not only hadn't found the location of the supposed burial site, she'd now managed to lose her monstrosity of a car when she gave up and turned back.

"It's here, I know it's here." The mantra was more for her own peace of mind than anything else. She was starting to get scared. And dizzy. The dizziness had started not too long after leaving the car and was getting worse. Logic said to sit down until it passed; emotion said to keep going until she found her way back. Everything she looked at had a weird double image to it, like a twisted afterimage that wasn't exactly the same as the original. The more she walked, the more the images differed from each other.

A thin shape brought her to a stumbling halt as it darted ahead of her. The body looked like a distorted version of a greyhound. While she knew the animals were popular pets, she doubted anyone was letting them run wild in the backcountry of Los Angeles. A moment later another long, lean, and slightly blurred shape broke to the left. Her dizziness grew worse and she dropped to her knees.

"Is someone out here? This isn't funny." She reached into the pocket of her jacket. "I've got a gun and I'm not afraid to use it." There was nothing in her pocket beyond car keys and a dead cell phone, but hopefully it would scare off most people. Living in Los Angeles her entire life meant she would assume the worst, then be grateful if it didn't happen.

Her only answer was an increase in the blurs around her, closer, but still too fast for her to identify beyond vaguely dog shaped. The blurs made the dizziness worse, pain shot through her head, and then darkness overtook her, and she collapsed.

***

Jenna's mind fought its way free of the darkness that engulfed it. Without opening her eyes, she took a few deep breaths and forced her mind to settle. The stabbing pain in her head gave way to a dull throbbing and the chaos diminished. Sucking in another steadying breath, she forced one eye open. When the world didn't explode in sparks of pain, she eased open the other eye.

At least the double vision seemed to have vanished. But in its place a surge of violent and distorted images slammed into her mind. Fangs and claws reached out toward her. The smell of blood filled the air and bile rose in her throat.

The visions vanished a heartbeat later.

Shaking off the last bit of adrenalin, she tried to figure out what had happened to her and where she was. Considering it didn't look remotely like the area she'd been in, she assumed that she'd started walking at some point. And fallen. She shoved aside the thought that she had no memory of going anywhere as she took in her new location.

Rugged sheer rock walls rose at least ten feet above her. The narrow ravine she lay in couldn't be more than six feet across, but it curved down beyond her line of sight. A quick glance around showed only small rocks, dirt, and a few torn plants that had most likely made the trip down with her when she landed here. Nothing that could be used to get out of the ravine.

The hand she held up wasn't hers. Jenna's heart pounded when she raised her hand to block the glancing light of the setting sun.

Far too thin, and the fingers were too long. Those faint white lines of old scars didn't belong to her. She moved the hand closer and tried to accept it as her own. Brushing the tattered sleeve further up her arm, she started shaking. It wasn't right either. The rest of the arm was pale, like it should be, but it was covered in additional fine, web-like scars from injuries she'd never had. She flexed the arm and hand. They moved under her command; she'd just never seen them before.

Panic growing, she looked down at her dust-covered clothing. She'd never seen the tattered, loose weave dress she wore either. However, a burst of relief hit her when she recognized the battered hiking boots and faded jeans she had put on that morning.

A hazy part of her mind stepped in and accepted the odd clothes and the scars, soothing her fears. The feelings of not recognizing her body vanished. She knew she should be worried for her sanity, but the vague, soothing essence in her head calmed her fears. It was like the one time she had too many pot brownies as an undergrad, reality was wrapped in a nice fuzzy cocoon of serenity, and right now her best option was to keep it in place as long as possible. She directed her energy to other things—like how to get out of the ravine. Judging by the sky above her, night would be falling soon, and spending it trapped in a ravine wasn't her idea of a fun evening. Hopefully, she could get out, find her way back to her car, and figure out a way to get it running.

First thing was to get the hell out of this hole. "Everyone always said I'd fall in a ditch if I didn't pay attention to where I was going. I never thought they meant litera—"

Her attempt at standing brought a scream and pain, as fire from her ankle shot its way up to her hip as she tried to put weight on it. Collapsing back into the dirt, she dug her nails into her palms until the waves of pain faded. She'd broken an ankle once before, right after high school, when she'd misjudged her landing while skydiving. This was the same pain. Minus the thrill of jumping out of a perfectly good airplane.

After two more failed attempts to stand, she yelled again, but this time with frustration and anger more than pain. She punctuated her screams by pounding the ground with her fists, but her efforts brought no relief to her leg or her situation. It did, however, bring an answering voice. It sounded male, but he wasn't speaking English. At that point she didn't care what he spoke. She wanted out of this damn hole.

"Down here! I'm stuck!" Possibly not the best thing to advertise if the person in question had ill intent, but she was willing to take the risk. This place terrified her, something far less rational than being in a strange ravine, injured, and with night falling.

The approaching voice continued to speak as it came closer, but she still couldn't make out what was being said. Light and musical, like a combination of French and Gaelic, yet it didn't sound like either. Nor could she understand a word of what the man was saying. A shiver made its way down her back. But she needed someone's help.

"Come on, you're almost here, I can hear you. I don't know what you're saying, but—" She froze as her rescuer appeared over the edge of the pit.

"Oh my God…what are you?" Her voice came out in an embarrassing squeak, but she couldn't help it. The face peering down at her was in no way human.