Free The Wolf in Her Heart by Sydney Falk

Sam's mind whirled. She was running, and blood was pumping through her ears audibly, accompaniment to the thuds of her bare feet on the carpeted floor. Adrenaline had drowned out the lethargy of her sore and recovering body, a small mercy. The sound of shattering glass and snarls far too close behind her did nothing to help her organize her thoughts.
    Nothing about this was right, and for all she knew, Rick had done something to Lou. Lou, the woman who’d changed her life for the better.
    The image, unbidden, of Lou still shackled down in her bed came to mind—but this time, she had glassy eyes and her abdomen was shredded, loose insides hanging out of her and over the edge of the bed.
    The thing eating them, in her mind, was Rick.
    Samantha had never seen any of the werewolves turn before. If Rick’s changed form was any indication, she didn’t want to see Lou’s, couldn’t ever see it. She didn’t want to know what that looked like.
    She can’t be dead.
    Sam didn’t know it, but she didn’t care. If she knew Lou was dead, she’d turn around now and let Rick kill her. There wouldn’t be any point.
    Samantha paused. The glass shattering and snarls were followed now by silence.
    Shit .
    She hesitated, then pushed at a swing door into the kitchen area.
    Darkness prevailed, with only shafts of light from the face-level windows in the swing doors illuminating the metal of ovens, stovetops, ladles and pots. Faint scents drifted from the garbage in the corner. No sign of the hulking hairy human-shaped wolf at all.
    Sam knelt and slid the locking bolt in place on the swing door, as quietly as she could, then did the same with the other one.
    Where is he? Why isn’t he coming for me? It made no damned sense at all.
    Samantha hunkered down between two large refrigerators and tried to ignore the musty scent and spiderwebs. Fear motivated the hiding, but it made sense upon reflection.
    Even in human form, the werewolves were far stronger than unturned humans. Sam couldn’t imagine what a motivated werewolf in wolf form could do, particularly since Rick had smashed through plate glass with barely any trouble. She couldn’t fight him. She wasn’t sure she could get away, either. For all she knew, Brentwood was locked down, or the rest of the Colbys were prowling around outside.
    If she wanted to survive, she’d have to think.
    What had Rick said? He’d said so many useless things and wasted apologies, and she was so groggy and losing consciousness at the time that it was hard to sort through. One shining sentence stood out after a moment:
    Maybe the gift will change your mind .
    He’d called this a gift. Could you change your mind after being dead? Probably not.
    He wanted to turn her, and thought it would win her back.
    This was crazy. Even assuming she wanted to be turned, there was no way she’d go back with Rick.
    If she had her phone, she could call Lou or Reggie or someone else, someone to help her, but he’d taken it when he drugged her. She couldn’t flee the building. She wouldn’t let him turn her. She’d have to play hide and seek until the morning, and she didn’t even know how far away it was.
    Soft snuffling in the direction of the swing doors caught her attention. Shit .
    Sam crept forward, keeping low. If he didn’t see her, she could crawl out the other door and then get through into the meeting room across the hall. The doors were solid oak and might buy her some time, and there was a window she could use to get an idea of whether anything else was outside.
    She was almost at the door when a screeching howl pierced the night, and the swing doors shuddered. The small windows in them shattered immediately.
    As glass fragments rained down onto the floor and the bolt groaned in protest, Sam abandoned the pretense of stealth and scrambled out the other set of doors, across the hall, and through the ceiling-height oak door.
    The room’s walls were stained oak, dark and rich. Moonlight cast from the