Everything hurt.
Why the hell did she feel like she’d gone three rounds with Mike Tyson? And why was it so damned cold?
Opening her eyes, Laurel frowned, her brain not immediately processing the field of gray clouding her vision. Blinking slowly, she tried to move. Pain lanced through her shoulder, and her skull pounded like a timpani drum.
What the hell?
Thunder boomed all too close, jolting her fully back to consciousness. Ginger. The storm. She’d been thrown.
Oh my God.
Urgency beat in her blood as she scrambled to her knees. One hand slipped. On instinct, she threw herself in the opposite direction to keep from face planting, and saw the drop. Terror stole her ability to scream, but she scrambled back, pressing as tightly to the rock face as possible. By some miracle, she’d lande
