Chapter Ten
Powell winced. The salty, metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Ties bound his wrists, and he sat in a chair in the center of a room in the Green Glen wolves’ pack compound. If only he’d had time to shift when they’d attacked, he might not be in this predicament. Shifting now would be difficult, if not impossible. If he could get the bindings off, he’d have a better chance. But as soon as they saw him shift, they’d likely kill him rather than face an angry bear. If only shifting were instantaneous.
Several pack members stood around, half-interested, half-afraid of Alfred. None spoke up against him. A scraggily bunch, they looked like the scavengers they were. Powell scanned them, looking for weaknesses. He’d figure out how to escape. Thank the gods, they hadn’t captured Olivia. The Sentinels would’ve called for the bears to come, and if he held out long enough, they might make it in time to save him.
A slap brought him out of his reverie. Alfred stared at him, hand back, ready to strike again.
“There’s more of that, if you need it. Or if I decide you need it.” Alfred snarled.
Powell didn’t answer, realizing that the wolf was posturing in front of his pack and nothing he said would help his predicament. He hoped Olivia understood that he hadn’t left her.
“I’m going to ask you one more time.” Alfred circled the chair. “Where is she? I know she was with you, I scented her.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Powell stared Alfred eye-to-eye.
If Alfred killed him, he hoped that Olivia had learned enough to fend for herself and not come back to the lunatic. And perhaps Shoshannah had helped her. He could only hope at this point that she was safe.
The punch came swiftly, and his cheek numbed under the blow as his head snapped back.
“I know you had her at your cabin. I scented her there too.” Alfred bent and inched closer to Powell’s face. “She’s mine. And I want her back.”
No way was he giving Olivia back to this monster. Hell, Alfred’s own pack was afraid of him. What kind of leader ruled by fear?
A bad one.
He spat in Alfred’s face. The wolf staggered backward, and a collective gasp rose in the room. The pheromones of anger wafted through the air. Tension grew, and Powell knew the wolves wouldn’t bother keeping him around much longer.
Alfred wiped his face and howled a ragged, enraged human howl. Powell laughed.
“You’ll pay for that!” the wolf screamed, crouching and prepared to lunge. “You bastard! No one gets away with disrespecting me.”
Powell closed his eyes and waited for the blow to come. He’d gotten in a jab of sorts. And Olivia was safe.
The door burst open and a blast of icy air rushed in, sending chills over him. He looked, and silhouetted in the doorway was the most beautiful she-wolf he’d ever seen in his life. His heart swelled and his mouth fell open.
White, with guard hairs tipped in silver sparkles, the wolf practically shimmered like a frozen mirage in front of him. She bared her teeth, fangs long and sharp, her guttural growl setting everyone in the room back a step. She walked into the room, and Alfred remained crouched, ready for combat, though his human form wouldn’t have much of a chance against the she-wolf. She’d tear him to shreds.
He wouldn’t have time to shift before she attacked.
Talk about karma.
She leapt. Powell watched her powerful legs propel her through the air and into Alfred, knocking him onto his back, his head hitting the floor with a pleasing thump and groan. Alfred pushed back against her with his hands, but her bites came fast and strong, and spatters of red dotted her white coat.
“You bitch!” Alfred screeched.
Powell couldn’t take his eyes off the gorgeous white wolf and the way she took charge and dominated Alfred. Her strength seemed magical, super powered.
She tore into his throat, blood gushing from the wound, and a frothy blood-tinged spittle poured from his mouth. She shook him until the life had left his body and he lay limp on the floor. The other wolves stood back, and she panned her head from one to the next, daring any to move.
None did.
“Untie me,” Powell called to the wolves, and one young man rushed over and worked at releasing his bindings. Powell pulled free, rubbing his wrists. “Anyone else want to fight? Or are we going to call this a day?”
Another man lunged toward Powell, and the white wolf snarled, standing between Powell and the others, crouched and ready to leap. After taking a look at Alfred, the man stepped back.
“Anyone?” Powell repeated.
The wolves looked down, none making eye contact. Clearly they were a bunch of scaredy-cats who followed whatever leader they had, without thought or regard to what was going on. Disgust filled Powell and he shook his head.
No matter, this fight was over.
Powell knelt. “Olivia? Is that you?”
The white wolf turned to him, her bright and clear blue eyes like lakes or patches of summer sky. His heart warmed and he hugged her neck.