Chapter Fifteen
Jessa sat on the cot against the wall. Her legs were drawn up and hugged tightly to her chest, her cheek pressed to her knees.
“Still hurting?” Ellen asked, carrying in a tray with food.
Jessa nodded.
“I brought soup and crackers.” Ellen placed the tray on the small table against the far side of the room. “Come on, Jessa, you need to eat something. The baby needs you to eat something.”
Jessa frowned at her. Ellen denied having a hand in drugging her, but Jessa didn’t know who to trust. She’d fallen asleep in her own clothes and woken up in a hospital gown with an IV in her arm. She’d promptly ripped the needle out and stayed huddled in the corner of the stone room for however long she’d been there.
The place was small. A bed, table, and chair. No clock. But someone had provided a dog-eared copy of a baby name book.
“Yes, eat.” Cyrus followed Ellen inside. “Leave,” he said to Ellen, never looking her way. He turned the chair backward and straddled it, resting his hands and chin on the top. His pale gaze pinned her, unblinking and unwavering.
Jessa wasn’t aware of Ellen leaving, only that they were alone, and the room felt incredibly small and cold.
She shivered.
“You’re cold?” he asked, unmoving.
She shook her head.
“You’re frightened of me.” He smiled, one eyebrow arching.
Her heart was racing.
“You are appealing, Jessa Talbot. Weak, vulnerable, and soft. If you weren’t his…” He let the words hang there. “But you are. Not just his plaything, but his mate. A human.” He chuckled. “A strong human. Your scar, his mark, looks painful.”
A shiver slid over her. He’d seen her scars? He’d seen her bare skin? Her hands smoothed the hospital gown down. She didn’t feel very strong.
“Talk to me,” he said, his voice deceptively soft. But Jessa heard the demand.
“What do you want me to say?” she whispered, avoiding his gaze.
“I want to know about his pack. How many are there? Where are they? Sharing such information will prevent things from getting unpleasant.” He paused. “We call them the False Wolves. Did you know that?”
She shook her head, considering all the ways “unpleasant” could be translated.
“They shouldn’t exist.” He ran his finger across his lower lip, his attention wandering to her mouth. “Do you believe in accidents, Miss Talbot? Or are you one who subscribes to a higher plan? Destiny. Fate. That sort of thing?”
“I’m not sure.” Her answer was soft, uncertain.
“I am the latter. You live as long as I have, and you see it plainly enough. Accidents don’t exist. And Mr. Dean’s transformation means something. Do you know what it means?” he asked, leaning forward.
She shook her head, fighting the urge to recoil.
“It’s a test. To see who’s stronger. Who’s meant to survive and rule.” He sat back, shrugging. “It’s my job to adapt. I’ve had years of practice, Miss Talbot. Years and years. Your mate is a pup in comparison. A pup I will annihilate.”
“What about the bone?” she asked, remembering Hollis’s theory. The bone might threaten Cyrus’s place as alpha—and his pack. Did it make Finn their leader? She broke off, watching Cyrus’s eyes narrow, his lips press tight.
“What about it, Miss Talbot?” He stood, pushing the chair in.
She stared up at him, terrified.
“Please, continue.” He paused, his hands clasped behind his back. “And spare no detail, I implore you.”
Cyrus had to suspect something, or he’d have killed Finn by now—or tried to. At this point, there was nothing left for her to lose. He would kill her. He’d told her as much. She had no experience with head games or manipulating emotions, but she’d try. Her future wasn’t looking too bright, but that didn’t have to apply to the rest of her pack.
“It’s old,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Older than you.”
Cyrus’s nostrils flared.
“It’s what turned Finn, infected him. Doesn’t that make him your ancestor?” Her voice was quavering, but there was no help for that. She pushed on, watching him carefully. “Killing him risks your life, right? And your status as alpha to your pack?”
He stared at her, the muscle in his jaw ticking.
“Is that what you mean?”
He smiled at her. “Your loyalty is admirable, truly. But tell me, Miss Talbot, what will you do when he’s tired of you? No wolf stays bonded to a human. It’s not a true bond unless it’s with another wolf. Didn’t he tell you?” He paused, his mock sympathy cutting deep. “You’ll go on loving him while he moves on to one of his own kind.”
She swallowed, refusing to believe him. Finn loved her—he’d chosen her. He was the one that warned her he’d never let her go. Her hand fell to her stomach, covering the scar. And now, their baby. “He is mine. And I am his.”
Cyrus chuckled, surprised. “You believe that?”
She nodded. “I know it.”
“Has he offered to turn you?” he asked. He waited, almost eagerly, for her response.
She kept her silence. They’d never discussed it.
“No? That’s unfortunate, isn’t it? Considering you won’t survive this pregnancy. No human has,” he said. “Cara didn’t, poor thing. I’m sorry Miss Talbot.” He eyed her stomach. “Perhaps there’s no point in waiting? Perhaps he’s already moved on. He has one pup, already. I can’t imagine he’s eager for another one so soon.”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t trust her words not to reveal her agitation. A reaction she knew he’d enjoy.
“I’ll have to think about that,” he said, opening the door. “For now, there’s someone who’d like to see you.”
Thomas stepped inside, his nervous gaze darting between Jessa and Cyrus.
“Do not touch her,” Cyrus commanded before he left, the door remaining slightly ajar.
“What do you want?” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. “What did you do to my brother?”
He scowled at her.
“How could you Thomas? I thought we were friends?” She covered her face, too tired and fraught to care anymore.
“We were friends. Are friends. Harry’s fine. Nice kid.” He paused. “I needed to buy some time to get you here. Safe.”
She looked at him. “Safe?” She lifted her hair to show him the gash on her forehead. Then held her hands up, palms out, for his inspection. “You handed me over to them.”
Thomas knelt by the edge of the bed. “Who’s to say Finn’s on the right side of things, Jessa? I know you like him—that he’s in your head—but you need to think through this. Listen to me.”
She held her hand up. “No.”
Thomas reached for but stopped short. Cyrus’s command. Even without the alpha in the room, Thomas obeyed. “Because you’re scared. I get it. I was scared too. But there are things you need to know. This baby will kill you.”
She leaned away from him. “Cyrus says.”
“And Ellen.” He stood, shaking his head. “Ask her to see his pet’s medical files, the one that birthed his first child. Ask her what happened. Finn’s doc knows too. He has the same file. He’s just not telling you because he wants to grow his pack.”
“And you, Thomas?” she asked. “What excuse did Cyrus use to justify turning you?”
Thomas frowned. “I wanted to be turned, Jessa. I asked for this. And it’s a good damn thing, too. Because now I can stop you from making the wrong decision. You’re where you belong now, with me.”
…
“It’s fucking freezing,” Gentry said, chewing on his unlit cigar. “Where the fuck are we? And what is that smell?”
“The middle of nowhere Nebraska.” Dante muttered. “I can’t feel my toes.”
Finn’s patience was slipping away. He didn’t want them here. He’d left, fully intending to vent his fury—the wolf’s fury—on the Others himself. But they’d followed him, spouting crap about being a pack, looking out for one another, and family. He’d wanted to jump Dante when he mentioned Oscar. He didn’t need reminding that his son was alone, that he needed his father to come back in whole and unharmed.
But Finn wasn’t whole anymore. The last three days, a gaping hole had eaten its way through his heart. He felt it, held on to it, to keep him going. He’d lost his soulmate. She was gone. He winced, the air escaping his lungs on a razor’s edge.
Oscar would be better off without him.
They all would. If he killed Cyrus, they’d all be free. He didn’t care about frostbitten toes and the smell of rotting hay. All he cared about, all he could think about, was ripping Cyrus’s throat out and watching every drop of blood seep into the dirt.
He’d imagined it over and over—calming his wolf when his control wavered. It gave them focus and purpose. He would do this, one way or the other. He just hoped like hell that Mal, Dante, and Gentry didn’t fuck things up.
“Cornfields as far as the eye can see,” Gentry said. “Good cover for a pack of wolves.”
“No way this is his only hangout,” Mal interrupted. “There are too many of them to all hole-up here.”
Finn agreed. He hoped like hell Cyrus was here, if nothing else, he’d take down Thomas—Mal had followed the piece of shit here. And, for now, it was the only lead he had. Once his wolf got a hold of Thomas, he’d find out where Cyrus was.
Trying to sneak up on a place with no variations in the terrain was a challenge for a group. Another reason he’d wanted to come alone. They’d wasted time on some half-assed plan, shifting back and forth, and covering their tracks.
“Two ways to get in,” Mal had said, pointing at the computer screen and Google map image on the drive there. “Main drive and the dirt road for the farm equipment.”
“How many?” Finn asked, talking into his earpiece at Anders—monitoring the place via satellite on his computer and relaying everything directly into Finn’s ear.
“Infrared is only picking up heat in part of the rooms,” Anders said. “Meaning some of them are lined. You sure you want to do this?”
He almost growled in frustration. “How many?” he repeated.
“Twenty-two,” Anders said.
“How many?” Mal asked.
“Twenty-five,” Finn said. “Maybe more.”
Mal grinned, slapping Dante on the shoulder. “Sounds like we’re all gonna get some action today.”
Dante nodded. He lacked Mal and Gentry’s enthusiasm, but he’d refused to stay behind.
“News on Brown?” Gentry asked, sloshing forward through the icy water.
“He and the girl are at the safe house. Hollis has her under lock-down, just in case she wakes up with an ax to grind.” Anders asked, “She really Brown’s daughter?”
“We’ll know when they wake up,” Mal said.
It had taken everything he had not to wake her up. He wanted to shake her until she told him what he needed to know. What were Cyrus’s weaknesses? How could Finn hurt him most?
“Finn?” Anders spoke into the ear piece. “No distractions. Jessa’s brothers are safe here, all googly-eyed over Oscar. We’re good.” Anders sighed. “I know you’re pissed man, but don’t lose your head. Jessa—”
Finn pulled out his earpiece. He couldn’t hear her name, it set the wolf off—made him crazed. Not yet. Not yet.
“It’s time,” Finn said.
Gentry was wearing his hell-yes smile, toting every firearm known to man.
“I’m ready,” Mal said, bouncing on the ball of his feet.
Finn shook his head. It was a shit plan, but the only one they had. “Be careful,” he said, clasping Mal’s hand in his.
Mal shook his head. “Can’t promise that.”
“We’ll bring the cavalry,” Gentry said, still grinning.
Mal waved and left, sprinting up onto the highway and across, into the corn-field that surrounded Cyrus’s farm. In five-minutes, he’d cause a diversion, then they’d go in.
“Nothing like freezing your ass off in an ice bath to make you remember the good old days,” Gentry said, laughing. “Hunting the bad guys, tromping through hellacious terrain, and—my favorite—blowing shit up.”
Finn focused on the horizon. Mal’s signal, courtesy of Gentry’s skill with plastic explosives, should rock the ground under their feet and light up the sky. And it would stop all their pointless conversations. The wolf was done with pretending to be human. Finn’s eyes narrowed, anticipation rippling down his spine. The urge to shift was undeniable.
“Anytime now,” Dante said, glancing at his watch.
A few seconds later, the sky exploded. Orange, yellow, red, and white streaked up into the early morning sky.
“I’d say that’ll get their attention.” Dante grinned, clapping Gentry on the back.
“Damn straight,” Gentry agreed. “Giving you five minutes, starting now.”
Finn shifted, giving his wolf what he wanted: ultimate control. He’d never felt the surge of the hunt so clearly. Never wanted to see what his wolf was capable of. Now, he couldn’t wait to get started.
“Holy shit,” Gentry said. “Gets me every time.” He smiled at Finn. “See you in there, boss.”
Finn took off, his paws tearing up the ground as his nose led the way. Dante was at his side, letting him lead but staying close. They skirted the field, staying in the shadows, until the house was in sight. It looked like something out of The Walton’s. Big and white, a traditional farmhouse. Full of traditional werewolves. More Stephen King than Little House on the Prairie.
Despite the light show, there was not a sound. No sign of a wolf.
The fur on his shoulders pricked straight up.
Where the hell was everyone?
The barn was blazing, flames leaping high enough to ignite the dry stalks. It was only a matter of time before the fields went up and the fire spread to the house and outbuildings. Yet no one was attempting to put the flames out. It was still. Silent. They knew they were coming.
Dante nudged his haunch before sprinting off. He’d loop around and bring up the rear.
Finn’s wolf snapped his teeth, his adrenaline thumping through his veins and making his blood roar. He made a full circle around the house, slipping out of the corn when the stalks began to burn. Heat wafted up, smoke stinging his nose, and making his eyes water. Each slip of husk on husk, each snap of a dry stem beneath his paws, echoed in his ears. The crackle and pop of the fire helped cover his movements somewhat. But his nerves were on edge, amplifying everything. He might as well wear a fucking cowbell or light-up collar.
A scent reached him, faint, buried beneath the smoke. It teased him, a flare of recognition, then nothing but singed corn and scorched earth.
He put his nose down, jogging away from the flaming crops. A new scent. Blood. He froze, his chest heavy and thick. Mal’s blood.
He hesitated, then stepped forward, staring through the corn at the neatly mowed lawn. There was one tree with sprawling branches and a spare canopy of dry, withered leaves. And hanging from one thick limb was Mal. The wolf hung upside down, his throat torn open. Blood dripping. A rhythmic tap… His blood forming a puddle, soaking the ground.
No. This was Cyrus’s fate. Cyrus. Not Mal. His throat tightened, needing to howl, needing to call out. Mal. Goddammit Mal.
Finn ran forward, blood roaring in his veins and vision gone red.
The Others were on him then. A swarm of teeth and fur and claws. They tried to stop him, to get in his way, but they didn’t last long. A bite to the neck was fastest. But crunching through the nose worked. It was surprisingly easy to break a back. And slit the skin of a belly.
He never slowed.
Not until Mal was down, laying on the blood-soaked ground at his feet. He nudged him, sniffing Mal’s limp body.
“He’s not going to make it.” Cyrus’s voice reached him. “It seems you have a problem protecting your pack, Mr. Dean.”
Finn spun, choking on bile and hate.
Cyrus stood on the porch, leaning against the pillar. His pale gaze locked with his. “While I have lost no one,” he taunted, tempting the wolf. “You’ve lost…two? Or three? Considering she was carrying your pup.”
Finn paced back and forth, a low growl resonating in his throat.
“Now my farm,” Cyrus said. “It’s a total loss.” His eyes narrowed. “Have you come here to kill me, Finn? For vengeance? Or are you planning on torturing me first? Nothing you do will ease the pain. Nothing.” He smiled.
Finn heard Dante howl in the distance. He was on his own, he had to keep it together.
His wolf would not be calmed. His vision was bright red, his ears seeking the wet slosh of Cyrus’s accelerated heart rate. He wanted to stop that sound, wanted to rip the beating organ from his chest and devour it. He growled, pacing back and forth.
“So angry,” Cyrus said, watching. “Out of control. How unlike you, Finn.” Cyrus’s gaze wandered beyond him, a slight crease forming behind his brows as he took in the carnage.
“Let me fight him,” Thomas stepped forward, breathing heavy.
“You think you can best him, Thomas? Fight him,” Cyrus said. “I’m not stopping you.”
Finn shook his head and regarded Thomas. The boy wouldn’t stand a chance. Don’t.
Thomas smiled. “Scared, playboy?”
Finn shook his head again, his wolf snapping in anticipation. Don’t. He glanced at Cyrus, saw the fascination in his pale eyes, and gritted his teeth. He wanted them to fight, wanted to watch. And it sickened Finn.
But Thomas was turning.
And Finn’s wolf—his thirst for the kill—took over. He waited for Thomas to finish. And once Thomas’s wolf was done, Finn smelled his fear. He was smaller. So were the others he’d fought. They’d been small, weaker, and slower.
He circled Thomas, ignoring the snap and growl of the wolves waiting for their turn. They respected the challenge, but for how long?
Thomas stepped forward. Finn bit into his foreleg, pulling it out from under him and flipping the wolf over. But Finn let go and stepped back, letting Thomas rise. Thomas growled, planting his forelegs and posturing, even as he shifted his weight from his wounded leg.
Finn snorted, shaking his head.
Thomas charged, eyes wild and mouth open. But Finn side-stepped, his jaws latching on to Thomas’s throat, snapping hard, before flinging him up and over. Thomas’s body slammed into the ground with all his force, the sickening crunch of bone signaling Finn’s victory.
Thomas lay, each breath a strangled groan.
The stillness of the yard made the growing fire that much more obvious. The morning sky was grey, thick with smoke. Flames rose and billowed, sweeping across the vast cornfield and creeping up on the house. Soon the local fire department would come or a neighbor would call this in. And Finn would run out of time.
He stiffened, planting his front feet on the earth. He stuck his chest out, his ears and eyes focusing only on the man that stood before him. His growl turned into a guttural howl, hungry for a fight. There was no mistaking his challenge.
“You have a choice to make,” Cyrus said. “Fight me and die.” His voice wavered, his gaze once more returning to the carnage Finn had left in his madness. “Or save Jessa.”
Finn’s heart throbbed to life.
“She’s there,” Cyrus said, pointing to the small shed at the edge of the yard. The roof was beginning to smoke. “It might already be too late.”
It was a trick. Where the fuck was Dante? Finn’s jaws snapped in agitation. It was a trick. Brown saw her die.
Cyrus smiled, but it was unsteady. His gaze bounced again and again to his wounded and dead. Did he know that Finn would kill him? That this was where he’d die? Is that why he was taunting Finn? “I tried to convince her your affections weren’t true. But she wouldn’t believe me. She said you belonged to her. And she belonged to you. She believed that, Finn. Her loyalty is––was,” he paused, nodding at the shed, “truly admirable. I was going to keep her until the pup was born, study what happened. I think she’s stronger than most humans, but not strong enough to live through birthing your offspring.” He shook his head again. There was a desperation to his tone. Cyrus was afraid. “Or, a fire.”
Finn wanted Cyrus to fear him. But more than that, he wanted Jessa back.
The sound of fighting was unmistakable. Dante’s whimper, the snarl and growl of wolves. Dante couldn’t help him. Finn had a choice to make.
Finn’s wolf acted. His fury and anger and rage were replaced with the slightest flicker of hope. His paws tore across the yard. He knew Cyrus had used Jessa as a ploy, a way to escape. But he would never be able to live with himself if he was wrong. If she was here. If she was alive.
Dante was with him, then, the pack on their heels.
Gentry fired his big gun then. And the Others were mowed down, or running. He didn’t look back.
He circled the building.
A woman, her short black hair bloodied, lay outside the building and blocked the door. Piles of compost surrounded the building, evidence of the packs kills—both human and animal—singed his nose. But it did the job, covering other scents.
The roof was caving in, the flame and heat building as Finn nudged the woman away and to tear at the wood with his teeth. Dante helped and, between the two of them, they ripped the door free of its hinges.
Jessa.
Her scent reached him instantly.
He peered inside, searching through the feed sacks, hay, and shadows. She lay on her side, tied to a chair, unmoving. Of course, it was a trick. Cyrus wouldn’t have given her back alive. But her heart was beating. Her pulse was strong and steady. He swallowed, letting the sound of it, the feel of it roll over him. His relief drained his lungs, soothing him and the wolf. And terrifying them.
If the fire hadn’t put her in immediate danger, he would have dropped to his knees and cried like a fucking baby. But not now. Pieces of the ceiling fell, a rain of flaming shingles and wood.
Finn shifted instantly, his wolf relinquishing control so they could get her to safety. He knelt by her, his hands gentle on her upper arm.
She screamed, the sound muffled by the gag tied around her mouth. The sound was ragged, exhausted, but she jerked free, fighting the knots that kept her tied to the heavy wooden kitchen chair. She began coughing, wheezing.
“Jessa,” his voice broke. She was battered, dried blood and bruises covering far too much exposed skin. But she wasn’t listening, she was leaning away from him, her eyes pressed tightly shut. “Jessa?” he said again, more firmly.
“Please.” She was hoarse, a fit of coughing reminding him of the precarious position they were in. “Stop.”
He tore through the ropes and gently, oh-so-carefully, held her close. The comfort of her weight, the feel of her in his arms, erased every fear. Nothing more would happen to her. He’d make sure of it. “It’s me, Jessa. It’s Finn.” He buried his nose in the hair against her temple as he carried her from the building, cradled against his chest. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”