Chapter Six
“Who’s here?” Finn asked the doorman, not bothering to slow. His son was in danger. Adrenaline coursed through him.
“Just the delivery boy,” the doorman answered.
He glanced back then. “Thomas?”
The doorman nodded, glancing from him to Brown. “No one else.”
But Brown picked up on Finn’s agitation, instantly alert. “What do you need?”
He yanked open the door to the stairwell. “In three minutes, cut the lights,” he yelled as he raced up the stairs.
He closed his eyes, letting the fury of the wolf warm his body in preparation. Thought wasn’t possible. Oscar. Jessa. The wolf took control, and Finn welcomed him. The shift was hard, driven by rage and pain. Every muscle stretched and tore. His shoulders snapped downward, his spine lengthening as he fell forward. His claws split through his palms to click against the concrete stairs. Raw instinct surged as fur bristled and his nostrils flared, pulling in scents—searching. The wolf was in charge now. Things like hesitation and restraint no longer applied.
Thomas’s odor reached him, tainting the air with the rank mix of wolf, blood, fear, and anger. He burst through the door, an ear-splitting howl of pure frustration and anger greeting him.
Thomas was angry. A good sign.
His ears perked up. No Oscar. No Jessa. He skirted the kitchen, through the great room, and trotted down the hall.
Silence. Thomas had scented him.
He crouched, waiting. And then darkness fell. Brown had cut the power.
Finn waited. Thomas would come. Thomas, a new wolf with no control or awareness, too loud, too nervous, and too clumsy to realize how lethal he was. The new wolf stumbled into the hall, pausing, anxious. His nails clicked on the wood floor as he took a few steps and paused again. Finn let the wolf’s fear build. Then he attacked. He was silent, his teeth clamping down on the new wolf’s neck before he could react. Thomas’s haunches gave out, his nails gouging the floor as he fought to get away.He spun and rolled, scraping fur from Finn’s shoulder and neck, desperate to break Finn’s grip.
But Finn held tight, hoping Thomas would give up.
The lights flickered back on, revealing a thatch of long, golden hair on the ground. Droplets of blood.
Jessa.
Fury rolled over him, choking him, pulling his wolf into the maelstrom of primal instinct. He growled, his jaws clamping tight. The spurt of blood was hot, metallic, and quick, filling his mouth, splatting onto the floor beneath them. In seconds, the new wolf—Thomas—hung limply from his mouth. But Finn’s rage wasn’t appeased.
Jessa’s hair… Oscar.
He dropped the wolf and ran into Oscar’s room, sniffing the mangled frame of the panic room door. He could smell Oscar and Jessa, but he didn’t know what he’d find inside. He forced the change, fighting the wolf back, ignoring the brutal burn and grind of bone and muscle aligning into his human form. He wouldn’t heal as fast, but he wasn’t ready for Jessa to meet the wolf.
If she was okay. And Oscar?
They had to be okay.
He didn’t give himself time to adjust, but stood and leaned against the panic room door. Breathing was hard, his legs were unsteady, but his apprehension forced him to move. He had to get to his office, to the keypad. But the door slid open. The red haze that had clouded his senses slid away, and his wolf retreated. He could finally breathe, finally think.
Jessa sat in the far corner of the room, her knees drawn up, Oscar on her lap. Her green eyes fixed on him, haunted.
He closed his eyes, fighting nausea.
“Are you okay?” she asked, so softly he doubted she’d actually spoken.
He nodded, vaguely aware that he was bloody—and naked. “You? Oscar?”
“Yes,” she murmured, her gaze unwavering. “Is he dead?” She was shaking, he could see that from here.
Would she hate him? He hadn’t planned on killing Thomas. But her hair and blood… His wolf was pacing again, ready to defend her, to do anything it needed to protect her. He nodded.
“He was here for Oscar.” Her voice was unsteady, thick. She pushed off the wall to stand, her arm supporting the sling with Oscar inside. “I tried to get Oscar inside, knew he needed to be safe. But I couldn’t get the sling off.”
Her words ripped through him. She would sacrifice herself for Oscar, and it gutted him. He crossed the small space, steadying her, his hands clasping her upper arms. “And you?”
“Thomas said he wouldn’t hurt me.” She was dazed, he could see that.
“He would have hurt you, Jessa. He would have done whatever it took to take my son.” He knew what Cyrus was capable of. And thinking of Oscar or Jessa at Cyrus’s mercy made his blood run cold.
“No, he wouldn’t.”
“Cyrus is his alpha. Thomas must obey him,” he argued. “It’s the way the wolf works.”
She stared up at him, fear in her eyes. He didn’t fight her when she shrugged out of his hold. “Oscar needs a bottle.” But she paused in the doorway, taking in the devastation that had been Oscar’s room.
“Jessa,” his voice broke. “Go into your room and wait for me.”
She spun, her eyes shining with unshed tears—and anger. “Don’t order me around. Jesus, Finn, I need to… I’m just… Stop.”
Finn ran a hand over his face and nodded. She was right. He’d had ten years to come to terms with his fucked-up reality. She’d had a day. And until now she hadn’t known what, exactly, “his reality” meant. He watched her, aching to hold her, to touch her. “Thank you for protecting Oscar.”
She nodded, her gaze lingering on his bare chest, then traveled lower. “I need…” Her whisper hitched. Her green eyes slammed into his, the ragged pull of her breath shaking him. “You’re naked.”
The shift from fear to need was a palpable thing. Her emotions were high. Her life had been threatened, her endorphins had taken over. She needed some sort of release. He swallowed, trying not to respond, trying not to think about all the ways he could help her find her release—over and over.
“Mr. Dean?” It was Brown.
“In here,” he answered, glad for the interruption.
Jessa blinked, sucking in a long, deep breath. “Oscar needs a bottle.” She walked around the shattered crib, torn carpet, and chunks of drywall littering the floor.
“Miss Talbot, I advise you to wait,” Brown said.
Shit, Thomas. He’d shift now, from wolf to the man he was. That was the hardest part—and Jessa didn’t need to see. He wrapped a shredded throw around his waist as he went.
Oscar’s soft cries were building, a sign that his son was hungry—something Jessa would immediately respond to. “Brown, bring a bottle and formula to Miss Talbot’s room,” he instructed. “My son is hungry.”
Brown, good man that he was, headed toward the kitchen.
Jessa was staring at him.
“I’m sorry, Jessa,” he murmured.
“Can I leave?” she asked. “Would you let me go?”
No. You can’t go. He couldn’t let her. His hands fisted at his sides. “You’re upset.”
“Yes, I’m upset. Normal people would find this upsetting.” She bounced Oscar absent-mindedly. “My worries consist of paying rent and tuition and electric bills, of being there for my family, of hoping I’ll eventually find someone to love—that loves me.” Her words ran together, her agitation increasing. “Being hunted or eaten?” She shook her head. “I’m not sure I’m strong enough for this. But…” She shook her head, sniffing.
“But?” he prompted.
Oscar’s ear-splitting wail interrupted them.
Luckily Brown arrived with a bottle, and Jessa took Oscar into her room, closing the door behind her. Finn stared at it, calming himself until he could hear the steady heartbeat of his son, the soft humming of Jessa.
“Mr. Dean?” Brown began. “He’s gone.”
Finn pushed past Brown into the hallway. The floor was wet with blood, several paw prints trailing to the emergency exit he’d broken through to get in. Stupid fucking idiot. He’d been too worked up to make sure Thomas was dead. “Get someone down there, Brown. He can’t leave. Do you understand me?” This was his fault.
Brown nodded. “Yes sir.”
Finn ran down the stairs, the senses of the wolf sharpening his ears and nose. The scent of blood was easy to follow, ending at the third floor—the parking garage. The door was ajar, a thin strip of blood along its surface. But the trail ended sharply, gas and rubber signaling the way Thomas had gone.
“Someone was waiting,” Brown said, still scanning the concrete garage floors.
Finn felt the fury of the wolf, but fought it back. “Cyrus,” he said, glancing at his security chief.
Brown had a vested interest in destroying Cyrus, too, one that made him unfailingly loyal to Finn. Eight years ago, Cyrus had killed Brown’s wife and taken his daughter. It was Finn that had found Brown, broken and furious, and listened to the man’s too-implausible-to-be-true story. Except it wasn’t. He’d vowed to help Brown find his daughter, and the man had been loyal to Finn ever since.
“I’ll find them,” Brown said.
“No, send Gentry. I need you to help get Oscar and Jessa to the refuge.” His voice was hard, inflexible. He wanted Cyrus dead—wanted to rip the bastard’s fucking throat out. But he’d have to wait. Brown’s revenge would have to wait, too.
Brown stared at the ground, the streak of bright red blood, and nodded.
It was enough. Finn spun on his heel and ran back up the stairs. All that mattered was Oscar and Jessa. Seeing them, smelling them…hearing the thrum of the blood in their veins and the beat of their hearts would calm him. And so would getting them to safety.
…
Jessa stared down at Oscar, the lids of his blue eyes growing heavier as he finished off his warm bottle. His little body relaxed, the latch on the bottle easing, as he drifted off to sleep. She smiled, stroking her finger along the soft curve of his cheek.
She envied Oscar. He had no idea what was going on. As long as he had someone there to take care of him, he was content. He didn’t know anything about danger or fear. Or have to worry about anything beyond baby-things. He’d grow up thinking it was normal for men to turn into animals, to act like animals—with instincts to hunt and kill.
She sniffed, the tears she’d held at bay overwhelming her. She lifted Oscar up, propped his tiny body against her shoulder, and patted. When he burped, she almost burst into tears. She loved this baby. So much. She’d no idea just how much until today. And while any rational person would be packing up and leaving, she couldn’t do it.
“Jessa?” Finn’s voice was soft, anguished.
She shook her head, refusing to look at him. That would only make things worse. He was the other reason she couldn’t leave. The hold he had on her refused to budge. Until she figured out what to do about it, she’d cling to Oscar and try not to fall apart.
“Take the laundry, divide it up,” Finn’s voice was tight, clipped. “All of this stays.”
“The scent trail needs to be covered,” a voice Jessa didn’t know.
She opened her eyes, regarding Finn and the redhead at his side.
“You think soiled diapers and dirty clothes will throw them off?” the man asked.
Finn rubbed a hand over his face. “What else can I fucking do, Hollis?”
The man, Hollis, shook his head. “I don’t think they’ll come back right away.”
“That’s why we’re leaving,” Finn said, looking at her. “We have to go, Jessa.”
“Let me take her,” Hollis said.
She froze, glancing at Hollis then at Finn and the look on his face. Fury. “No.” His one word said it all.
“Oscar?” Hollis was exasperated.
“No,” he repeated.
“Now you’re going all territorial?” Hollis shook his head. “Think, Finn.”
Finn spoke clearly. “I’m not letting either one out of my sight.”
Hollis nodded, stepping back. “Fine. Take them. I’ll do what I can here and meet you later.”
Finn clapped the man on the shoulder. “Thank you.”
Hollis’s grin was tight. “What choice do I have?”
Finn’s jaw clenched, his hand sliding from Hollis’s shoulder.
Jessa waited, watching Finn’s shoulders droop when they were left alone. “Who was that?” she asked.
His blue eyes found her. “Hollis. One of my oldest friends.”
Exhaustion weighed her down. “Where are we going?”
“Someplace safe,” he said, crossing to her.
She stared up at him. “When are we leaving?”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Now.”
She stood, unsteady. “Okay.”
In ten minutes, they were climbing into a car she’d never seen before. She buckled Oscar into the car seat and tried to breathe but the throb of her head reminded her that Thomas had left his mark upon her—physically and mentally. She reached back, probing the wound and wincing. The gash felt deep—her hair was sticky and matted. When he’d done it, she’d barely registered what was happening. The burn of tears made her close her eyes.
She shouldn’t think about Thomas.
She shouldn’t think about anything.
They changed cars several times. Finn was there at her side, his voice encouraging and his hand on the base of her spine. It helped keep her fear at bay, even as exhaustion crept in. Sometime before dawn, they checked into a hotel. She had no idea what city they were in, but the hotel was all glitz and glamour, with crystal chandeliers and perky desk attendants going on about room service and spa treatments. She let Finn do the talking and carried Oscar to their room. Baby supplies were waiting on one of the beds, but Oscar was still sleeping. She pressed a kiss against his forehead and took a shower, washing her hair and standing under the water until she was too tired to stay on her feet. She tugged on the robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, changed and fed Oscar, and collapsed on the bed.
Finn made phone calls—lots of phone calls—and the even pitch of his voice gave her some sense of calm.
But when he finally turned off the light and headed for the shower, sleep wouldn’t come. She was aware of the guests next door, laughing and talking loudly, and the faint ding of the elevator down the hall. She heard the water running in the shower then Finn getting into the other double bed. He tossed and turned, punched his pillow into submission, then flopped back onto the mattress. His sigh echoed in the room.
Every squeak Oscar made, every creak of the mattress spring, Jessa’s eyes would pop open and her heart would pound.
She turned, rolling onto her side to stare at the sliver of light that spilled in at the edge of the window. She heard the creak of Finn’s bed, heard him pad across the floor to the bathroom and come back minutes later. But then there was silence. She jumped when Finn’s hand rested on her hip.
“You need sleep,” he whispered.
She didn’t argue or pull away from him. Her heart thundered, yearning for his touch.
The mattress gave as he climbed onto her bed. He didn’t say a word as he wrapped himself around her. His arm, thick and heavy, slid around her waist. His heat seeped through the terry-cloth robe she wore. And it felt good. Too good.
She closed her eyes.
His hand rested on her rib cage. His breath fanned the skin at the nape of her neck. One muscled calf slipped between hers, his toes brushing the inside of her foot. She was more distracted than ever now. But in a completely different way. Her body hummed, alive and awake.