Chapter Nine
Mal wanted to shift. He’d kept his fury caged since they’d taken him. No matter how many times they’d beaten and left him bleeding and full of silver, he’d refused to give up. Vengeance gave him something to fight for. A purpose beyond giving the Others entertainment. Now he was free. He could shift whenever he fucking felt like it. But one thing was stopping him.
Olivia.
Not that it was her fault. No, dammit, she was blameless in all of this. Innocent. A quality he’d almost forgotten existed.
If Olivia weren’t there, he’d wait for the motherfucker to come out. His wolf would stay out of sight, toy with him, then bleed the son of a bitch out and rip him into pieces so small it’d be impossible to identify who or what he once was.
But Olivia was with him.
There was no choice. He’d tuck tail and run back to Finn. Even if it was like rubbing salt in a big-ass wound. She was his responsibility. Warning Finn about the Others was his responsibility, too, dammit. He hoped Hollis was right—that the pack’s safety hadn’t been compromised. But he needed to find out for himself.
He glanced over his shoulder at Olivia. She stared, wide-eyed, around her, moving quietly and staying in his tracks. Her hand clung to his as they trudged through the snow, following his lead without thought. And he liked it a little too damn much. Maybe it was his wolf pressing his agenda on the man. Maybe it was the unnerving attraction they shared. Maybe it was because she was a decent human being that deserved to live. Whatever it was, he was beginning to—grudgingly—like having her around.
And that made things so much worse.
His wolf already knew. The traitor jumped ship before they ever got out of that damn cell. As far as he was concerned, Olivia was his pack. Worse, the animal wanted Olivia as his mate. No matter how badly Mal objected to the latter, the wolf wasn’t giving up.
They walked until the chattering of Olivia’s teeth was too hard to ignore.
“Cold?” he asked, teasing.
“Y-y-yes,” she tried to snap back.
Knowing she was miserable wasn’t amusing. Cold as it was, he’d no doubt that adrenaline and fear was ramping up her reaction. He tended to block memories of Finn’s attack, being turned and the horror that followed. It had been bad—a waking nightmare. Sensory overload, mood swings and exhaustion, excitement and terror. He’d had time before his first shift to come to terms with what had happened and understand what to expect.
Olivia had no idea. All she had was his word…and her wolf. He could sense her waiting on the periphery of Olivia’s mind, eager to be fully realized. Pure energy and enthusiasm, naïveté and endless strength—tomorrow night was going to be one hell of a ride.
She froze, going perfectly still and drawing him up short. The sound was faint at first. His wolf knew what it was before he did.
“Is that a helicopter?” she whispered, pressing herself against his side.
He was impressed. She’d heard it before he had. “Finn.”
She relaxed against him.
They might be about to get rescued, but they weren’t out of danger—not yet. And relaxation was the last thing on his mind. The louder the helicopter grew, the more agitated he became. The pack was coming for them, so why wasn’t he happy? Why couldn’t he forget the hurt and anger their desertion caused? It was a splinter festering deep, one he couldn’t ignore—not yet.
Maybe it was a good thing. His anger had given him the fight to survive the shit-storm of captivity. The future was still uncertain. Just because they were excited about his homecoming didn’t mean they’d welcome Olivia with open arms.
Maybe calling Finn had been a bad idea. He’d been taking care of them just fine on his own, and Olivia was smart, her instincts were kicking in. They’d be a good team—he could tell. Except that wasn’t fair to her. Keeping her to himself, living on the road, on the run—she deserved better. Once she’d settled in with the pack—with Finn—Mal could do whatever the fuck he wanted. On his own.
His wolf whined then growled. Leaving Olivia didn’t sit well with his inner beast.
The chatter of her teeth pulled him from his internal argument. He glanced down at her, frowning. She was watching him, her face too shadowed to reveal what she was thinking. Which could be a good thing. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me,” he urged.
The helicopter was in view now, a spotlight sweeping the newly fallen snow.
“You’re w-worried,” she managed. “About me? Where I-I fit, what to do with me?”
He sighed.
“Because you’re not sure you still belong with this pack? Or because of the you and me thing?”
He shook his head. “Because I don’t know what’s best for you.”
“So, making me a werewolf suddenly renders me incapable of making my own decisions?” she asked, the hint of anger creeping into her tone.
He growled. “Can we do this later?”
She let go off him, wrapping her arms around her waist.
He waited, but she stayed silent. In the grand scheme of things, her bad mood didn’t matter. Hell, being pissed was more effective than being scared. Not that he was going to let anything happen to her. He shook his head, tugging her into the clearing behind him and shielding his eyes from the beam of light…
A ripple. A warning.
His wolf recognized the scent. The one tracking them, an Other. The wind had shifted just enough to give him cover. Enough to let him get too damn close. He shoved Olivia behind him and turned, scanning the darkness.
Was he alone? It was unlikely.
Glowing white eyes waited in the shadow of the trees. One pair so far. That was good.
“He sees us,” she said, her fingers gripped the back of his jacket.
Mal hesitated. He couldn’t let the wolf go. The Others were uncertain how many were in Finn’s pack, and that’s the way they wanted to keep it. That might have changed since he’d left, but he wasn’t going to risk it. Add Olivia’s presence, healthy and alive, and they’d know he’d turned her.
“Mal?” she whispered.
“Stay here,” he said, knowing the helicopter was overhead. “Dante is here. Sad eyes, floppy hair. Go with him.”
“No, Mal—”
“Go with him,” he snapped. She didn’t understand, not really—not yet. But she would. The bastard couldn’t get away.
She released him.
He shrugged off his coat, the shift already running over his flesh and stretching his muscles. It wasn’t easy, he was agitated—worrying about Olivia, worrying about not getting the wolf before it ran. He fell forward, grunting against the snap of bone, the shift of vertebrae and joints. Claws tore through knuckles. Flesh gave way to fur. His heart picked up, his breath pulling the rival wolf’s scent deep into his lungs. His ears cocked forward, tuning in to his adversary.
The hunter had become the hunted. And Mal’s prey was braced for a fight.
...
Olivia wanted to throw up. Watching Mal tear apart was mesmerizing and terrifying. Hearing each snap and pop, the wet rip of skin and scent of blood—this was Mal. Her Mal. His beautiful body split wide to leave something different. She wanted to block out the sounds and un-see what had just happened. But she couldn’t. Even the spinning blades of the helicopter and the whir of the engine didn’t drown out the sounds of his shift.
Mal was gone. And breathing, thinking, moving, was impossible.
When hands gripped her shoulders, she jumped, screamed, and shrugged away from the touch.
Mal—the wolf—stared back at her, the thick black fur of his neck bristling. She stepped back, unable to stop herself. This was Mal. This was Mal. Mal was a big, scary black wolf growling at her. No, not at her. The man behind her. She looked—a man in a harness, holding a rope. From the helicopter.
“I’ve got her,” the man said, nodding at Mal.
Mal snorted and tore across the snow, leaving her behind.
“Dante,” he said, extending his hand.
She stared at his hand, his face, and stepped back. “Sad eyes,” she muttered, glancing at him. “Dante?”
The man nodded, studying her. “You are?”
She stared after Mal, her heart throbbing. He couldn’t leave her. She was supposed to be with him, at his side—no matter what he was facing. The urge to follow him was powerful, pulling her forward.
But Mal’s command echoed in her ears. “Go with him.”
Where the tears came from, she didn’t know. Incredible sorrow and pain engulfed her. He’d left her. Left a hole right through the middle of her. He wasn’t supposed to leave her—not ever.
The hand returned to her shoulder. She didn’t like it, didn’t want anyone to touch her.
“He’ll be back,” Dante said. “Trust me.”
She nodded, fighting the urge to go and the hold Mal’s words had placed on her.
“Your name?” he asked again.
“Olivia Chase.” She sounded…angry. Because she felt angry. At Mal.
“Let’s get you into the helicopter,” Dante said.
She glared at him. “No.”
“Mal said to go with me, Miss Chase,” Dante reminded her.
Her eyes burned violently. He had told her to go. She sniffed. “Fine.”
He held his hands up. “I’m going to snap you in,” he said, offering her the harness.
She nodded, staring into the darkness.
More eyes.
“Dante?” she whispered. “Do you see them?”
“Aw, shit,” Dante groaned.
A howl split the night, sending her to her knees. It was impossible to breathe or see or think. Mal. Growling, snarling, whimpers. A howl cut short. Mal. She didn’t realize she’d screamed his name out loud until Dante told her he’d be fine.
She didn’t know how Dante managed to get her into the harness, or how she wound up in the helicopter, leaning out the door, waiting.
“Two more?” she asked. “Three?”
Dante stared out into the dark, his posture growing more agitated.
She held on to the handle by the door, leaning as far as she could without falling. She might be a werewolf, but something told her she wasn’t ready to follow Mal out into the fight. Even if part of her, a very big part of her, wanted to do just that.
If she concentrated she could hear him—his heart beating, the ragged gasp of his breath. Adrenaline sliced through her, kicking her own heart rate up.
It lasted too long.
And the noise—primal, feral, terrible—echoed in her brain and flooded her blood with an energy she didn’t understand. A quiver ran along her spine, making her twitch and tingle. She itched under her skin. Her joints felt tight and her brain pulsed.
Amid the howls, whimpers, and growls, she searched for some sign of Mal.
Dante’s eyes narrowed, his gaze focused on something she didn’t see. “Stay here. I will help him, but you have to stay here.”
“Don’t leave him.” Her words were hard, a hoarse demand.
He nodded then jumped from the helicopter.
“What the hell?” a voice crackled over the intercom.
A shot rang out, so loud she covered her ears. Another followed.
Dante lay, naked and human, on the ground below the helicopter.
She stared at Dante’s lifeless body, a large red patch forming on his newly bared chest. He’d been ready to shift when the bullet made impact. Now he was vulnerable and alone.
She heard a howl and saw them, wolves, circling the tree line.
Where was Mal? There was no way he could rescue Dante and protect himself from the circling pack. Mal’s howl split the night, and desperation washed over her. She had to do something.
“You need to land,” she called to the pilot.
The voice crackled, “No can do—”
“Now,” she argued. “They need help.”
“Shit, damn, ass, stupid.” The voice continued insulting the state of the world, but the helicopter was landing. It was fast, the ground rising to meet them with a jarring impact. Then the cockpit door opened and and a man came out. Outfitted in riot gear, an automatic weapon in each hand and a belt full of knives, he seemed almost excited.
He nodded, winked, and climbed through the helicopter door before she moved a muscle.
She jumped out, helping lift Dante’s unconscious form into the helicopter.
“Hurry,” the man urged. “They’re almost on us.”
Olivia didn’t let his words get to her. She couldn’t. She was too busy looking for Mal.
“Where is he?” she asked.
“He’ll be okay.”
“We are not leaving him. Do you hear me?” she shrieked. “I don’t care if I get eaten waiting.”
The man grinned. “No need to get all riled up now.”
But Mal’s wolf was running toward them and everything snapped back into place. The hole was gone. The fear, too. He planted his feet, the fur on his neck and shoulders bristling as he faced their attackers.
“That’s his way of telling us it’s time to go,” the man said, pulling her into the helicopter.
She almost argued, but Mal climbed in after them.
Second later, the helicopter was rising in to the sky, the rapid whir of the blades drowning the frustrated howls of the wolves they left below. She didn’t know whether to hug him or punch him, so she curled into herself. But Mal’s nose slid between her face and knees, his whimper pulling at her heart. She hugged him close, losing her fear in the feel of his soft fur against her face. He pressed against her, a low rumble in his chest, sniffing her hairline and throat.
“Is he okay?” she asked Mal. “Dante?”
The wolf groaned, moving to Dante’s side, sniffing his wounds. He sat, staring at her, then Dante.
“I’m not a nurse,” she argued, crawling forward to peer at the wound in Dante’s chest. “I heard two shots.”
The wolf grunted, a sharp woof.
She looked at him. “It’s sort of rude, isn’t it? To shoot at each other instead of fighting it out as wolves. Sort of underhanded.”
Mal’s wolf grinned. He did—that’s the only word for it.
“What?” she asked, turning back to Dante. She pressed her ear to his chest. “His heart sounds good.” She hesitated, remembering what Mal had told her. “He’s calm. Even his breathing is normal.”
“Takes a lot to kill a wolf,” the voice crackled. “I’m Gentry, by the way.”
“Are you a wolf?” she asked.
“No.” He laughed. “But I sure love running with the crazy-ass-motherfuckers.”
She sat back on her heels, sighing.
“It’s fucking good to see you, Mal,” Gentry added.
“Damn good,” Dante whispered from the floor. “Damn good.”
Mal was up, ears cocked forward, nuzzling Dante’s face. Dante laughed, patting the wolf’s neck with an unsteady hand.
“What’d I tell you? Tough sons of bitches,” Gentry said.
Tears were streaking down her face. Tears? Why now—when he was safe? When they were safe? Now was not the time to lose it.
“They know about her now,” Dante whispered.
She stiffened.
Mal’s brown eyes met hers. As a wolf, Mal was more expressive—more in tune. There was regret in his eyes, and worry. She shook her head, sliding across the floor to rest against the metal wall of the helicopter. It vibrated violently beneath her head, the tinny echo sending painful sparks into her skull, behind her eyes.
What was wrong with her?
Her temples were pounding. A sudden dull ache bloomed at the base of her neck and crushed in on her head. Never in her life had she felt so alone. Or helpless. Her wolf had wanted to help him. She’d wanted to help him.
“Finn has a plane waiting to take us to the refuge,” Gentry’s voice crackled again.
The rest of the ride was silent. She concentrated on the pulse in her head, on not thinking about how Mal’s body had contorted and twisted. Or the fear that she would never truly be safe again. That Chase was in danger—or the bad guy. Or that she was falling in love with a werewolf.
When they touched down on the tarmac, Mal nudged her from the helicopter. She and Gentry helped Dante make the short trek to the waiting jet.
Mal followed, a gorgeous shirtless, fatigue-pants-wearing man. But in his brooding gaze, Olivia caught sight of his wolf. She didn’t resist as his arms came around her, as he pulled her close with a sigh. He shivered, the muscles of his shoulders tensing as she nuzzled his neck. It was instinctual. Natural. Nothing more. Offering him comfort was the right thing to do. And the soft grumble at the back of his throat told her he approved.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Gentry said, disappearing into the front of the plane.
Apparently, he could fly both helicopters and airplanes. And use all sorts of weapons. And he liked it. Just one more crazy thing at this point.
“You’ll heal faster if you can shift,” Mal said.
“Silver,” Dante pointed at the wound in his chest. “Went through, but there’s traces left—I can feel it.”
She winced, so did Mal, and Dante grinned. “You want to tell me what happened?” Dante asked softly.
“How long?” Mal asked, pulling her onto the couch beside him.
Silence fell.
“How long have I been gone?” he repeated.
“Three months.” Dante’s voice was thick.
Fury coursed through her. Her gaze bounced from Mal to Dante. “You left him in that place for three months?”
“Olivia—” Mal’s voice was low.
“Don’t you dare tell me to be quiet.” She cut him off. “That’s not right, leaving you there for so long.” She glared at Dante, her emotions all over the place once more. But seeing Dante’s sadness, and the pain on his face, made her instantly regret her hostility.
“I agree,” Dante said.
“But you’re not the Alpha, are you?” she whispered, directing her anger at Finn—the one who had left Mal.
Dante exchanged a look with Mal, a look she didn’t understand.
“No, Olivia, he’s not.” Mal’s voice was coaxing, almost pleased. “So be nice to him.”
She frowned, tearing her gaze from Dante to look at Mal—really look at him. Scratches covered his bare chest. A bite covered the ball of his shoulder and the side of his neck. She ran her fingers over a deep bruise on his cheek, wincing at the blood that trickled from his right ear. “Are you okay?” she managed, truly concerned.
He smiled as he smoothed the curls from her shoulder, his warm gaze exploring her face. His gaze locked with hers, hot and bold and yearning. There was no mistaking the hunger in his eyes as he stared at her mouth, or the subtle shift of his hands on her body.
“Your mate has spirit,” Dante said. “It will make tomorrow night easier.”
Mal’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not my mate,” he bit out, jaw clenching.
Dante shook his head. “Holy shit, here we go again. Guess denial is the first step in finding a mate,” he mumbled, loud enough to be heard.
Mal’s dismissal cut through her, stealing the warmth he’d given her only seconds before. Dante was a wolf, yet she didn’t have the same odd reaction Mal’s presence elicited. She had yet to meet Finn or the rest of the pack, but she suspected it would be the same. What was between her and Mal was different—even if he didn’t want to accept it.
Accept it or not, Olivia was adrift in loneliness. Nothing made sense. Nothing. But letting her fear take over wasn’t productive. Fear wasn’t going to rule her—she was stronger than that.