Chapter Fourteen
Jessa had been in and out of consciousness for some time. The rhythmic spin of the wheels, the low hum of the engine, lulled her back into the dark. But the occasional bump or stop jolted her awake, bracing, waiting for someone to come get her. Then what? Cyrus’s words offered some sort of comfort—if he honored them. But being kept prisoner until her baby was born… It was a good thing she was too scared to cry, or she’d have made herself sick.
She tried not to think about Brown. Or her brothers. Or Oscar. Or Finn. She tried to focus on staying calm. She needed to be strong for the baby in her belly. Finn’s baby. A wolf, strong and proud, loyal and fierce.
She had no idea how long they’d been driving, only that her left arm was completely numb from being pinned beneath her. Her back stung. Her body throbbed, the bag over her head stuck to her temple, sealing in the heat, sweat, and smell of her own blood.
The car went over several bumps, slowing considerably. She heard voices and a door opening, but the engine was still running. What now?
Cold air. The car door was open. She pushed away, trying to press herself into the other side of the car. But that door opened too and a huge hand encircled her upper arm and tugged her from the car. She stumbled, uncertain in the darkness that still covered her.
“Why did he bring her here?” a voice asked, softly—nervous.
“He wants Dean. But if he can’t get him, his offspring is the next best thing,” another voice, hard and gruff, answered.
“She’s breeding?”
“Shut up, he’s coming.” The hard voice snapped.
“Look who’s up and on her feet?” Cyrus’s voice.
She wanted to run, to curl in on herself. But the hand was tugging her forward, uncaring when she tripped or stumbled.
“Any news?” Cyrus asked.
“Thomas is on the run,” the other voice answered. He must be the one dragging her along. “The angry one is following him. Thomas is not sure he can outrun him.”
“And he’s bringing him here?” Cyrus asked.
“I guess so—”
“You guess so?” Cyrus repeated.
They came to an abrupt stop.
“Find out,” Cyrus growled, making the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up.
“Yes, sir,” the voice said. “What do I do with her?”
There was a long pause. “Take her to Ellen. I want a full work-up before she goes below.”
“Yes, sir,” the voice repeated.
“And find out about Thomas,” Cyrus snapped.
They were moving again, so quickly her feet barely touched the ground. “Stairs, going up,” the voice said before pulling her up the steps.
She was out of breath, aching and miserable, when they stopped again.
“Ellen,” the voice said. “Cyrus wants a full work up on her. She’s breeding.”
“She’s breeding?” the woman’s voice was incredulous. “Is she one of us?”
“No,” Jessa spoke. “I’m not a werewolf.”
The bag was snatched off her head, tearing the scab free. Jessa winced, covering the wound on her temple and blinking rapidly from the overwhelmingly bright light.
“You’re the mate?” The woman, Ellen, stared at her, circling her slowly.
“Can we get her buckled in?” Jessa stared at the hulk of a man still gripping her arm. “I’ve got things to do.”
Ellen nodded. “Be careful with her, Byron.”
Byron snorted, tugging her across the office to what looked suspiciously like an examination table. She resisted then, eyeing the wrist and ankle straps with growing panic. She kicked at him, clawing his forearm to get away. Byron lifted her up and slammed her onto the exam table. “Stop it,” he snarled.
“Careful. I know it’s a foreign concept to you, but try, Byron. She’s important.” Ellen patted Jessa. “Very important. I don’t think the straps are necessary. Do you?” she asked Jessa.
“Ellen,” the man argued. “He’ll have a shit-fit if she gets away.”
“Where will she go?” Ellen waved her hand at him. “Relax Byron. I swear, I’ll have to start treating you for high blood pressure.”
Byron scowled at Ellen, but he released Jessa. She rubbed her arm, knowing it would be bruised. And her head throbbed.
“If I have to hear one more fucking word about survival of the pack, live pups, and that goddamn bone, I’m going to challenge him myself,” Byron snapped, eyeing Jessa. “I’m not the only one. Some of us think he’s bringing a shit-storm of trouble down on us for nothing.”
Jessa listened, wishing the words made more sense. Finn had mentioned a bone. The bone that turned him. But the rest of it?
Ellen glanced at the door. “Don’t let anyone else hear you say that,” she whispered.
Byron stared down at her. He hated her. That was an understatement. His hostility was smothering, pressing in on her until it was hard to breathe.
“Go on,” Ellen shooed him from the room. Ellen leaned against the closed door, cocking her head. She smiled at Jessa, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You have no idea what’s going on, do you?”
Jessa shook her head.
“Why don’t you rest for a bit? We’ll see what sort of injuries we’re dealing with and go from there.” Ellen crossed to her, moving too quickly to put Jessa at ease. “Relax now,” Ellen said, patting her thigh.
Jessa frowned, beyond confused.
While Ellen opened and closed cabinets, collecting band aids and alcohol wipes, Jessa was staring wide-eyed at her new surroundings.
It was like any doctor’s office. But the charts on the walls differed. Some were human, men and women, others were dogs. No windows, one door, one stool, two chairs, and the examination table she was on—thankfully unsecured.
Ellen sat on the stool and scooted close to Jessa’s head. She clicked her tongue, using a cotton ball to clean the sticky mess from her skin and hair. “There’s some glass here. Head wounds bleed a lot, so we’ll have to see what’s going on. Might need stitches. Might be nothing.”
Jessa glanced at her. Was Ellen being genuine? Or was she all pretense with big teeth and an even bigger agenda underneath. She had one of those faces that made age irrelevant, lined but lovely in a timeless way. Close-cropped black hair, plain white t-shirt, jeans, and the most unusual eyes. One green and one brown.
“I won’t bite,” Ellen smiled.
Jessa shook her head.
“I mean, I can. We wolves tend to do that now and then. But I’m civilized,” Ellen smiled.
“Why am I here?” Jessa asked.
Ellen glanced at the door. “Besides luring the big one here, you mean? You’re pregnant, girl. That’s something that hasn’t happened in our pack in decades.” She paused. “I’m going to wrap your head. I think stitches will do more damage than good.”
Jessa frowned.
“I’m not going to bore you with all the details. Let’s just say Cyrus doesn’t like mysteries.” The woman lifted Jessa’s hand, peering at the shredded palm. “Ouch. And you—that is, his whole pack, the False Wolves—you’re all a big, scary mystery to an alpha like Cyrus.”
Finn’s pack. The False Wolves?
“Glass in here,” Ellen said. “I need to get the tweezers. You want anything to eat or drink? Byron’s not the most hospitable caretaker.”
“Water?” Jessa asked. She was parched. “Please.”
Ellen’s brow furrowed, her smile tightening. “Sure.”
“Ellen,” she paused. “Is my baby safe?”
Ellen sat back on her chair, her peculiar gaze settling on Jessa’s stomach. “I’d like to say yes, girl. But with Cyrus, there are no guarantees. We’ll just have to wait and see.” She patted Jessa’s thigh again, stood, and stepped out of the room.
Jessa closed her eyes, digging deep for strength. She sat up, pushing off the table and crossing to the door. She opened it slowly, holding her breath as she peered outside. Byron stood across the hall, his arms crossed over the wall of his chest. He cocked one thick eyebrow at her and shook his head. For the first time, she wished Finn hadn’t just made her his mate. She wished he’d made her a wolf. Then she’d have a fighting chance.
She didn’t see much else before Ellen appeared, walking her back inside the room and closing the door behind them.
“Here ya go,” Ellen said, unperturbed by Jessa’s curiosity. She offered her a bottle of water. “Need to stay hydrated. Especially considering what you’ve been through. Finish up and I’ll get the glass out of your hands.”
Ellen busied herself opening the medical packets she’d brought with her into the room.
Jessa took a sip of the water, praying Ellen’s intentions were good. She gulped down the cold water, not realizing just how thirsty she was. But once the bottle was empty, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Water wasn’t the only thing in the bottle.
“Shit” Ellen’s voice. “Byron! Did you put something in her water? You stupid sonofabitch!”
…
Finn stared at the small grocery store, his heart in his throat. He could smell her—faintly. An old scent trail, but it was Jessa. She’d been here.
He choked off his motorcycle and went inside, his eyes sweeping the store. It was late. The clerk was red-eyed, reading a local newspaper. A couple of teenagers were shoving candy in their pants. An old woman was reading the packages of adult diapers.
He grabbed a bottle of water and some gum and headed to the counter.
“Anything else?” the clerk asked.
“I’m looking for them,” he said, pulling the photos of Brown and Jessa from his pocket, adding a hundred-dollar bill beneath the pictures.
The clerk eyed the money and tucked it into his pocket, nodding. “Here last night. Cute couple. Probably headed off somewhere to celebrate.”
“Celebrate?” Finn asked.
“You don’t buy two pregnancy tests if you get a negative the first time around. She was in the bathroom with one. He came up five minutes later to buy another one.”
Finn stared at the man, blood roaring in his ears. “These two? You’re sure?”
The clerk nodded. “She’s prettier than the average three a.m. customers.”
Finn nodded, willing his focus onto one thing—finding them. He stared down at the picture of Jessa. “Which way did they go?”
“East, I think.” The clerk shrugged.
Finn nodded, pushed through the doors, and climbed onto his bike. His lungs struggled to find air. Jessa was pregnant? He stared at her picture. Harry had given it to him. She was smiling, almost laughing. She was the most beautiful thing in his world. He needed her to come home. To be at his side, with Oscar. And their new baby? His heart constricted tightly, the pain blinding. Where are you?
This was his fucking fault. All of it. He’d lost control, given in to his weakness, and now she was pregnant, which was probably why Cyrus took her. He couldn’t lose her. He drew in a deep breath, drained the water bottle, and pocketed the gum, all while working through his options. Sitting there doing shit wasn’t one of them.
With a final look at the drugstore, he walked into the tall trees behind the building and stripped. He stored his clothes beneath a towering pine, and let his wolf take over. He didn’t have time to register pain—the shift was quick—before he was off and running. The wolf didn’t give a shit about pain. All it knew was Jessa was missing, gone. And it couldn’t deal with that.
Fuck it. He couldn’t deal. When it came to Jessa, he and the wolf were the same. They needed her like they needed air.
Ten hours. Ten hours with no word, no returned phone calls, no texts, nothing but silence. And he and his wolf were close to losing their shit.
He ran, his paws silent on the fallen needles and damp moss covering the ground. He sifted through the heavy earth, the clean, fresh odor of the forest—dirt, plants, animals. Beyond the green, growing things was the highway. Jessa. He drew her deep into his lungs, tracking her scent along the side of the highway. Around a hundred miles from the drugstore, the scents changed. Metal. Oil. Rubber. Smoke. Flames. Blood. Lots of blood. Metal. Brown. Jessa. Unfamiliar. But they ended. Cut short by the sting of bleach. Someone had covered their scents.
Someone who’d know to cover their scents.
He ran across the road, his nose working overtime now. Jessa had been here. Her scent was strong. Unlike the rest of the ground, the leaves and dirt were displaced—as if someone had fallen. Jessa had fallen. The scent of her blood filled his nostrils and clamped down on his heart. He spun, sifting through the leaves for more. There was a trail, there had to be.
She couldn’t just disappear.
He ran onto the road, sniffing the asphalt and gravel, needing answers…
Cars. Lots of traffic. More bleach. Muddying who went where.
His frustration mounted, tearing a howl from his throat as he made the run back to his bike. The run took too long, his impatience and worry making each mile stretch out before him. He pushed, mindless of his bloody paws and aching lungs, until the drugstore was in sight. Tension tightened every muscle and nerve, making his shift painful and his skin itch. His phone was ringing before he’d finished dressing.
“What’s going on? Where are you?” Dante asked. “Where’s Mal?”
“Tracking Thomas,” Finn snapped.
Dante sighed. “And you? I’m not going to sit here on my ass while you two—”
“I need your help,” he interrupted. “I think Brown and Jessa were in an accident. Call all the hospitals in the Lake Viking, Missouri area. See if a man and a woman were brought in.”
Dante paused. “Lake Viking only?”
He was reeling. “To start.”
“Keep it together, man.” Dante’s voice lowered. “Brown’s got her. She’ll be okay.”
“They bleached the road, Dante. Whoever they are, wherever they went, they knew to cover their tracks.” He could barely say the words.
“Shit.” Dante said. “We’ll find her. Keep your phone handy.”
Finn hung up, finished dressing, and headed back to his bike. He plugged in the closest trauma equipped hospital, and roared down the highway. But then a text from Anders had him turning around for a different facility. A reported three-car collision resulting in two fatalities, both men, and two in critical condition—a man and a woman
He broke all speed records as he flew down the highway. She was alive, he had to believe that. That was all he needed to know. She’d be okay, he’d make sure of that.
And Brown? The man was tough, tougher than any other human Finn knew.
And the baby…if there was a baby? The clerk could have been mistaken. He hoped he was. His dalliance with Cara had been brief, but his son was a gift he loved more every day. He was sorry for Cara’s death, but losing Jessa—he couldn’t think about it.
Hollis was still trying to determine the cause of Cara’s death. Which meant it could have been a car accident. Or it could have resulted from delivering Oscar. If it was the latter, he would do everything in his power to stop something from happening to Jessa.
First things first, he had to get to her. To touch her and tell her he loved her.
“I’m Finnegan Dean,” he said to the med tech at the reception desk.
“Oh.” The woman jumped up, nervous. “Dr. Robbins called. Follow me.”
“What rooms?” he snapped. She’d only slow him down.
“A210 and A211, but—”
Finn took the stairs, sprinting to the second floor and pushing through the door. He scanned the sign on the wall, read the room numbers, and turned left. Most of the overhead lights were dimmed—it was three in the morning.
When he reached A211, he slipped inside and stared at the bed. In it was an unfamiliar woman, unconscious and hooked up to wires.
He hurried to A210 and recognized Brown. The man’s eyes were shut, his face a patchwork of angry colors. His heart rate was strong and even.
“Brown?” he murmured.
Brown’s eyes popped open, blinking frantically.
“Where is Jessa?” Finn asked, desperate for answers.
The man’s eyes fell shut, his nostrils flaring. He sucked in a shuddering breath. “Cyrus—”
“Where is she?” his voice grew rough, menacing.
Brown’s eyes met his. “He killed her.”
Finn shook his head. “No.”
“I saw it.” Brown’s nod was jerky. “Saw her.”
Finn glared at the man. “Saw it?” His voice rose. “But didn’t stop it?”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t.” Brown’s voice broke.
Finn wasn’t listening. His wolf wanted to take its frustrations out on Brown—the last person with her. His wolf needed an outlet, someone to blame. And Brown was there, apologizing for letting Jessa go. But deep down, Finn knew Brown couldn’t have stopped Cyrus. His bodyguard was a human. Protecting Jessa was Finn’s responsibility. He had failed her. “She wasn’t there. Are you sure?” Why would Cyrus have taken her body? Why not leave her there, proof of the damage he’d done. An invisible noose seemed to tighten around his throat.
Brown nodded.
If she were dead, he would know. He’d feel it. Wouldn’t he? Blood roared in his ears, rejecting Brown’s words. This was wrong.
But the smell of her blood. Too much. He swallowed, leaning forward to brace himself against the side of the bed. Better to hold on to the anger. Anger, he could work with. Fury, he could handle.
“Finn, he’s baiting you.” Brown’s voice was stronger. “He wants to bring you to your knees. This is about control—”
“Control?” Finn stared at the man. His wolf raged to get out, crumbling Finn’s defenses. Jessa was gone. Cyrus had taken her. And Finn would make him pay for it.