Chapter Sixteen
Jessa blinked, every breath making her throat spasm and forcing a hacking cough. It had been worse with that filthy rag shoved into her throat. Worse when she’d fallen over, unable to loosen the knotted ropes. Worse when her eyes stung and burned so much she could no longer open them. But now her mind was playing tricks on her.
“Jessa.” His voice.
His scent.
She stopped pushing against the wall of muscles that gently held her. Finn? She blinked, wiping her eyes, wincing against the chafing of her lids. The smoke and heat had singed her throat, nose, and eyes to sandpaper.
But she had to see him.
She tried, but the sky was so bright, blinding her. “Finn?” she asked, her throat raw. The air felt lighter now, cleaner, but it still hurt to breathe. And she couldn’t stop coughing.
“I’m here, Jessa.” He pressed a hard kiss against her temple. “I’ve got you, you hear me?”
She nodded, relaxing against him. “Finn.”
“Shh, it’s okay. Dante, she needs water,” Finn said, sounding desperate. “Slow breaths, Jessa.”
She nodded, twining her arms around his neck and burying her face against his chest. “Wait. Wait, Finn,” she said, forcing her eyes open. “Ellen?”
“Ellen?” Dante appeared, a water bottle in his hand.
“She stopped them,” Jessa said, wiping at her eyes. They were still watering, preventing her from seeing clearly. “She saved me.”
“She saved you?” Finn repeated, his expression fierce.
“Short black hair? Tattoos?” Dante asked, surprising Jessa with his detail.
“Is she…” Jessa’s heart sank, her obscured vision catching snippets of smoke, the burning field, and signs of a gruesome fight.
“She’s unconscious,” Dante assured her.
“Bring her.” She sipped the water bottle, the burn making her groan. Finn’s hands tightened on her. “Please, bring Ellen. She betrayed them—for me and the baby.” She blinked slowly, until she could focus. And all she could see was Finn. “Please.”
“Bring her,” Finn said, unable to look away from her. He was beautiful. Real. Here. But she’d never seen that expression on his face before. And it scared her.
“Finn?” she asked.
He shook his head, pressing a kiss to her lips. “You’re here. You are––” he broke off, clearing his throat roughly. “I’m so sorry Jessa. This should never have happened.”
“Finn?” She coughed, her throat too shredded to talk. She sipped the water bottle, her arm wavering. Now was not the time to be weak. She pushed against him. “Walk,” she said.
He shook his head. “You might be able to walk. But I’m not ready to let you go.” Fear and desperation colored every syllable.
Dante appeared, Ellen’s arm draped around his shoulder.
“Car,” Ellen said. “Here.” She shoved keys at Finn, wheezing heavily. “Go.”
“We’re going.” Jessa agreed worried about the amount of blood Ellen was losing. “And you’re coming too.”
“Leave me,” Ellen argued.
“Shush,” Jessa said, slipping from Finn’s hold and securing Ellen’s other arm around her shoulders. She could feel Finn’s disapproval but ignored him.
Ellen was bleeding heavily, but she tried to walk. “Need to shift,” she said.
“You’ll heal faster?” Jessa remembered Finn saying as much. “Can you?”
Ellen nodded, releasing her.
It looked incredibly painful. With Finn, it had been quick, almost natural. But Ellen’s broken and battered state seemed to impede the process. She glanced behind her, expecting Cyrus or Byron to come back—to drag her away. But Finn was here. And he would protect her.
Even now, he put himself behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders.
Where was Cyrus? A knot of apprehension rose in her chest, pressing against her ribs. It was still hard to breathe, after inhaling so much smoke. Her tension didn’t help. She glanced back, shivering, but there was no sign of Cyrus. Only the billowing black smoke and roaring flames.
Finn’s hands squeezed her shoulders. “He’s gone, Jessa.”
She nodded, stepping closer to him. Finn wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
Ellen’s wolf sagged, panting heavily. Jessa stood at her side, helping her stay upright as they moved around the house to the truck parked in back. Dante helped Ellen into the truck bed, then said, “I’ll help Gentry set the charges,” before closing the passenger door and nodding at her.
Jessa smiled as Finn’s hand clasped hers. She closed her eyes, drawing slow breaths. The worst was over. She was safe. They were safe. She opened her eyes as the truck rolled to a stop—and she stared in horror.
The flames were moving quickly, eating up the grass and shrubs that ran the length of the house. But what drew her attention, what she couldn’t look away from. Bodies. Not wolves. Men and women—or what was left of them. She pushed open the passenger door and vomited violently. Her head was spinning, her heart racing, and her stomach. She placed a hand against her stomach.
“You okay?” Finn’s voice.
She stared at him, seeing the blood and grime that covered his naked body for the first time. She nodded, shock finally kicking in. “I will be,” her voice was soft. “How long have I been gone? And my family? Oscar?”
“Three days.” His hand tightened around hers. “Everyone’s safe. Everyone wants you home.” His gaze falling to her stomach.
She loved the look on his face. She was his, irrefutably. Cyrus’s words were an empty threat, one meant to make her doubt this man—her mate. No, she wasn’t a wolf but their bond was sealed by the mark on her body. She trusted him. She reached for him, needing his touch. His fingers laced with hers as he slid into the truck beside her. He pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing her deep.
“Place is gonna blow. How about we cut this reunion short and get the fuck out of here?” Gentry asked, sliding into the truck. Dante tapped the back window, giving the thumbs up sign.
Finn nodded and threw the truck in gear.
His strength seeped into her. She sank against his side. His hand clasped hers, the press of his thigh against hers easing the terror of the last hour, somewhat. But she’d never forget. Never. Mal. She swallowed, not wanting to think about what they’d done to him. He’d come to save her. And died because of it. How could she live with that?
“Who’s the wolf?” Gentry asked.
“Ellen. Her name is Ellen,” Jessa said. “She’s a good guy.” At least, that’s what Jessa wanted to believe. She wasn’t sure what had motivated Ellen’s actions but, she didn’t care. They wanted to same thing: Jessa and her baby to live. And that was enough.
“You okay?” Gentry asked. “You’re lookin’ a little pale.”
She nodded again. “Rough couple of days.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Gentry laughed the sort of laugh that bordered on unstable.
She understood. The morning was a surreal nightmare. But the sounds, smells, images, were vividly etched into her brain. Her hands covered his, desperate for his touch.
“You’re cold.” Finn was worried.
She nodded, shivering in earnest. “Shock,” she managed, unable to stop the chatter of her teeth.
A deafening explosion shook the ground as the corn-field and house turned into a raging inferno.
“Should take care of it,” Gentry said, staring out the rear window at his handiwork. “Fire. Propane tanks blow. Unfortunate accident all around.”
Jessa looked at the rearview window, the profile of two large wolves sitting, ears perked and staring at the flames, an oddly comforting view. She drew in a deep, unsteady breath, and lay her head back on the seat.
Finn reached across, pulling her closer so her head could fall onto his shoulder. His hand was shaking against her thigh, his breath harsh against her temple. And Jessa couldn’t breathe. Her relief was so overwhelming, it choked her. Now was not the time to fall apart, but hot tears filled her eyes.
The shrill phone chirp made them all jump.
“Gentry here,” he answered the phone. “No, no, plans changed.” He sighed. “Mr. Dean,” he said, handing Finn the phone.
“Yes?” One word, exhausted on every level. “Jessa’s alive. We lost Mal.”
The silence of the truck cab thickened, forcing tears onto her cheeks.
“Tomorrow.” He paused. “We need sleep.” He broke off. “I need time alone with Jessa.”
They drove on for more than an hour, the mid-morning sun weak in the winter sky. “Smells like snow,” Finn said as they pulled into a small town off the highway.
Gentry tossed Finn a bag. “I’ll get some rooms.”
“I don’t want her left alone,” Finn said, nodding at Ellen in the truck bed.
Jessa looked at Finn.
“I know she helped you, but I don’t trust her.” His blue eyes searched hers. “Not yet.”
Jessa nodded. She understood. Ellen was unknown. She’d helped Jessa but that didn’t mean she’d do the same for the rest of them.
“Got it,” Gentry said, patting the truck bed as he went.
Jessa looked back to see Dante wrapped up in a blanket, exhausted. Ellen was still in wolf form, her breathing irregular. “Will she be okay?” Jessa asked.
Finn slid on some sweat pants and shrugged into a t-shirt. “She was smart to shift. She’ll heal faster that way. Unless there was too much damage.” He shoved the bag out the back window to Dante. “Here,” he said.
Finn carried Ellen, covered with a large blanket, through the back doors of the hotel. Jessa followed, unsteady on her feet. The deserted halls and lack of staff told her the hotel was being paid for their anonymity. But after the constant upheaval of the last few days, it seemed too quiet. Finn lay Ellen on a bed in the suite she’d share with Dante and Gentry. The men’s unspoken conversation, awkward, tight hugs and silent thank-you’s, was subdued. They’d lost a brother tonight. While her family was safe and sound, unaware of the brutality they’d shared.
“Jessa?” Finn’s hand was warm around hers. “Let’s get some sleep.”
She twined her fingers with his, letting him lead her from the room, down the hall, and into their room. The curtains were pulled tight, keeping out the bright white of the winter day—and the world.
“Shower,” Finn said, locking the door.
She stared at the door. The latch. The deadbolt. They seemed so useless, almost comical. Her giggle was involuntary.
He paused, glancing at the door, then her. “I’m sorry, Jessa,” his voice wavered.
She shook her head. “You can’t be sorry. That implies some sort of regret. And you can’t regret this. Us.” It was hard to get the words out, but she had to. “You chose me.”
“I do,” he interrupted, tilting her head back. “Always. Pain is what I regret. Fear.”
She stared up at him. “Cyrus tried to convince me that, since I’m not a wolf, this,” she paused, placing a hand on his chest, “wasn’t real. That if you were serious you’d turn me. But all I could think about was you. I didn’t want you hurt. Or your brothers. Your pain is mine. All the fear and pain.” She shook her head. “You make up for it, Finn. As long as I have you, I’m good.”
He crushed her in his arms, then immediately released her. “I don’t know what hurts.”
“I’m too happy to hurt, Finn,” she admitted. “Shower?” she managed, hoping she could wash away some of the night.
He nodded, leading her into the bathroom.
…
It took everything Finn had to keep his temper in check. Her hands. Her forehead. Bruises along her side and hip, scratches. She was a rainbow of angry, sore colors that made his jaw clench with fury. But her cuts and bruises would heal.
Worse, Cyrus had tried to plant doubt about his feelings for her. She’d been alone, afraid, hurting—the perfect time to get into her head. To make her second-guess something she trusted. He hoped she trusted it, them. Hoped she knew he’d meant forever, no matter what.
He couldn’t stop touching her.
After thinking she was dead––fear was too fresh, too all-consuming.
He needed reassurance, his wolf needed it. She was here. Close. Even now, his hand rested lightly on the base of her spine as they showered. He watched her, mesmerized by the slide and caress of water against her body. She was beautiful. She stood beneath the water, eyes shut, washing her face. So, damn beautiful.
His.
The wolf wanted to drag her into bed and curl around her. It would take time to ease the panic her abduction had caused. Time his wolf wanted to spend wrapped up in oeach other. Finn agreed.
He lathered himself up over and over, washing away the grit and blood, the fight and anger, of the early morning. He didn’t want to think about Cyrus or the Others.
“Done?” he asked, her slight nod enough to make him turn off the water.
He stepped out of the shower, wrapping her in a thick white towel and patting her dry. Her blonde hair fell in heavy locks over her shoulders. Her left shoulder was badly bruised, so he bent, trailing his nose over the contusion and pressing a soft kiss on her skin.
There was a scratch on her neck. He stooped, nuzzling the skin, drawing her scent deep, and kissed her. He could feel the flutter of her pulse beneath his lips. Steady, slightly elevated. But most importantly, beating and alive.
He cradled her close, sighing at the feel of her against him. “Sleep?” he asked.
“Yes, please,” she agreed, wrapping her arms around him.
For a moment, they didn’t move. But he knew she needed rest. For herself and the baby. He swung her up in his arms.
“Finn–” her protest was thick, sleepy.
“Hush,” he whispered against the top of her head.
Jessa’s smell. How he loved her scent, the feel of her in his arms, the sigh she made as she relaxed in his hold. The bed was big, crisp sheets, comfy blankets, and Jessa. He didn’t need much more.
Jessa’s sleep was fitful, jarring him awake over and over. He reached out for her, wrapping her up in his arms. She tossed, pushing away from him and huddling in a ball. She bolted upright, her hands fisting in the sheets, gasping for breath.
He sat up, running his hand down her back and through her still-damp hair. She’d been through hell. And until she faced it, she’d never be free. “What is it?” he whispered. “Tell me.”
She shook her head.
“Jessa,” he encouraged her to face him. “You have to let me in.”
She stayed stiff, rigid.
He stretched, turning on the bedside light. But seeing her like this, so full of fear, choked him. Her wide green eyes fixed on his face, searching his eyes. Was she afraid of him?
“I’d never hurt you,” he vowed.
She nodded.
“I’ll protect you, no matter what.” He touched her cheek.
She relaxed against him.
“Tell me, so I can make it better,” his voice was low.
“It will hurt,” she said.
He nodded, bracing himself. What had they done to her?
“M-Mal.” She shook her head.
Finn’s heart stopped. He placed a hand on her back, needing contact.
“Cyrus brought me out of the cellar—where I’d been staying—so I could see what they were doing to M-Mal,” her voice broke. “He was in so much pain. They kept asking him questions, about you, your pack, the bone. He wouldn’t say anything.”
Finn didn’t want to imagine it, but her words left him no choice. Mal, suffering, for him—again.
“They hit me then and he shifted. Cyrus said horrible things, threatened me and Mal fought but th-they cut his throat. He kept bleeding. He told me not to believe them.” She buried her face in her hands. “I couldn’t do anything, Finn. I couldn’t stop the horrible things coming from Cyrus’s mouth. Or the injuries they inflicted on Mal. I had to sit there and watch. He kept telling me to be strong. He was alive when they dragged him outside.” She stared at him. “I can’t stop seeing it. Hearing it.”
He’d never been much of a crier. Even when he was young, he’d shrug things off, channeling his emotion into anger or attitude. He ached to cry for Mal, for her, with her.
“You shouldn’t have been there, Jessa. I let you down.” The weight of failure settled on him. “I didn’t do what I promised. I didn’t protect you or my pack.”
Her arms slid around his neck, soft as silk. “I don’t blame you. Mal didn’t blame you. He told Cyrus that you’d never stop until he was dead.” Her breath wavered. “But after seeing that… I can’t lose you. In my dream, it was you, not Mal.”
He lifted her hand, pressing a kiss to the tip of every finger. “Hey, hey, I’m here. That will never happen. You need sleep, Jessa. You and the baby.” The word felt strange on his tongue.
But her smile was radiant—sleepy, but radiant.
He lay back, easing her into the circle of his arms. Her words spun in his head, fighting the peace and fulfillment her presence provided. He placed her hand over his heart and nudged her head forward onto his chest. “I love you, Jessa.”
She peered up at him. “No regrets?”
“No regrets,” he murmured, closing his eyes.
He pretended to sleep, his arms preventing her from rolling away this time. He felt it the minute she dropped off, going limp and soft against him. Her breath fanned across his bare chest, her fingers twitching sporadically, and her leg shifted, resting across his thighs. And even though he and his wolf were pleased she was sleeping peacefully, they were both sick with worry over the answers tomorrow would bring. Was this pregnancy a risk?
He’d lied to her, he had one regret. Not ripping out Cyrus’s throat. Yes, the bastard was running scared, that was a start. But killing Cyrus was the only way he’d ever truly find peace.