by J. D. Tyler
“I’m glad he’s okay, sweetheart. Why don’t we go see Damien?”
Nick led his family inside the building, which turned out to be the clan’s hospital. It was a nice facility, almost as well-appointed as the Pack’s new hospital. He couldn’t help but be even more impressed. It didn’t escape his notice that Damien’s care and attention to his clan’s needs might ultimately save his life.
A clan doctor met them on the second floor, and Nick made introductions. The doctor introduced himself.
“I’m Dr. Simon York,” he said politely, shaking Nick’s hand. “Why don’t we talk in the family room for a moment?”
Once they were settled, with the doctor seated in front of them, Nick asked, “How’s Damien?”
Dr. York nodded. “Weak, but hanging in there. He suffered multiple lacerations, sustained both from the wreck caused by the attack, and the fight itself. He’s had internal bleeding, which we’ve managed to stop, and a few broken bones, which will mend when he shifts.”
“When will that be?”
“Depends on Damien. The Alpha is healing quicker than we thought he would, which is a terrific thing. Could be tonight, but more likely tomorrow.”
“So, in your opinion, he’ll survive?”
“Yes. He passed the critical point while you were en route, took a turn for the better. I’m confident he’ll be good as new in no time.”
Nick pushed aside the relief he felt. “May I see him?”
“Sure. Room two twelve. He’s been asking for you.”
He had? That choked Nick up all over again, and Selene, too. Now that the crisis was past, he was tempted to run again. Far and fast. But he couldn’t do it. Not this time. Not when he’d almost lost his brother.
He did let Selene and Zan go in first, though. Selene had been in already, but Zander wanted to pay his respects to her uncle. Then a couple of Damien’s clan, but they didn’t stay long. Too soon, it was Nick’s turn.
Walking to the room on wooden legs, he had no idea what to say. Then he was out of time to think, because he was through the door and Damien was lying there, face cut and bruised, lip busted. His arm was in a cast and there was an oxygen cannula in his nose. Dark hair was swept back from his face and he stared at Nick hard for a few seconds before his expression crumpled.
“I thought I was being a good Alpha. I followed the letter of the law instead of my heart,” he whispered. He didn’t bother to hide the sheen of moisture in his eyes. The devastation. “Forgive me, brother, please. I can’t stand to face one more day knowing I drove you away when you needed me most.”
Nick’s legs started moving, and before he knew it, he was crouched at Damien’s bedside. Pulling his brother into his arms, he choked, “I forgive you. I’ve got a long way to go to forget, but I do know I don’t want to be without my brother in my life.”
“That’s a good start.”
“Yes.”
After a few moments, Nick forced himself to let go and took a seat in a nearby chair. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he settled on his first impression. “You’ve done so much for the clan. You’ve turned it into a community to be proud of.”
Damien’s smile was pleased, but not for himself. “The clan pulled together to do all the work. I just made the money available from the clan account to make improvements and boost our businesses and jobs.”
“You know, you sound nothing like Dad in your vision of what community looks like,” Nick observed. “He didn’t believe in spending clan money. We never could convince him that funneling the yearly dues back to the community would help everyone in the long run.”
“Thanks.” Damien flushed at the compliment. “He was a good man, but stuck in the seventeenth century.”
“Literally.”
“Yeah.”
They were sharing a smile, and it was weird. But good, too. His brother’s exhaustion took over, and slowly his eyes drifted shut. Nick sat by his side for the longest time, studying his face and thinking about how lucky he was to have the chance to rediscover their bond as brothers.
This time, Nick meant it.
More people came in to visit, and left. Nick began to doze, and at some point he realized that the sun had vanished and he was covered with a blanket. His chair had been reclined and his head was resting on a pillow. Calla. She always knew what he needed, and right now that was to be here.
Before he knew it, early sunlight was filtering through the drapes. Yawning, he stretched and looked at his brother—to find him curled up in wolf form. He couldn’t help but laugh softly at the sight of the big brown wolf taking up the bed, snoring. At least he was healed.
Rising from the chair, Nick slipped from the room and went in search of his mate. He didn’t like that he’d been away from her, but surely she’d understood. Spying the nurses’ station, he walked over.
“Excuse me. I was hoping to find—”
“Ooh, you must be the Alpha’s brother,” one young nurse enthused. “You look so alike!”
“Yes, I’m Nick Westfall,” he said politely. “I’m looking for my mate but I’m not sure where she went.”
“I think Taggart put her in cottage number eight. It’s just across the street.”
“Thank you.”
The nurses were giggling as he walked off, though he couldn’t fathom what was so amusing. He quickly crossed the street and knocked on the cottage door. Before he could open his mouth or knock again, the door was yanked open and Nick was pulled inside.
Calla hugged and kissed him soundly before ushering him to the sofa. He sat with a groan. “Feels good. That chair about did me in.”
“Sorry. I should’ve got you up to come to bed.”
“No, I was glad to be with him.” He squeezed her hand. “I think we’ve finally made a start on repairing things. It’ll take a while, but it can be done.”
“That’s so great,” she said, smiling.
“Yeah.”
When his cell phone rang, he groaned again. “I’m seriously going to run over that thing with my SUV if it rings one more time.”
He looked at the screen. “It’s your brother,” he told her. “Crap, it’s early.” He had barely greeted the prince when Tarron broke in. “Nick, I need you back at the stronghold! You and your men. Leave Calla there, but come back as soon as you can!”
He frowned. “Why? What’s going on?”
“Teague found the file that Graham sent Ivan before he died. It was a detailed blueprint of the fucking stronghold!”
“Shit!” He met Calla’s eyes. So that was how Ivan planned to destroy the coven—a direct attack. God.
“Every single fucking room, corridor, doorway, every detail! We’re already evacuating the women and children—”
Tarron’s words were cut off by a loud noise coming from the other end. A boom that echoed through Nick’s brain and made his blood turn to ice. “Tarron? Tarron!”
There was no answer. The line went dead.
“What is it?” Calla asked, voice rising. “What’s happening?”
“The file Graham sent to Ivan contained detailed blueprints of the stronghold. Tarron was telling me about evacuating the women and children, and the line went dead.”
Her face paled. “Oh, my God!”
“I’m going and I need you to stay here—”
“No! I can help! You’ll need me to teleport you there and bring men back here to get the rest of your team, now that I know where it is. It’ll be much faster than hours traveling by plane and car. If they’re under attack, they need us now!”
One look at his mate’s determined expression and he knew there was no point wasting time on an argument he wouldn’t win.
“Fine. But when you get my men back to the stronghold, you get the hell out and go to the Pack compound. You’ll be safe there until your brother and I hand those guys their asses.”
He didn’t wait for an answer but rounded up the rest of his team and explained the situation.
“This isn�
��t going to be easy,” he finished up. “They’ve been ambushed, and it’s up to us to turn the tide in our favor. Questions?”
“How soon can we kick some sorry ass?” John growled.
“That’s the spirit.”
They were going to need more of it to beat some really bad odds.
* * *
Calla never thought she’d experience the terror of actually watching her beloved mate rush headlong into battle. Especially to save her coven.
The grand foyer was smoking rubble, the scene chaos. Blood ran thick on the stone floors, and everywhere the screams of the injured and dying rang out in the morning air. Horrible. Incongruous with the start of a new day that had been filled with such hope.
Losing sight of Nick, Calla forced herself to focus on her task. She summoned three guards who were running past.
“Princess, we have to fight!” one cried.
“First you have to come with me to get the rest of the commander’s wolves! We need all the help we can get!”
The number of rogues and hunters was almost overwhelming, perhaps two to one in the enemy’s favor. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
Just then, a pair of hunters appeared, carrying rifles. Quickly, Calla grabbed the guards and vanished, teleporting back to Damien’s compound. Nick’s men were waiting on the lawn in front of the hospital building, along with every able-bodied man, it seemed.
And Damien himself. The man looked exhausted, but fiercely determined. “My men are at your disposal, Princess.”
Tears stung her eyes. “I’m grateful, but do you understand the risk? Chances are you’ll suffer losses.”
“There’s no greater loss I could suffer than to lose Nick now,” he said. “Our clan is behind you.”
“All right. You have my thanks, and my friendship. Whatever you need after this day, I’ll see that you have it. But we have to go. I’ll send more guards after you and your wolves.”
“We’ll be waiting.”
She and the guards teleported Nick’s men, who instantly shifted and joined the fight. She lost track of them in the mass of bodies clashing. Swords flashed; gunshots popped. In front of her, two wolves attacked and dodged by turns, slashing at the rogues, muzzles bright red.
Neither of them was a white wolf, and her heart cried out for her mate.
Nick?
Calla, hide! Stay safe!
She wasn’t a fighter. But today, she had to be. If she hid like a coward, there was no way she would ever be able to face her people again. Moving swiftly, she ran, dodging combatants and searching the fallen for weapons. There! A hunter was facedown, a pistol in hand. Crouching briefly, she pried the gun from his dead hand and sprinted for a pillar some thirty yards away. It wouldn’t afford much cover, but she could get off a few good shots before—no. Best not to think of that.
A sting pierced her side, but she kept going, ignoring it. Once she had achieved cover, she observed the fight and chose her marks carefully. Tarron had taught her to shoot, and she wasn’t bad at it. A short distance away, a brown wolf was fighting a rogue. A hunter was sneaking up behind the wolf, taking aim with his rifle. Calla brought up the gun and fired a round into his skull, and he dropped like a stone.
The wolf shot her a look of gratitude before finishing the rogue. She made several more kills before the hair stirred at the back of her neck. Whirling, she found herself face-to-face with a rogue, teeth yellow, fetid breath making her gag. His eyes, however, were wide and the tip of a sword was protruding from his chest. He fell, and Tarron pulled the sword from the rogue, then decapitated it for good measure.
“Thanks,” she shouted.
His face was a mask of anger. “What the fuck are you doing out here? Get to safety!”
“No! I can fight! I’ve killed several of the enemy already!”
Her eyes widened as she spotted a hunter rushing at Tarron from behind. Gritting her teeth, she shot the bastard between the eyes, and he fell at her brother’s heels. “See?”
“Thanks,” he rasped, shaking his head. “But I don’t want you here. Please, sis, go.”
“I can’t. You need me.”
There wasn’t time to keep arguing about it. A new surge of the enemy came at them like a solid wall, and bitter fear clogged her throat. There were more of them than before. Where were Damien and his wolves?
A hoarse shout sounded at her back, and her blood froze. She spun in time to see Tarron fall, crimson spreading across his chest.
“No!”
She tried to run to her brother, but a hand fisted in her hair from behind and slammed her face into the pillar. The world spun on its axis.
Nick! Tarron’s down! Help me!
Then all went dark as she was lifted and carried away.
* * *
God help them all. This wasn’t a fight—it was a slaughter.
Nick had shifted to his wolf form as soon as they dove into the battle. If he hadn’t, he’d already be dead. His wolf was faster, more agile. Able to take more physical abuse before he went down for good.
His focus was narrowed to a razor-sharp point. Seek. Attack. Kill. Move on.
There was nothing but blood and death. The only question was who would be the next to fall. All around him, Tarron’s men lay broken on the stone floor. Many beheaded. No coming back from that.
Nick tried to keep tabs on his own team, but it was impossible to spot them all.
Aric was the first of them to fall.
Nick almost got himself beheaded as he whirled to see the red wolf lying in a dark pool of blood. His eyes were closed, and it was impossible to tell whether he was alive. Forcing himself back to the fight, he shut out the grief. The fear. Nothing could keep him breathing but rage.
And love. This was his family. The enemy was trying to take that away, but he wasn’t going to let that happen. No matter how badly they were outnumbered.
Across the foyer, he saw Kalen grow still, Sorcerer’s staff in one hand. Kalen’s eyes closed as he concentrated on whatever spell he was going to unleash on the enemy. Nick silently urged him to hurry.
But a cruel laugh rose above the mayhem. Nick’s guts twisted as he saw Jinn appear a few feet from his Sorcerer, eyes gleaming with malice and anticipation. Quickly, Nick shifted to human form.
“Kalen, look out!” he shouted. Just in time.
Kalen’s eyes flew open and he assessed the new threat briefly before they engaged in a magical battle the likes of which Nick had never seen. Lightning shot through the rooms and bounced off the rocky walls. Sparks rained down as black and white magic clashed, battled for dominance.
The two magicians were snarling at each other, teeth bared, muscles straining as they faced off. Threw spell after spell in an attempt to overthrow the other. Nick shifted back to his wolf and started toward Jinn, hoping to distract him long enough for Kalen to win the fight.
Then a pair of hunters came at Nick and he was forced to face them.
Redoubling his efforts, he fought on.
* * *
Calla came awake gradually, her head pounding. When she finally became aware of her surroundings, a number of things seeped into her brain.
First, she had no idea where she was, but wherever that might be, it was uncomfortably chilly. Second, she wasn’t alone. Stretching, she found herself lying on her right side on the hard floor, pressed into the curve of someone’s body. Wetness invaded that side, and she shivered.
Next she realized that her clothing was disheveled. She was barefoot and her jeans were torn. Since her left wrist was handcuffed to something metallic, she clutched at her shirt with her right hand. Still there, not torn.
Opening her eyes, she tried to focus her vision. Somewhere above, a dim bulb chased away the shadows of the dank room—and far above that, she heard sounds of a distant battle.
“Nick!” It all came rushing back. Tarron had fallen, and someone had hit her, knocked her out. Who was next to her? What was this place? Lifting her head, she saw
a steep flight of stairs in a far corner with a metal railing running down the side. Finally, she recognized the space as an old storage area below the stronghold’s living quarters.
A low, anguished moan broke the silence behind her. With sudden, startling clarity, she knew exactly who was there and braced herself. He’d been bleeding, badly injured, and was bound to be in bad shape. She maneuvered onto her stomach, then her left side. Shock and outrage left her gasping.
“Oh, Tarron, no.”
Although grateful to find him alive, how this was possible she couldn’t imagine. A savage beating had left his body broken and bloodied, the purple bruising forming a multitude of fist-sized patterns all over his torso. Straining against the shackles around his wrists and ankles had cut deep gouges, exposing the bone. The wound in his chest might be from a gun or blade. She couldn’t tell. But it was oozing red, his vampire healing not quite sealing off the gash. Hopefully it would close soon. While she’d been out, someone had been methodically torturing him.
Reaching out, she placed her palm on his cheek. Cold. Too icy, his skin dry rather than hot and sweaty. He struggled with each breath, the sound like the rustle of crackling leaves deep in his chest. If someone didn’t find them tonight, or she couldn’t orchestrate their escape, he would surely die.
They would die anyway, if their side lost the battle.
“Tarron, can you hear me?” Carefully, she tilted his head slightly toward hers.
He stirred and opened his lids with a great deal of effort. His eyes, normally so warm and full of love and humor, were like spun glass. Drugged as well? What the hell could those bastards have in their possession that would drug a vampire? Anger fired her blood. Tarron gazed at her with the barest spark of recognition. Indeed, she wondered whether he was aware of what was happening.
“Do you know who I am?” she tried again.
His face clouded in confusion. For several seconds he stared as if trying to make sense of what she was saying. Then something flickered in his expression.
“Sis?” he rasped. Hope.
Her heart cracked. “Yes, brother. It’s me, Calla,” she said softly.