Finding Chrissten l(-5

by N. J. Walters

  “Why should we wait?” A male voice protested. Hank stilled, barely breathing as he listened to the ongoing conversation.

  “Because I said so.” Hank recognized Brian’s voice. He wanted to kill the fucker so badly he could taste it. He’d hurt Chrissten and he would pay for that with his life.

  “You had her for months,” another male protested. Hank didn’t like where this conversation was going. Some of the men were trying to psych themselves up to challenge the alpha of their small pack.

  “She’s mine.” Brian’s reply brought a low growl up from deep in Hank’s chest, and he was forced to swallow it back. Restraint. He needed to keep his emotions in check and maintain control over himself.

  He eased around the corner and took a quick glance at the room. It used to be the kitchen and probably a dining room. But the wall separating the two had been taken down, making one enormous area. A lower bank of cabinets ran along the wall with the sink. The upper ones were missing. The refrigerator and stove were gone, leaving only an empty space. A pile of debris was mounded in the far corner of the room as though someone had tried to clear away the main area.

  A rickety table was situated in the center of the room. There were several empty pizza boxes and some empty beer cans scattered on and around it. Two men sat at the table. Hank recognized the largest one as Brian.

  Four more ranged around the room, leaning against walls and counters. Damek had said there were six of them. That meant they were all here.

  But where was Chrissten? Out of the corner of his eyes he caught movement. The knob of a closet door, probably to an old pantry cupboard, twisted ever so slightly.

  Shit. He took a deep breath and scented her immediately. It was Chrissten and she was going to try to escape. He couldn’t let her step out into the fighting. She might get hit by a bullet or used as a hostage by one of the wolves.

  There was no time to wait. No time to plan his attack.

  He swung into action. His gun tracked around the room as he fired. Silver bullets struck several of the males. One went down, but the rest reacted with speed and cunning, rolling to the floor and diving out of sight. The table was tipped up and used as a temporary blind so they could move.

  His clip emptied, he tossed the gun aside, drew his knives and attacked.

  Chrissten was just about to throw open the door when gunfire erupted in the other room. She automatically ducked down, making herself small as the world outside exploded. She heard several males grunt and the sweet, metallic scent of blood reached her. She eased the door open a crack. Blood tracked down the walls in several places. Howls of anger filled the air. Two of the males shifted. Another had extended his claws and was digging a bullet out of his injured flesh.

  Her senses were overloaded with sensation, but layering all of it was a scent she’d come to know so well. Hank. He’d come for her.

  She ripped open the door in time to see him toss aside his gun, draw two wicked knives and attack Brian. She glanced around hoping to see the others and was horrified when she realized he was alone.

  Then there was no time left to think or wonder. William saw her standing in the doorway and sprang toward her, partially shifting on the fly. She dove to the floor and rolled away, ignoring the loud protests of her already injured body. William hit the wall with a solid thud, but not before his claws ripped down her arm. She hissed with pain. But anger shut out most of the agony spiking through her.

  She needed a weapon and she was running out of time.

  Another werewolf came toward her, his tongue all but hanging out. It was no trouble for her to tell what he was thinking. He was hoping to get a taste of her while Brian was busy fighting Hank.

  A red haze obscured her vision. No way was she allowing these creatures to take anything more from her. She wouldn’t call them men. They were animals in the worst sense of the word.

  Her gaze tracked around the floor as she continued to move, staying low while trying to keep out of range of William and the other werewolf stalking her. One of the males lay still on the floor, his body riddled with bullet holes. The two others, still in their wolf form, watched Brian and Hank fight. She couldn’t watch. Brian was a pureblooded wolf while Hank was a half-breed. He wouldn’t stand a chance. Not unless he had help.

  Her fingers closed over a table leg that had snapped off. The broken-off end was extremely sharp, much like a spear. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  She kept it by her side as the unknown werewolf loomed over her. His lank brown hair reached below his shoulders and lust filled his dark eyes. He licked his lips and reached for his zipper. “Time for some fun.”

  She tightened her hold on the wood, knowing she’d get only one shot at this. He opened his snap and then reached for her. Chrissten scooted back to the wall and scrambled to her feet, ignoring the steady trickle of blood that tracked down her arm.

  The male pounced. As he did, she brought up the wood, holding it in two hands and thrust it forward. It penetrated his chest, piercing his heart.

  He tried to reach for his wolf and fangs dropped down from his gums. His claws raked at her as he fell to the floor. She released her grip on the table leg, dropped to the floor and crawled away as fast as she could. Her breath was coming so hard her chest hurt. Sweat beaded on her forehead. A low, pained whimper filled her ears. It took her a moment to realize the sound was coming from her.

  She bit her lower lip to stop it. Her hands were shaking. They were also covered in blood, hers and that of the male she’d just killed. With her back in a corner, she swiped her good arm over her eyes to clear away the combination of sweat and tears.

  Two down. Four to go.

  Her gaze fell in the center of the small room. Growls and snarls ricocheted off the walls as Hank and Brian circled one another with the two wolves looking on. Hank was bleeding from both his arms and legs. He still had his knives in hand, but she didn’t know how much help they’d actually be. Brian was several inches taller and had at least thirty pounds on Hank.

  He was going to die and it was her fault.

  She couldn’t let that happen.

  Time slowed and their gazes met. She could see no regret in his eyes, only determination. Go. He mouthed the word and then ducked low as Brian took another swipe at him. It missed his head but hit his shoulder, drawing blood. Then Hank whirled as one of the wolves lunged at him, jabbing one of his knives into his attacker’s side before dancing out of reach.

  He was willing to give his life for hers.

  Chrissten was stunned. She knew he felt something for her, cared for her. But never in her life could she imagine anyone other than her brothers being willing to give their life for her.

  He couldn’t win and he knew it. He could run and he might make it. But he wouldn’t. That wasn’t the kind of male Hank was.

  Chrissten pushed to her feet. William was on the prowl, stalking toward her.

  If Hank was going to die she was going to die with him. Her heart swelled and she threw back her head and howled, letting Hank know she wouldn’t abandon him.

  Claws ripped from her fingertips and her jaw elongated, revealing wicked sharp teeth. There was no way she could fully change without her clothing impeding her.

  This would have to do.

  Brian turned to her when she howled and Hank used that distraction to send one of his knives home, stabbing Brian in the chest. Brian gasped and fell to his knees.

  Chrissten didn’t know if the injury would kill him or not and didn’t care. Every molecule in her body was focused on protecting Hank. William immediately turned to Brian when he went down. The distraction was exactly what she’d needed, and Chrissten attacked.

  A sudden howl made the fine hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms stand on end. It wasn’t a cry of victory from Brian or one of the other males. It was an anguished sound and it was female.

  Brian’s attention was splintered for a split second and Hank took advantage. He exploded into action, driving h
is silver-coated dagger deep into the bastard’s heart. With their leader down the others might panic, giving Chrissten a better chance to escape.

  He swiped at his eyes and staggered back several feet as Brian fell to his knees, silver dagger embedded in his chest. There was no sense of triumph in killing Chrissten’s mate, not like he’d thought there would be. Only the knowledge that he’d done what needed doing.

  He stayed on his feet, but it wasn’t easy. Every muscle in his body quivered and he grew weaker with each passing second. He was leaking like a goddamn sieve and knew he wouldn’t last much longer. His only regret was he wished he’d told Chrissten that he loved her. He inhaled deeply, pulling in a much needed lungful of air. He pulled his control around him. He could do this. Had to finish it.

  Hank swiped at the sweat and blood dripping down his face to clear his vision and searched the room for Chrissten. He had to find her. When he did, his heart almost stopped. She was in midair, flying straight toward a big bastard. The werewolf was ready for her, claws extended.

  Hank yelled her name as the remaining werewolves made to attack him, sleek and deadly in their wolf forms.

  She was going to die and he wasn’t going to be able to stop it.

  The hell he wasn’t.

  Adrenaline pumped through his veins and he leapt, launching himself through the air. He was going to make it. He extended his arms. Muscles protesting. Limbs aching.

  He managed to snag her at the last second. He wrapped his arms around her and they fell to the floor. He did his best to cushion her fall and then rolled, covering her with his much larger body. Sharp claws sliced his back, shredding skin and exposing tissue and muscle.

  He had to move, had to get Chrissten to safety. He started to move, yanking her with him, and the world around him exploded.

  Chrissten shoved at the large body covering hers. One moment she’d been in midair, poised to attack William head-on. The next she was on the ground, the wind knocked out of her lungs. She tried to breathe and began to panic when she couldn’t.

  Yells and screams filled the air and she shoved at the male on top of her. She had to get free. She managed to get her torso free and sucked much needed air into her lungs.

  What was happening? Where was Hank?

  The male still covering most of her body groaned. Her heart almost stopped. She recognized that groan.

  Hank.

  One part of her brain was dimly aware the others had finally arrived and were locked in combat with the three remaining werewolves. Isaiah and Joshua attacked William while the rest of them took on the others. Her father was here too, fighting side by side with Quinn.

  But she was only vaguely aware of this, the bulk of her attention focused totally on Hank. She managed to get out from beneath him and cried out when she got a good look at him. His clothing and his skin were both ripped to shreds. There didn’t seem to be a part of him that wasn’t damaged. Blood covered his limbs and his face was leached of all color.

  His back seemed to have taken the worst of it. And his breathing was ragged. She heard a gurgling sound and terror filled her. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t.

  Chrissten yanked her top over her head and used it to try to staunch the worst of the flow. It didn’t work and was quickly soaked in blood and sweat. “Don’t you die on me,” she ordered.

  His eyelids fluttered and opened. He tried to speak but couldn’t. He licked his lips and tried again. “Run.”

  She could barely make out the single word but it filled her with unspeakable anguish. Even now, as his life’s blood was leaking onto the stained linoleum, his concern was for her.

  “No. I’m not running. You have to protect me.” She’d use anything she could think of, even his bone-deep sense of responsibility, to keep him alive and with her.

  His gaze sharpened, going from dazed to intense in a heartbeat. Hank pushed himself into a seated position, arm muscles straining under the weight of his torso and blood dripping down his back and chest. She didn’t know how he managed considering the state of his body.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Protecting you.”

  He would too. She’d known it in her heart, but seeing it in action was something else all together. She became aware of the silence at the same time he did. They both looked over their shoulders to the bloodbath beyond.

  Six bodies were strewn across the floor. There was the one Hank had shot to death with silver bullets and the one she’d killed with the broken table leg. Brian lay on the floor with Hank’s dagger stuck in his chest. William’s neck was twisted at an impossible angle and the two remaining wolves had silver-coated daggers protruding from their sides and necks. All six were dead. It was done.

  The Haven pack surrounded them, chests heaving, muscles flexing. Several of them had serious cuts and bruises but nothing life-threatening. The only one in danger of dying was Hank.

  Quinn was by her side in the blink of an eye. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. She hissed in pain when he accidentally hit the slashes on her arms and he backed away.

  “You’re okay. You’re okay.” He said the words over and over. He brushed her hair away from her face, touching her scalp, her neck, her back, anywhere he could reach without hurting her. She knew he had to reassure himself she was alive. And she needed it too.

  Chrissten suddenly felt nauseous and turned away, praying she wouldn’t disgrace herself by vomiting on the floor. The adrenaline dump that had allowed her to function was about to run out and she was going to crash. Hard. She’d lost a lot of blood as well. Her head, which had stopped aching during the fight, was now pounding again, reminding her she probably had a concussion.

  “Chrissten? We’ve got to get you out of here. You’ll be okay.” Her brother tried to move her but she resisted.

  “Hank.” He’d slumped back onto the floor and his breathing was even more labored than it had been. She was worried one of the lethal claws that had struck him had punctured a lung.

  Quinn helped her to her feet. She was thankful, as she was none to steady.

  “The others will get Hank.”

  “No.” She pulled away, needing him to understand. She had to take care of Hank. He was her responsibility. He was hers.

  Isaiah strode over and helped Hank to his feet. “We’ll take care of him, Chrissten, but we have to get out of here. We don’t know if anyone in the neighborhood called the cops. We haven’t exactly been quiet.”

  Hank leaned heavily on the other male and she knew he was close to collapse. Only Isaiah’s strength was holding him upright. She wished they’d carry him but knew Hank’s stubborn male pride wouldn’t allow it.

  When Isaiah started to lead Hank away, she followed, not willing to let him out of her sight. The quicker they got back to Haven the faster his injuries would be seen to.

  “The bodies?” It sickened her to ask, but they couldn’t just leave them here.

  “Don’t worry.” It was Joshua Striker who spoke. She didn’t know him well, but he was Isaiah’s brother so she trusted him. “We’ll take care of them.” He nodded his head toward Donovan Brody and he inclined his head in agreement.

  She started to turn away but caught a flash of something out of the far corner of her eye. Like some demon rising from the dead, Brian suddenly surged upright, yanked the dagger out of his chest and attacked.

  Her father yelled her name, but she wasn’t his target. Hank was.

  Chrissten jerked away from her brother, finding the strength from somewhere to lunge forward. Her hands made contact and she managed to shove Brian away from Isaiah and Hank. She had to kill him. Had to finish this.

  Before she could strike again, Hank was beside her. He plunged his claw-tipped hand into the gash on Brian’s chest. When he yanked it out, he had Brian’s heart clenched tight in his fist. This time when Brian fell he didn’t get up.

  Blood spurted everywhere, covering both her and Hank. She stared at him in growing horror. He dro
pped the heart on the floor and stepped on it, all the while keeping his fierce gaze locked on her face. Then he swayed and collapsed. If not for Isaiah’s quick reflexes he would have hit the floor. The alpha scooped Hank into his arms and started issuing orders. “Finish this and burn it to the ground. Where the hell is Damek? We could have used him here.”

  His voice seemed to fade away. Chrissten blinked, trying to see through the haze of blood. It had all happened so fast no one else had been able to react.

  She could hear Quinn talking to her, hear her father’s voice in the background and knew they were both worried about her. But she didn’t have enough energy to reassure them. She had to get to Hank. Was he even alive?

  Was the nightmare finally over or was it just beginning?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Voices surrounded Hank. They drifted in and out of his consciousness while he floated blissfully in a sea of black. He heard her voice. Chrissten. He didn’t like the fact she sounded worried. Upset.

  He stirred and tried to open his eyes, but it was as though they’d been glued shut. He tried to speak, but managed only a grunt.

  Gentle hands stroked his face. He felt the brush of soft hair against his skin. He sucked in a breath and caught her scent in his nostrils before drifting off again.

  It was the sound of voices that once again pulled him out of unconsciousness. He remained totally still, keeping his breathing even so he wouldn’t alert anyone to the fact he was awake.

  “You need to rest.” He tried to place the male voice but it was difficult to make his brain focus.

  “I’m all right, Quinn.” Like a fine wine, her voice filled him with warmth and contentment. He sighed and started to fall back into sleep when everything suddenly snapped into place.