Last Wolf Standing

by Rhyannon Byrd

  “Elliot,” she said, the sound hollow…because she believed the same thing. “You should have just trusted them. They would have helped you.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He hunched his shoulders, his expression bleak. “I can’t—I have to do what I can to make sure nothing happens to Marly.” His throat worked, and she knew he was choking back tears, the expression in his brown eyes a mixture of fury, helplessness and despair. “It’s because of me that he went after her. Now it’s up to me to get her out of there.”

  “No,” Torrance murmured, determined to do whatever she could to make things right—even though they’d all gone terribly, terribly wrong. But she wouldn’t abandon him. Not with Marly and Olivia’s lives at stake. “It’s up to us, Elliot. You’re not in this alone.”

  * * *

  Before Mason had reached the south side of Flat Rock, Brody called to say that they’d found evidence of another feeding in a cave on the north ridge. He’d driven straight there, and they’d picked up a faint scent trail in the surrounding woods, which they’d been tracking for hours, but the gusting easterly wind slowed their progress. In an effort to keep quiet, he’d set his phone to vibrate—nearly jumping out of his skin when it began buzzing on his hip.

  “Yeah?” he rasped, lifting the phone to his ear.

  “Do you know how I catch them, Dillinger? I strip away their humanity and tempt the beast with blood, with the beauty of the ultimate kill. All it takes is once, that one first sweet taste of ultimate power, and they’re hooked, tighter than a junkie at a heroin banquet. It’s that intoxicating. They never stand a chance against me…and neither will you.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “I’ll give you a bet…but I don’t think you’re going to like the odds.”

  Something in the bastard’s voice was too smug, and Mason felt the icy claws of panic dig painfully into his gut.

  “You know what I like best about her, Dillinger? This fiery hair of hers. Is she that red everywhere? No, don’t tell me,” he laughed. “I’m looking forward to finding out all on my own. Bet she tastes like strawberries.”

  “Is this your new game?” Mason grunted, his heart pounding hard and fast. “Because I hate like hell to tell ya that I ain’t buying it.”

  “You will,” the rogue whispered. “See ya soon, Dillinger.”

  The line went dead, and Mason stood there in the middle of the woods, paralyzed while his mind raced, all chaos and emotion, instinct and reaction. The pain in his chest was so sharp, so cutting, that for a moment he couldn’t breathe…couldn’t move. Then he exploded into action, calling the others, ordering them to meet him back at the Tahoe. Within minutes they were speeding through the forest, while he drove like a thing possessed, nearly overturning them twice as the sky broke open with a heavy downpour.

  By the time they reached the Alley, Mason was nearly out of his mind. He’d called home over and over, but there was no answer. The same went for Jeremy’s cell phone, and he didn’t even know Torrance’s number. The Tahoe was still grinding to a slippery stop when he threw open the door and ran for the cabin, shoving the front door open so hard that it bounced three times against the wall.

  “Torrance!” he shouted. “Jeremy! Goddamn it, somebody answer me!”

  There were no signs of a struggle, nor was there any sign of his woman or his partner…or Elliot. A primal roar of fury surged up from his chest, but he choked it down, determined to use his head and not let the panic take hold of him. But, God, it wasn’t easy.

  Where the hell are they?

  The door to the basement was open, and he rushed down the stairway, nearly dying when he found Jeremy sprawled on the floor, a dark pool of blood under his head, a wicked-looking gash on his temple.

  “Jesus Christ,” Mason growled, dropping down beside his slowly stirring partner. “Jeremy, damn it, wake up! Where’s Torrance?”

  Jeremy groaned, the sound rough with pain, and turned his head toward Mason, squinting up at him. “Mase? Oh shit…gotta go…get her.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  “Phone call…for Elliot. Some girl. Don’t know who,” Jeremy muttered, wincing as his fingers probed around the edges of his wound. “He freaked…hit me when I wasn’t looking. I can’t remember anything more, man.”

  “It’s got to be Simmons,” Mason grunted, his breathing loud and harsh. “They…God, that bastard must have her. Did you hear anything about where they might have gone?”

  “I wish I had, Mase,” Jeremy hissed, his features pulled into a tight grimace as he sat up. “But he was only on the phone for a few seconds before he lost it.”

  Cian’s low voice came from the other side of the room. “I hope you got smart and bonded with her while you had the chance, Dillinger. The rain is already letting up, but any trace of her scent is gone by now. Your only chance is to use the blood bond connection to find her.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” he rasped, the dread in his gut turning into something ugly and dark. His beast paced within the confines of his body, restless with fury, ready to break free then and there. “I thought that only worked with emotions or feelings or whatever the hell you call it.”

  Cian nodded. “Yeah, but I know of Lycans who claim that the blood bond can be used for physical locations, too. If you open up the link, you should be able to pick up her signal like some kind of metaphysical radio beacon. Just stop panicking and focus. You’ll know where she’s gone.”

  A sickening wave of guilt and shame slammed through him; so strong it would have taken him to his knees—if he wasn’t already on them.

  “Now, there’s a thought,” Jeremy grunted, holding the blood-soaked T-shirt against his head as he glared at him. Unlike Cian, who hadn’t seen Torrance since yesterday, Jeremy had spent the day with her. His partner knew damn well that he still hadn’t bitten her. “Use the bond. Why don’t you do that, Mase?”

  The admission stuck in his throat like a boulder. “I…can’t.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t?” Brody scowled, standing beside his partner. “Don’t tell us you still haven’t made a blood bond with her,” he muttered with disbelief. “She’s had a goddamn rogue after her and you didn’t bond with her?”

  “Of course he hasn’t. Because he’s too afraid. Isn’t that right, Mason?” his father called out from the bottom of the stairway, looking as if he’d been through hell and back. His salt-and-pepper hair was matted on the left side of his head, gray sweater torn on his right shoulder.

  Moving to his feet, Mason shook his head in disbelief. “What the hell happened to you? Where’s Mom?”

  “I’m betting the same place they have your woman,” his father growled. “You going with me to get them back?”

  “You know where they are?” he asked, feeling like the one who’d been knocked on the head.

  “One of us isn’t too afraid to follow his heart. Of course I know where they are!”

  Ripping his hands through his hair, Mason struggled to control his temper. “Do you want to explain what happened—or just keep shouting at me?”

  “Your mother had some things she wanted to bring Torrance, so we were on our way back to the Alley when they shot out the tires on my truck,” his father muttered. “Damn thing rolled over on its side, and by the time I made my way out, they’d already taken her away. And that’s enough with the bloody questions. Right now we need to get our women!”

  “So where are they?” he growled, the fear in his gut so vicious, he felt ill.

  “I’ll tell you as soon as somebody gets me a map.”

  “I’ll grab the one out of the Tahoe,” Brody called out, already heading up the stairs. Mason offered a hand to Jeremy, helping his partner to his feet, and Brody came running back in with the map. They laid it out over the end of Jeremy’s bed, his father’s dark eyes roaming…searching…and then he jabbed his forefinger at a specific point, nearly ripping the paper. “There. That’s it. That’s where he’s got them.”
/>
  “Holy shit,” Jeremy rasped. “I’d heard, like Cian, that a blood bond could be used like this, like some kind of internal tracking system, but never really believed that it would work.”

  “Of course it works,” his father grunted, shaking his head at their stunned expressions.

  Looking at Jeremy, Mason asked, “Can you make it?”

  His partner sent him a dirty look. “I’d like to see you try and stop me,” he muttered.

  “Then let’s move out.”

  “We can drive part of the way,” his father grunted, studying the map. “But then we’re going to have to make the last bit on foot.”

  “I don’t care how we get there,” Mason snarled, already heading for the door. “Let’s just make it fast.”

  * * *

  The air sighed through the trees, soft and silent, like a whisper weaving quietly through a room. The fear that had been riding Mason since Simmons’s phone call had a chokehold on him, churning his insides into a mass of rage and stark, shredding terror. Sweat dripped from his face, slipping down his spine, palms damp as he clenched and unclenched his fists while they hiked their way through the woods. His father led the way, as he’d earned the right, considering it was his instincts that had led them this far. And they knew they were on the right path. A couple hundred meters back, they’d found one of Torrance’s colorfully braided bracelets among the leaves scattered over the damp forest floor. The sight of the woven hemp had damn near brought Mason to his knees in anguish, as well as relief.

  She was still alive…but for how long? Christ, if anything happened to her, he wasn’t going to be able to deal with it. And suddenly he understood the depth of his stupidity with perfect clarity.

  He’d wasted all this time struggling with his fears, battling his hungers, blind to the fact that his heart was already hers.

  He loved her.

  God, he was such a blind, raging idiot for not realizing it. And now that he had, all he wanted was to take her in his arms and bind them together for always. He wanted to sink his teeth into the fragile column of her throat, drink from the rich spill of her blood, and complete what was already an unbreakable claim on his heart.

  He was willing to lay down his life to keep her safe—but what he wasn’t willing to do was lose her.

  Not now. Not ever.

  The group stopped at the exact point where the dense forest tapered into tall grass, just before meeting the rocky face of a sheer wall of granite. There was a shadowed entrance carved out like a gaping mouth into the stone facade, the warm glow of a fire flickering inside, like a dragon preparing to expel his fiery breath.

  Mason lifted his head, nostrils flaring as the wind rushed over him, and there, on the air, was the most beautiful scent in the world. It was perfect and sweet, because she was his—and yet, heartbreaking in its revelation of his failures. Torrance was terrified. He could scent her fear, her sheer horror, and the wolf inside of him snarled a sinister sound of outrage, ready to charge ahead and storm the entrance.

  As if reading his mind, his father shot out his arm, blocking his path as he surged forward. “Not yet, Mason. We’re going to do this according to the laws of our people.”

  “Like hell we are. They’re your people, Dad. Not mine.”

  “Mason, let it go,” his father rasped, his deep voice urgent and low, one powerful hand clutching at his arm. “The longer you harbor the anger, the longer your heart will remain locked up in that miserable knot you’ve created. Let it go…and accept that you’ve been blessed.”

  “And what about Torrance?” he hissed, jerking free of his father’s grip. “What about her? This is some blessing, isn’t it, Dad? I promised her that I’d keep her safe from the monsters and look what’s happened. Thanks to me, she’s in there with that bastard!”

  Cian moved beside them, his gray eyes burning like twin pale flames of fire in the lavender twilight. “Simmons and the boy are the only Lycans I can scent on the air. He’s in there alone, with the women and Elliot.”

  “Not for long he isn’t.” Unable to wait any longer, Mason rushed forward, breaking through the line of the trees at the exact moment the sun dipped to the edge of the horizon, the sky a mesmerizing smear of pink and purple and gold. The rushing wind surged around his body, bitter and cool against his face, catching at his scent.

  “Don’t bother to knock,” Simmons called out when he reached the dark mouth of the cave. “We’ve been waiting for you, Dillinger. Come in and join our little party.”

  With his heart in his throat, he stalked forward, his wolf’s eyes adjusting to the darker, firelit interior of the dank cave, his father and the Runners at his back, fanning out at his sides. An unbelievable rush of relief nearly floored him at the sight of Torrance wrapped in his mother’s arms to their right. Her skin shone as pale and luminous as a ghost, head buried in his mother’s shoulder, but she was whole and dressed and, amazingly, untouched.

  Thank God.

  His mother appeared just as shaken as his mate, her dark eyes hollow with fear. Elliot lay slumped against the ground, unmoving, a few feet away from the women, and on the far side of the cave, Simmons sat upon a massive boulder, his elbows resting on his bent knees. The rogue’s arms and face and bare torso were covered in blood, his jeans streaked with more of the dark crimson, the tangled length of his long brown hair slicked back from his narrow face. Beneath his sharp brows, his eyes were sunken, lifeless hollows.

  Keeping one eye on the Lycan, Mason moved toward the women, pulling Torrance into his arms, cradling her head to his chest, aware of his father embracing his mother beside them. He wanted to crush her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay, but he couldn’t get the words out.

  “Just look at them, Mason,” the rogue called out, a satisfied smile curling the sinister line of his blood-smeared mouth. More blood dripped down his chin, matting in the thick pelt of hair covering his chest. “The two things you care about most in this world, and they’re all mine.”

  “Like hell they are,” he snarled, tightening his arms around Torrance until she groaned softly against his chest, her face buried against him, and he forced himself to relax his hold.

  “Oh, I’ll fight you for them,” the Lycan laughed. “And then, while you lie dying, I’ll enjoy them both…while you watch.”

  “You’ve overstepped the bounds of depravity, Simmons,” his father growled, his deep voice guttural with rage. He had said they were going to handle this “according to the laws of their people,” and Mason knew that meant a proper, ceremonial Challenge fight—or, in simpler terms, a fight to the death. Before Robert Dillinger could utter the words Mason knew were coming, he said, “Consider yourself Challenged, Simmons.”

  “Oh, goodie,” the Lycan laughed with a smile, rubbing his bloodstained hands together. “This is going to be fun.”

  Mason grunted, then pulled Torrance with him as he moved toward the wall of the cave, wanting her as far from the rogue as possible. He was aware of the others following behind them, while Brody stayed in place, keeping a careful eye on Simmons, who watched them with an amused expression. “You’re both…unharmed?” he asked hoarsely, barely able to force the words past the tightness in his throat, his gaze moving swiftly between the two women.

  His mother nodded, while Torrance stared up at him, their terror so stark and raw it made him want to rush at Simmons and tear the bastard’s throat out with his fangs. The only thing that stopped him was the knowledge that his father would hold him back, demanding he handle the situation according to the rules. “What happened to Elliot?”

  “Your woman happened to him, Mason,” his mother told them with a small, sad smile. “He was ready to Challenge that monster himself, so she brained him with a rock. She saved the boy’s life.”

  “Not for long,” he muttered. “I’m killing him for this, as soon as he’s awake to fight me.”

  “You can’t do that,” Torrance whispered brokenly, sagging against the rough
wall at her back. “None of this is his fault, Mase. He only wanted to save Marly, but when we got here, Simmons was—” She swallowed convulsively, her face too pale, and he knew what she couldn’t say.

  A deep, guttural slash of sound rumbled in his chest, full of anguish and pain. “He killed the girl?”

  Torrance nodded, blinking slowly, her green eyes red and swollen with her grief. “I had…I had to stop Elliot. He was going to get himself killed, so I did the only thing I could think of.”

  “You knocked him out?”

  “Yeah,” she said shakily, wrapping her arms around her slender body, as if she were trying to hold herself together.

  “You’re amazing,” he breathed out on a husky groan, so proud of her that it hurt.

  Crouching down beside the teenager, Jeremy pushed the thick caramel locks back from Elliot’s temple, checking the injury. “Looks like the night for getting your brains bashed in. But who knows? Maybe she knocked some sense back into him,” he muttered. “I still can’t believe he was stupid enough to try this on his own.”

  “He didn’t have a choice,” she whispered, trembling, staring at Jeremy with tear-drenched eyes. “It was Marly on the phone. She told him that Simmons had her and Olivia, and that he was going to kill them if Jeremy didn’t bring me to him. Then we found Simmons…and he…he…”

  “Don’t think about it,” Mason grunted, hating that she’d witnessed something so terrifying and evil—something straight out of her nightmares—and he hadn’t been able to stop it.

  Torrance rolled her lips inward, lifting one shoulder. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do, so I hit him. It wasn’t even that hard a blow, but I think I might have struck where he got hit before.”

  Moving to Mason’s side, Cian cast a long, heavy look toward the rogue waiting across the cave, watching them with feral anticipation. “He’s going to be damn near impossible to take down, Dillinger. He’s still riding high on the rush.”

  “What do you mean?” Torrance asked.