He growled. “Can we do this later?”
She let go off him, wrapping her arms around her waist.
He waited, but she stayed silent. In the grand scheme of things, her bad mood didn’t matter. Hell, being pissed was more effective than being scared. Not that he was going to let anything happen to her. He shook his head, tugging her into the clearing behind him and shielding his eyes from the beam of light…
A ripple. A warning.
His wolf recognized the scent. The one tracking them, an Other. The wind had shifted just enough to give him cover. Enough to let him get too damn close. He shoved Olivia behind him and turned, scanning the darkness.
Was he alone? It was unlikely.
Glowing white eyes waited in the shadow of the trees. One pair so far. That was good.
“He sees us,” she said, her fingers gripped the back of his jacket.
Mal hesitated. He couldn’t let the wolf go. The Others were uncertain how many were in Finn’s pack, and that’s the way they wanted to keep it. That might have changed since he’d left, but he wasn’t going to risk it. Add Olivia’s presence, healthy and alive, and they’d know he’d turned her.
“Mal?” she whispered.
“Stay here,” he said, knowing the helicopter was overhead. “Dante is here. Sad eyes, floppy hair. Go with him.”
“No, Mal—”
“Go with him,” he snapped. She didn’t understand, not really—not yet. But she would. The bastard couldn’t get away.
She released him.
He shrugged off his coat, the shift already running over his flesh and stretching his muscles. It wasn’t easy, he was agitated—worrying about Olivia, worrying about not getting the wolf before it ran. He fell forward, grunting against the snap of bone, the shift of vertebrae and joints. Claws tore through knuckles. Flesh gave way to fur. His heart picked up, his breath pulling the rival wolf’s scent deep into his lungs. His ears cocked forward, tuning in to his adversary.
The hunter had become the hunted. And Mal’s prey was braced for a fight.
...
Olivia wanted to throw up. Watching Mal tear apart was mesmerizing and terrifying. Hearing each snap and pop, the wet rip of skin and scent of blood—this was Mal. Her Mal. His beautiful body split wide to leave something different. She wanted to block out the sounds and un-see what had just happened. But she couldn’t. Even the spinning blades of the helicopter and the whir of the engine didn’t drown out the sounds of his shift.
Mal was gone. And breathing, thinking, moving, was impossible.
When hands gripped her shoulders, she jumped, screamed, and shrugged away from the touch.
Mal—the wolf—stared back at her, the thick black fur of his neck bristling. She stepped back, unable to stop herself. This was Mal. This was Mal. Mal was a big, scary black wolf growling at her. No, not at her. The man behind her. She looked—a man in a harness, holding a rope. From the helicopter.
“I’ve got her,” the man said, nodding at Mal.
Mal snorted and tore across the snow, leaving her behind.
“Dante,” he said, extending his hand.
She stared at his hand, his face, and stepped back. “Sad eyes,” she muttered, glancing at him. “Dante?”
The man nodded, studying her. “You are?”
She stared after Mal, her heart throbbing. He couldn’t leave her. She was supposed to be with him, at his side—no matter what he was facing. The urge to follow him was powerful, pulling her forward.
But Mal’s command echoed in her ears. “Go with him.”
Where the tears came from, she didn’t know. Incredible sorrow and pain engulfed her. He’d left her. Left a hole right through the middle of her. He wasn’t supposed to leave her—not ever.
The hand returned to her shoulder. She didn’t like it, didn’t want anyone to touch her.
“He’ll be back,” Dante said. “Trust me.”
She nodded, fighting the urge to go and the hold Mal’s words had placed on her.
“Your name?” he asked again.
“Olivia Chase.” She sounded…angry. Because she felt angry. At Mal.
“Let’s get you into the helicopter,” Dante said.
She glared at him. “No.”
“Mal said to go with me, Miss Chase,” Dante reminded her.
Her eyes burned violently. He had told her to go. She sniffed. “Fine.”
He held his hands up. “I’m going to snap you in,” he said, offering her the harness.
She nodded, staring into the darkness.
More eyes.
“Dante?” she whispered. “Do you see them?”
“Aw, shit,” Dante groaned.
A howl split the night, sending her to her knees. It was impossible to breathe or see or think. Mal. Growling, snarling, whimpers. A howl cut short. Mal. She didn’t realize she’d screamed his name out loud until Dante told her he’d be fine.
She didn’t know how Dante managed to get her into the harness, or how she wound up in the helicopter, leaning out the door, waiting.
“Two more?” she asked. “Three?”
Dante stared out into the dark, his posture growing more agitated.
She held on to the handle by the door, leaning as far as she could without falling. She might be a werewolf, but something told her she wasn’t ready to follow Mal out into the fight. Even if part of her, a very big part of her, wanted to do just that.
If she concentrated she could hear him—his heart beating, the ragged gasp of his breath. Adrenaline sliced through her, kicking her own heart rate up.
It lasted too long.
And the noise—primal, feral, terrible—echoed in her brain and flooded her blood with an energy she didn’t understand. A quiver ran along her spine, making her twitch and tingle. She itched under her skin. Her joints felt tight and her brain pulsed.
Amid the howls, whimpers, and growls, she searched for some sign of Mal.
Dante’s eyes narrowed, his gaze focused on something she didn’t see. “Stay here. I will help him, but you have to stay here.”
“Don’t leave him.” Her words were hard, a hoarse demand.
He nodded then jumped from the helicopter.
“What the hell?” a voice crackled over the intercom.
A shot rang out, so loud she covered her ears. Another followed.
Dante lay, naked and human, on the ground below the helicopter.
She stared at Dante’s lifeless body, a large red patch forming on his newly bared chest. He’d been ready to shift when the bullet made impact. Now he was vulnerable and alone.
She heard a howl and saw them, wolves, circling the tree line.
Where was Mal? There was no way he could rescue Dante and protect himself from the circling pack. Mal’s howl split the night, and desperation washed over her. She had to do something.
“You need to land,” she called to the pilot.
The voice crackled, “No can do—”
“Now,” she argued. “They need help.”
“Shit, damn, ass, stupid.” The voice continued insulting the state of the world, but the helicopter was landing. It was fast, the ground rising to meet them with a jarring impact. Then the cockpit door opened and and a man came out. Outfitted in riot gear, an automatic weapon in each hand and a belt full of knives, he seemed almost excited.
He nodded, winked, and climbed through the helicopter door before she moved a muscle.
She jumped out, helping lift Dante’s unconscious form into the helicopter.
“Hurry,” the man urged. “They’re almost on us.”
Olivia didn’t let his words get to her. She couldn’t. She was too busy looking for Mal.
“Where is he?” she asked.
“He’ll be okay.”
“We are not leaving him. Do you hear me?” she shrieked. “I don’t care if I get eaten waiting.”
The man grinned. “No need to get all riled up now.”
But Mal’s wolf was running toward t
hem and everything snapped back into place. The hole was gone. The fear, too. He planted his feet, the fur on his neck and shoulders bristling as he faced their attackers.
“That’s his way of telling us it’s time to go,” the man said, pulling her into the helicopter.
She almost argued, but Mal climbed in after them.
Second later, the helicopter was rising in to the sky, the rapid whir of the blades drowning the frustrated howls of the wolves they left below. She didn’t know whether to hug him or punch him, so she curled into herself. But Mal’s nose slid between her face and knees, his whimper pulling at her heart. She hugged him close, losing her fear in the feel of his soft fur against her face. He pressed against her, a low rumble in his chest, sniffing her hairline and throat.
“Is he okay?” she asked Mal. “Dante?”
The wolf groaned, moving to Dante’s side, sniffing his wounds. He sat, staring at her, then Dante.
“I’m not a nurse,” she argued, crawling forward to peer at the wound in Dante’s chest. “I heard two shots.”
The wolf grunted, a sharp woof.
She looked at him. “It’s sort of rude, isn’t it? To shoot at each other instead of fighting it out as wolves. Sort of underhanded.”
Mal’s wolf grinned. He did—that’s the only word for it.
“What?” she asked, turning back to Dante. She pressed her ear to his chest. “His heart sounds good.” She hesitated, remembering what Mal had told her. “He’s calm. Even his breathing is normal.”
“Takes a lot to kill a wolf,” the voice crackled. “I’m Gentry, by the way.”
“Are you a wolf?” she asked.
“No.” He laughed. “But I sure love running with the crazy-ass-motherfuckers.”
She sat back on her heels, sighing.
“It’s fucking good to see you, Mal,” Gentry added.
“Damn good,” Dante whispered from the floor. “Damn good.”
Mal was up, ears cocked forward, nuzzling Dante’s face. Dante laughed, patting the wolf’s neck with an unsteady hand.
“What’d I tell you? Tough sons of bitches,” Gentry said.
Tears were streaking down her face. Tears? Why now—when he was safe? When they were safe? Now was not the time to lose it.
“They know about her now,” Dante whispered.
She stiffened.
Mal’s brown eyes met hers. As a wolf, Mal was more expressive—more in tune. There was regret in his eyes, and worry. She shook her head, sliding across the floor to rest against the metal wall of the helicopter. It vibrated violently beneath her head, the tinny echo sending painful sparks into her skull, behind her eyes.
What was wrong with her?
Her temples were pounding. A sudden dull ache bloomed at the base of her neck and crushed in on her head. Never in her life had she felt so alone. Or helpless. Her wolf had wanted to help him. She’d wanted to help him.
“Finn has a plane waiting to take us to the refuge,” Gentry’s voice crackled again.
The rest of the ride was silent. She concentrated on the pulse in her head, on not thinking about how Mal’s body had contorted and twisted. Or the fear that she would never truly be safe again. That Chase was in danger—or the bad guy. Or that she was falling in love with a werewolf.
When they touched down on the tarmac, Mal nudged her from the helicopter. She and Gentry helped Dante make the short trek to the waiting jet.
Mal followed, a gorgeous shirtless, fatigue-pants-wearing man. But in his brooding gaze, Olivia caught sight of his wolf. She didn’t resist as his arms came around her, as he pulled her close with a sigh. He shivered, the muscles of his shoulders tensing as she nuzzled his neck. It was instinctual. Natural. Nothing more. Offering him comfort was the right thing to do. And the soft grumble at the back of his throat told her he approved.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Gentry said, disappearing into the front of the plane.
Apparently, he could fly both helicopters and airplanes. And use all sorts of weapons. And he liked it. Just one more crazy thing at this point.
“You’ll heal faster if you can shift,” Mal said.
“Silver,” Dante pointed at the wound in his chest. “Went through, but there’s traces left—I can feel it.”
She winced, so did Mal, and Dante grinned. “You want to tell me what happened?” Dante asked softly.
“How long?” Mal asked, pulling her onto the couch beside him.
Silence fell.
“How long have I been gone?” he repeated.
“Three months.” Dante’s voice was thick.
Fury coursed through her. Her gaze bounced from Mal to Dante. “You left him in that place for three months?”
“Olivia—” Mal’s voice was low.
“Don’t you dare tell me to be quiet.” She cut him off. “That’s not right, leaving you there for so long.” She glared at Dante, her emotions all over the place once more. But seeing Dante’s sadness, and the pain on his face, made her instantly regret her hostility.
“I agree,” Dante said.
“But you’re not the Alpha, are you?” she whispered, directing her anger at Finn—the one who had left Mal.
Dante exchanged a look with Mal, a look she didn’t understand.
“No, Olivia, he’s not.” Mal’s voice was coaxing, almost pleased. “So be nice to him.”
She frowned, tearing her gaze from Dante to look at Mal—really look at him. Scratches covered his bare chest. A bite covered the ball of his shoulder and the side of his neck. She ran her fingers over a deep bruise on his cheek, wincing at the blood that trickled from his right ear. “Are you okay?” she managed, truly concerned.
He smiled as he smoothed the curls from her shoulder, his warm gaze exploring her face. His gaze locked with hers, hot and bold and yearning. There was no mistaking the hunger in his eyes as he stared at her mouth, or the subtle shift of his hands on her body.
“Your mate has spirit,” Dante said. “It will make tomorrow night easier.”
Mal’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not my mate,” he bit out, jaw clenching.
Dante shook his head. “Holy shit, here we go again. Guess denial is the first step in finding a mate,” he mumbled, loud enough to be heard.
Mal’s dismissal cut through her, stealing the warmth he’d given her only seconds before. Dante was a wolf, yet she didn’t have the same odd reaction Mal’s presence elicited. She had yet to meet Finn or the rest of the pack, but she suspected it would be the same. What was between her and Mal was different—even if he didn’t want to accept it.
Accept it or not, Olivia was adrift in loneliness. Nothing made sense. Nothing. But letting her fear take over wasn’t productive. Fear wasn’t going to rule her—she was stronger than that.
Chapter Ten
Mal’s grip tightened on her, without thought. She was trying to put distance between them, probably pissed again. Distance was good. She wasn’t his mate, she was his pack. And he needed to remember that—for both their sakes. But the wolf wouldn’t let him.
Tonight had scared the shit out of him. When Dante fell, he’d been too far away to get to him. But seeing the helicopter land, watching the Others close in, knowing Olivia was inside… He’d left the fight to get to her. He’d had no choice. She was exposed, at risk, in danger. No fucking way.
Now the Others knew she was alive. It was safe to assume her scent revealed the rest: Olivia was a wolf. What that meant for her, for them, he wasn’t sure. But it sure as hell wasn’t good. There were too many unknowns. Mal, his wolf, didn’t like unknowns.
“Damn, Mal,” Dante’s voice was thick.
Mal stared at his friend, his family. His chest grew heavy, and the familiar dread that had tightened his stomach since they’d left him eased. “Glad you’re okay.” He’d spent a lot of nights wondering how things had turned out—if anyone else had been lost in the fight.
Dante swallowed, answering Mal’s unasked question, “You were the only cas
ualty.”
Mal shot him a look.
“Jessa said you saved her,” Dante went on. “She blames herself.”
Mal shook his head, Olivia stiffening in his arms. He ran his hand down her back, offering comfort—taking it in return. Jessa wasn’t the one that left him swinging from that tree. Logically, Mal understood. Finn would pick Jessa, his mate, over him. But it wasn’t always easy to think logically when you’re chained to a wall getting your ass kicked by two sadistic werewolves.
“Ellen said you were dead,” Dante said.
“Ellen?” Mal growled, his hand stilling on Olivia’s back.
“She is—was—one of the Others. I don’t fucking know where exactly she fits.” Dante paused. “But she’s helping Jessa through her pregnancy.”
Mal stared at Dante. He’d never considered they’d welcome an Other into the pack. “And we’re trusting her?” Cyrus’s plant was in plain sight?
“Not all of us.” Dante frowned. “It’s an uneasy truce.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” he mumbled. Finn gets a mate and loses all judgement? Another reason to steer clear of the whole mate mess.
His wolf growled. Olivia slid from his lap. Maybe she sensed his agitation. Or maybe he was squeezing her a little too hard.
“Seeing you—your throat torn out—” Dante broke off, shaking his head. “No one should have survived that.”
“I did.” He rested his head against the seat, breathing through the pain and anger Dante’s words stirred. Maybe he was right. Maybe he shouldn’t have survived. There’d been times he wished he’d died. The last time, strung up, back newly skinned, something inside him cracked wide open. He’d wanted to give up—until Cyrus had given him a knife to end his own suffering. But the smile on the fucker’s face had been too smug. Mal had thrown it at him, slicing through the bastard’s ear, and lost his one chance to make the pain go away.
Olivia’s hand took his. She didn’t face him or move closer, but her fingers wrapped around his. He was hurting. Touching her made it better. It was simple and honest. He pulled her hand into his lap, breathing easier when she leaned against his side.
His wolf was pleased—Mal ignored him. “How is Jessa?” She’d been nice enough. He hoped she’d survive life as the mate of their messed-up pack’s Alpha.
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