by Lisa Ladew
His reaching hands found only pillow, and he sat up, knowing as soon as he was fully awake that she wasn’t in the room.
Motherfuck! He shot to his feet, praying that she was out in the kitchen getting something to eat. That she hadn’t left him. He wouldn’t survive it if she had. He could see himself already, chasing her around the city or the country, begging her to come back to him, making a complete fool out of himself over a woman, something he’d sworn he’d never do. But she wasn’t just any woman, she was his mate, his life. And he loved her. And she was supposed to love him back.
He grabbed his pants off the floor and shoved his legs into them, trying not to fall on his face as he ran out into the main part of the house to the tune of Bruin’s snoring. “Rogue,” he called as he went. “Where are you?”
He passed the kitchen. Empty. Only Bruin was in the living room, his head jerking up as he tried to figure out what was going on. Mac ripped the door open, looked outside, then stared at the couch they’d never moved back in front of the door. His heart compressed as he realized it didn’t matter that they hadn’t. Once he’d claimed her, he wouldn’t have been able to keep her here against her will anymore. Even though losing her would kill him, hurting her would kill him more.
He looked at his friend. “She left me.”
Bruin stood up, his face despondent. “Blast it all,” he whispered. “I didn’t think she would. I really thought she was gonna stick around, Mac. You deserved her and she needed you.”
Mac stared out at the dark night, knowing that wasn’t true. If it had been, she would still be there.
A dark form moved on the sidewalk in front of his house and he almost shouted before he realized it was a wolf. Trent, to be exact. Trent, Troy, and Harlan had been outside his house since he’d brought her home, a hedge against Khain as well as a guard to keep her from escaping. Not that it had done any good, but it didn’t matter. If she wanted to go… well, she was gone.
Trent came up to the steps, sniffing furiously, then stared hard at Mac. Mac couldn’t speak ruhi, never could, but Bruin came up behind him. “Trent says, ‘Don’t you smell that?’”
Mac pushed out the door. He did smell it. The pravus. Khain had his female? His heart soared and withered at the same time. It would mean she hadn’t left him, but it also might make her dead. He couldn’t live with either.
Trent whined, and ran around the side of the house, then came back with Troy and Harlan. Harlan had a phone to his ear. “Got it.” He hung up and looked at Mac. “The felen say Khain did not cross over. So either he’s figured out how to do it without them knowing, or someone else that reeks like the pravus was in your yard.
“Get Wade on the phone, tell him what’s going on. We might… shit, just hold tight.”
Mac ducked inside his house and grabbed Bruin by the shirt. “Bru, I claimed her. I did what you told me to do. Now tell me how that’s going to save her life.”
Bruin put his hands over Mac’s and very gently removed Mac from his shirt, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I told you, the message comes through me. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”
Mac paced, frantic now. He couldn’t lose his female. This was what every male dreaded, and he wasn’t going to be the example that said to hold them even closer.
“So, what would the claiming do? How would it help her not to die?” The word made his chest tighten until his lungs didn’t work.
They were both silent for a moment, until Harlan came up to the door and pulled it open. Mac met his eyes and finally understood the male, fully and completely. Fuck, he needed to apologize for every time he’d been an ass. Every time he’d called him Old Man River or Sir Pines-a-lot.
Harlan spoke first. “If you claimed her, you might be able to sense her. To find her. Some shiften with especially strong bonds have been able to do that, back when, you know.”
Yeah, back when there’d been someone to be mated to. Mac held his hands up like he was grasping at nothing. “How!”
Harlan shook his head. “I don’t know. I never had to try.”
Shit. Mac paced some more, trying to calm himself down enough to think. He ran back to his bedroom and flipped on the light. Had she left anything behind? Only the panties he’d ripped from her, and those were in the garbage already. Her sister’s book? No, that wouldn’t help. He threw himself on the bed and dragged the scent of her on his sheets into his nose. Rogue, Rogue, where are you, Rogue? I need you. I can’t live without you. I have to find you.
Nothing. He collapsed onto the bed, trying not to give way to his panic. It had always been easy for him to keep a cool head, until now. Until it was so personal…
He thought of her, pulling the image of her face, her body, her mischievous smile into his mind. He drank her scent deeper into himself, remembering what it had felt like when he’d sunk his teeth into her flesh, the sweet, overpowering taste of her tangy blood on his tongue, the rock and sway of her wings lifting them into the air.
Mac remembered, and he… felt. Felt out into the world, searching for his mate, feeling his way along, until a connection was made. Until he found her. Like a magnet, his foundering mental string, made long and thin by his grasping, connected to her mental string, which was squat and close to her body. He locked on to her, something in his brain shifting, turning over, the sound of the new groove being formed loud in his head.
She was hurt. She was underground. Oh, crap, she hated being underground!
But she was still fighting.
Chapter 44
Mac sped along the rural route toward the old airport, the light bubble on the top of the truck, but no siren going. It was o-dark-thirty, and no cars were out but them and a few tractors, easily avoided. He was going 120 miles an hour. If he could keep this speed all the way to Chicago, he wouldn’t even need the fucking helicopter.
Helicopter. Tin can of death. Fuck. Don’t think about it. Don’t even imagine it. You can do it for Rogue. Because plummeting out of the sky to a fiery death was the only thing that was going to keep him from her. He could still feel her out there, fighting, calling for him. I’m coming, Roe, he sent to her, as hard as he could, even though he’d never been able to speak ruhi. Hang in there.
He pulled into the airfield, left the truck running, and he and Bruin jumped out, as Harlan, Trent, and Troy pulled up behind them, the two wolves out before the truck even stopped, easily beating Mac and Bruin to the hangar. But all the doors were closed.
“What the fuck?” Mac yelled, swinging around to face Harlan, who had a phone pressed to his ear.
“Around the back. There’s only one pilot here and he can only take three of us. Another pilot is on his way in. We’ve got Chicago PD standing by, waiting to provide you backup.”
Mac gave orders as he ran down the long hangar. “Me, Bruin and Troy on the first bird, Trent and Harlan on the second. I don’t know exactly where she is, but I’ll know when we get close. You tell your pilot to talk to our pilot.”
He rounded the corner of the hangar and saw the only helicopter that had blades moving lazily overhead, as a man sat in the pilot’s seat, a clipboard held up to his face. He grabbed for Bruin. “Bruin, that’s a fucking baby mosquito, not a helicopter.”
Harlan yelled from behind them. “That’s all they’ve got. A Robinson R44. It’ll get you to Chicago in thirty minutes!”
“Motherfuck,” Mac muttered under his breath. “It’s smaller than one of Beckett’s drones.” But he kept running.
“You got this, Mac-attack!” Bruin yelled, as they headed out over the open field. Within a minute, they were at the helicopter.
“Morning, boys,” the human pilot called to them. An older guy, weather-beaten face, short-cropped hair, a hard expression that said he was in charge in his helicopter, he didn’t care who they were. “You the cops, I guess.”
“Yeah, we gotta get to Chicago, now,” Mac yelled back, standing just outside the open door, eying the rotors above them that were turning faster and f
aster, making him crouch.
The pilot stared at them, taking in the three big males and two big wolf-dogs. “Who’s going?”
“Me, him, and him,” Mac shouted, pointing everyone out.
“How much does that him way?” the pilot yelled back, pointing to Bruin.
“Bruin, how much do you weigh?”
“I don’t know Mac, 340 pounds, I guess.”
“340!”
“Mmhmm, and you, how much do you weigh?”
“260.”
“Well, boys, the two of you can go, or one of you can go with the dog, but not all three of you. This here bird seats four only when they aren’t linebacker size. I’ve got too much heavy equipment back there.”
Fuck. Mac looked at his choices. Harlan had to stay, because Bruin wasn’t a cop, and the two wolves couldn’t talk. He wanted Bruin with him, but Trent or Troy would have been a better choice. Probably. Oh, fuck it. He wanted the bear. “Bruin, get in! The rest of you catch the next helicopter!”
Mac took a deep breath and swung himself in the door, locking the harness on him tight. He could do this.
***
Mac pressed his lips together, holding on to his stomach at the same time, trying not puke all over the gadgets in front of him. The last time he’d been in a helicopter, for Trevor’s wedding, the flight had been less than four minutes. This one? They’d been up for twenty-five already. And there were no doors. The wind tore at him like it wanted him.
Steve, their pilot, handed him a bag, like the one you found in the back of airplane seats. So he’d heard.
Steve spoke over the intercom, and the voice came through Mac’s headset. “You gotta puke, you puke in there, or you’re buying me a new helicopter. Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
“I won’t puke,” Mac said, holding on to his seat, but taking the bag anyway, wishing Steve would put his hand back on the cyclic, which was the stick between his legs that controlled the speed and altitude of the helicopter. Yeah, Steve hadn’t shut up since they’d climbed in the air. Mac didn’t quite dare tell him to shut his piehole, because he saw something in Steve’s face that said he wouldn’t be opposed to putting the damn mosquito into a dive, or maybe turning the controls over to Mac… Mac shut his eyes and took a deep breath, only to rip them open again when the mosquito jerked to the right.
Bruin hadn’t said a word the entire flight, but Mac didn’t dare twist in his seat to see the guy. That would make him puke. He was probably just as worried about Rogue as Mac was.
Mac sent out the strange feelers from his mind, hard to do in the helicopter, but he gave it everything he had, searching, searching, begging to Rhen that his Roe still be alive. And she was. They were getting close.
“There’s the West edge of Chicago,” Steve called. “Where are we going?”
Shit, Mac didn’t know. “Just keep flying, I’ll tell you when I see it.”
“Where are we setting down?”
Mac had no clue. Uh. “Not sure yet. On top of a-a building.”
“Seriously? You guys get clearance from the FAA already?”
Ah, crap. Sure. Harlan must have been doing something on his phone, right? “Yeah.”
The city slid underneath them, Mac keeping his sights on the second beating heart inside him that was like a beacon on his mate. They were getting close, the coalescing of what was moving underneath him with the line straight inside his body coming faster and faster.
“There!” he said, pointing. “Your two o’clock. Right there, that brown brick building!”
“Yeah, and where am I landing?”
“Right on top of it, Old Hoss. Right on top of it.”
Steve gave him a look that said he would be happy to do it. “Pinnacle landings are the most dangerous kinds of landings there are, Sergeant. The wind can come up unpredictably, could spill us all into the street.” He came over the building and spun the helicopter almost on its side so he could get a good look at the rooftop. “And that top ain’t flat. Too much shit to land on. I’m gonna have to hover, and you and your friend jump out. I’ll tell you when to take off your harness. The sooner you get clear, the less chance there will be of anybody getting chopped up.” Steve was practically yelling now, excitement in his voice. Mac swallowed hard, but knew once he was on the ground-no, the roof, he’d never have to get in a helicopter again. He could do it. For Rogue.
His hands hovered over the latch on his harness, as he held his breath and tried to control the helicopter with the tensing of his muscles. It didn’t respond at all. “Get ready,” Steve called.
“Bru?”
The bear’s voice came back, totally under control. “Don’t worry about me, Mac. You just get yourself down.”
“Harnesses off, headsets off.” Steve said, as the helicopter lowered and lowered. Mac popped his, but held on to it tightly.
“Now, go, go,” Steve shouted, and Mac looked out. They were hovering only inches above the roof, the helicopter barely moving in any direction. The man was a genius. Mac untangled himself from everything and jumped to the roof. He saw Bruin hit the ground on the other side, and then the helicopter was taking off again, lifting into the air, nosing forward as it hauled ass back the way they had come from.
“Fun!” Bruin called bouncing to his feet, but Mac was already moving. He could feel Rogue, way too many stories below him, pissed as hell, but hurt and flagging. He had to get to her.
Chapter 45
Rogue played dead, not moving, barely breathing, in a heap on the floor of… somewhere. The curious psychic weight that felt like a crushing inside her skull told her they were underground, which she hated. She wasn’t sure how they’d gotten there, because when she’d been pulled off of Mac’s porch, it had been like she’d been pulled through some sort of different world. Pravus, Mac had called the place where Khain lived. Kind of like Hell was how he’d described it, and that’s what she’d seen as she’d fought so hard that Rex had punched her in the side of the head until she’d gone fuzzy, then slumped her over his shoulder. A gray landscape. Barren. Lots of fire. Bad smells. Not a plant, drop of water, or slice of blue to be seen anywhere. But whatever that land had been, they weren’t there anymore. No, this place smelled like home. Like Earth. Like Chicago. Like… Soren’s place. She took a longer breath, and the slight movement hurt her broken wrist. Oh fucking hell shit damn. She sucked in a teeny tiny breath and tried like hell not to move again.
She took stock of her body. Head? Pounding and dizzy. Wrist? Broken, like really broken, bleeding and-shit, she didn’t want to even look at it, it looked so bad. Shoulder? Sore. Other than that, she felt ok. Her knife holsters were gone completely, but her pack was still around her waist.
She wasn’t sure if she had passed out or not, but thought chances were good that she had, at least a little. Who knew that you had dreams when you were passed out? She’d had one. One about Mac, promising he was coming to save her. I’m coming, Roe. She’d never had to be saved in her life, never had anyone willing to save her before, and she didn’t know how she felt about it. Scratch that. She did know. She hated it and loved it at the same time. Every day was a barrel of laughs inside Rogue’s head.
She opened her eyes just a slit, to see what there was to see. White five-gallon buckets stacked floor to ceiling against a gray wall, ‘Emergency Food Supply’ stamped on each bucket. Lovely. A fucking prepper’s paradise. How was Mac even going to begin to find her?
She tried to push to her feet but was stayed by a wave of nausea. The room spun and she slumped, trying to make it stop.
She opened her eyes again. The only other thing in her line of sight was a table covered with junk. But no, when she looked harder, slitting her eyes and concentrating, she saw wires, pieces of twisted metal, what looked like part of a discarded suitcase, some clock faces, and a shit-ton of tools. She’d watched enough primetime TV to know what she was looking at. Someone was working on a bomb. Or something they wanted to look like a bomb.
&nbs
p; She heard a voice and knew at once it was the evil Jeff Bridges. That fucking fucker who’d punched her in the side of the head. He was gonna regret that shit. He was far from her, in another room, but coming closer.
“Believe me, brother, there’s something here that you’re going to want to see. Something that’s going to change your mind. Just walk right past the cops. Once you’re inside, you’re fine. No, you don’t have any choice. Your bloodline has decided for you. Yeah. See you in five. Don’t do anything stupid.”
He was coming closer, right up next to her. Rogue tried to curl her broken wrist underneath her body but too late, he was there. Very deliberately, he stomped on the open part, where the bone was showing. Rogue tried not to give him the satisfaction, but she screamed. She couldn’t help it.
He stepped back, grinning. “Just had to make sure you were awake.”
Mac’s gonna kill you for that, she thought savagely, if I don’t do it first. She sucked in huge lungfuls of air and hugged her broken limb to herself, knowing that she didn’t have a chance of killing him like this, unless she got awfully lucky. Mac was going to have to do it.
She sucked in a breath. “You were watching me.” She’d felt him, but he must have instinctually known she could. Him disappearing and made her unable to track his interest.
Rex didn’t respond. “You were in that cop’s house for an awfully long time. Good thing you finally came outside. I almost gave up waiting for you. What were you doing in there?”
“Playing Scrabble. America’s favorite word game. We went into quintuple overtime.”
He laughed and his beer belly jiggled. Lovely. “Why don’t I believe you?”