“Delilah Dane lives up here,” Shane told him in a hushed volume as they crept up the stairs, the sheriff leading the way with his weapon aimed straight up the narrow staircase, Shane following after and checking behind them as they went. “It’s heating up something fierce, Sheriff,” he said, glancing at the amethyst in his hand.
When they reached the apartment door, they communicating in exchanged glances, the intensity in both of their eyes reaching anxious heights.
Shane pulled a Ka-Bar knife from his thigh then looked at Rick.
When Rick gave him a nod, Shane whipped the apartment door open and Rick charged in. Shane tore into the apartment after him, poised to fight with the blade in his steady hand.
But the apartment was empty.
“Fuck!” Shane cursed as he stormed through the apartment. Whitney wasn’t there, not in the living room, not in the kitchen or bathroom or bedroom. He returned to the living room where Rick was holstering his firearm. “The crystal is hot.”
“They were here,” Rick informed him as he came upon a frayed coil of rope in the corner. He lifted it in his hand and was instantly overcome with emotion. “The son of a bitch had her tied up!”
Where the hell was she?
Shane holstered his Ka-Bar and ran his fingers over his head as though it would keep his mind from splitting apart.
“Where to next?” Rick asked him with such a wealth of hope in his worried eyes that Shane thought his heart might shatter right then and there. “Come on, son! I’m with you, ain’t I? I trust you! Let’s find my little girl!”
Shane locked his dark eyes on the Sheriff, a man he thought he hated, and realized that he actually felt love for the guy. He closed the gap between them and took Rick by the shoulders.
Rick swallowed hard, forcing his welling emotions down so that he wouldn’t cry.
“Don’t you give up on me, Quinn,” he warned, choking the words out in an unsteady stutter. “Don’t you dare give up on my little girl.”
“I’m not giving up, Sheriff—”
“Rick,” he corrected. “Call me Rick.”
“Rick,” Shane began, knowing that what he was about to say would risk it all. He had to find Whitney. Risking it all couldn’t be avoided. “There’s something you need to know about me,” he went on. “There’s something you need to know about Whitney.”
“Son,” he interrupted him, taking Shane by the shoulders. “You help me find my little girl, and you’ll have my blessing, you hear?”
“Your blessing?”
“You can have her hand, son. You can marry her. That’s what you wanted me to know, right? You wanted me to know that you want Whitney’s hand in marriage?”
Shane pulled the Sheriff into a tight hug, embracing him hard and holding him firmly.
“I’ll gladly give her away to you, Shane,” Rick cried on his shoulder. “Just find her.”
When Shane released him, the men were clutching each other by the shoulders. Their eyes locked and Shane promised, “We’ll find her. Come with me.”
Chapter Sixteen
WHITNEY
Dante tossed her into the stable as soon as they reached it.
Whitney spilled across the dirt floor, scraping her knees and embedding dirt into her palms.
She glared up at him as the horses whinnied and bucked in their stalls, sensing danger.
Dante filled the doorway, Ronnie and Larry standing behind him. They stepped inside and Larry closed the door. Ronnie was ready with a plank of wood. He set it into position, bracing the stable door so that no one would be able to enter.
In an instant, with fury boiling her blood, Whitney shifted into her wolf form and lunged at Dante, her fangs bared, snout peeled hatefully back.
But Dante merely had to raise his hand and spread his fingers and Whitney was slammed with a powerful wall of energy. She flew back, airborne, and crashed into the hay trough. The horses bucked up onto their hind legs, hooves clomping against the wooden stall doors that held them.
“Whoa!” Ronnie called out to calm the horses as Whitney shook her wolf head.
She was on her side and didn’t have the strength to rise up. It felt like her wolf shoulder had been broken where it had hit the hard metal edge of the trough.
“That was a close call,” Dante mused as he stared idly down at her before pacing back through the dimly lit stable. “Shane almost caught us. We left just in time.”
“He’ll find me,” Whitney spat, tasting blood in her mouth after shifting back into her human form. “You think Shane’s going to let you get away with this? You think my father will?”
Dante laughed, a deep, booming rumble billowing out of him.
She sneered at him, glaring through the darkness of the stables as the horses finally calmed.
“Ah, yes, Sheriff Rick Abernathy,” Dante chuckled to himself. “The man had a street named after him.”
“Yes, he did,” she said proudly. “He’s probably looking for me right now.”
“In that case,” Dante said easily, turning to Larry then Ronnie as though they might agree, “perhaps we should’ve stayed at Delilah’s.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
“Rick holds high standing in this town,” Dante explained. “I plan to hold an even higher standing. It might be advantageous if Rick is one of mine.”
“Don’t you fucking dare!” she screamed.
“Oh, I just might dare, sweetheart,” he seethed. “It would be very smart of me to turn the sheriff, control him. Imagine how fast I could turn the entire town with his help.”
“My father will never help you!”
“Your father won’t have a say in the matter,” he said easily. “He might even be eager to join my army of the damned once he learns that I’ve made you mine, once he understands that you’re carrying his grandchild—”
“I’ll never carry your child,” she spat. “Stay away from me!”
“I can see it now,” he envisioned as he neared her. “Our whole family. You and I. Our child. My new father-in-law who I’ll use like a brainless puppet,” he laughed maniacally and Whitney felt her stomach lurch with disgust. “Perhaps I ought to meet good ol’ Daddy before we commence our ritual and consummate our burgeoning life together?”
Whitney glared at him. She wouldn’t be consummating anything with this sick psycho unless it was her foot up his ass. She struggled to her feet, holding her arm that felt broken.
“I’m Shane’s one true mate,” she reminded him.
“You’re nothing to Shane,” he countered.
What was this monster planning to do? Force her to mate in a bonding ritual with him right in the Yellowstone corral stables while Larry and Ronnie looked on? This was sick. She had enough rage in her to murder every last one of them.
Dante wanted to lure her father here? Was that what he had meant?
It could buy her time, but she forced the dark idea right out of her head. She wouldn’t risk her daddy’s life. She wanted Rick as far away from this thing as humanly possible. She’d die before she’d let Dante Alighieri turn him.
Suddenly, the severe and fatal choice that Delilah had committed made all the sense in the world. Death was better, wasn’t it? Better than being eternally tied to a monster like Dante.
She could fight him. Provoke her own death. But it wouldn’t save her father. It wouldn’t save the residents of this town. It would only save herself, her God-fearing soul, and it would be selfish to save only herself.
She wished she could communicate with Shane, speak to him soul-to-soul, tell him she was here. But would he be any match for Dante Alighieri? Was anyone equipped to battle him?
She didn’t know.
And she was starting to fear the worst.
Chapter Seventeen
SHANE
It was a Hail Mary at best, but Shane had nothing to lose.
Troy’s gift of foresight had developed. During the last werewolf meeting, his brother the kin
g had announced to the entire pack that his gifts had come to fruition, Troy had an answer for Jack Quagmire and Angel Mercer, anyone who had sought guidance from him could now be helped.
It was a dangerous idea.
Risky.
And not entirely foolproof.
But it was worth a try.
Shane led the sheriff past the creaking gate, entering Damned Repair, the automotive repair shop on the outskirts of town.
“You think he’s got her in the salvage yard?” Rick asked him as they rounded the office building, coming into the yard where stacks of crushed cars towered high, forming rows upon rows.
“My brothers are meeting us here,” Shane informed him.
“How can they help?” asked Rick.
“Trust me, they can,” he told him as they rounded into the expansive stretch where every werewolf meeting had taken place for the last century.
“Quagmire?” Rick questioned, squinting his eyes as though they might be playing tricks on him.
Jack was standing next to Angel Mercer who was dressed in a white, flowing gown. Jack had cleaned himself up as well, wearing a brown suit and a flower tucked in his lapel.
Troy entered the yard from behind the office building with Kaleb and Lucy.
“What’s Lucy Cooper doing here?” asked Rick, as they neared Shane.
The sheriff was beyond skeptical.
Shane pulled Troy into a hug and said, “Thank you, brother.”
“Let’s hope it works,” was Troy’s reply and as they disengaged, stepping away from each other, Conor and Dean entered the salvage yard and joined them.
“Does he know what we are?” Troy asked Shane discretely, referring to the sheriff.
“No, I haven’t told him.”
“Let’s see if we can get away with keeping it that way,” he suggested as Jack and Angel neared them.
As they came into formation for the ritual that Troy had seen in his meditations—Troy standing in front of Jack and Angel, Conor and Dean behind him, Kaleb and Lucy off to the side—Shane neared Rick.
“If this works,” he whispered, “we’ll effective conjure Dante Alighieri—”
“Conjure?” he asked, alarmed.
“Alighieri isn’t human, but I think you knew that.”
“He’s a werewolf,” Rick stated but it came out as more of a question than anything else.
“He’s more than that, Sheriff,” said Shane. “He’s the devil, himself.”
“Y’all are about to conjure the damn devil?” he asked, terrified.
“The devil has your daughter,” Shane reminded him. “Listen now, Rick. This is how it’s going to go down.”
“I’m with you,” he said, gravely serious, every part of him looked poised to learn the plan.
“Troy is going to perform a ceremony to unite the souls of Jack and Angel.”
Rick’s eyes widened as though Shane had just sprouted a second head.
“Since Angel is tied with hellish bonds to Dante—”
“Did you say tied with hellish bonds?” he asked, alarmed.
But Shane barreled right over his question, “We’re hoping to God that when Troy breaks those bonds, Dante will come here—”
“Dante’s going to come here?” Rick asked with urgency as he drew his weapon.
Shane gently placed his hand over the sheriff’s gun. “Your bullets won’t do a damn thing to him, Rick, you gotta trust me on this and listen.”
“Okay,” he said willingly.
“Assuming that Dante has Whitney, the second Troy conjures him, he’ll leave Whitney. That’s why I’ve got to go out—”
“You’re leaving me? You can’t leave me.”
“You’ll be fine. You’re safe here.”
“No one’s safe here if the devil of Devil’s Fist is gonna show up!”
Shane glanced over at Lucy Cooper then returned his gaze to Rick and promised, “You’ll be safe here. I’m going to take Conor and Dean. We’re going to get Whitney.”
“How will you find her?”
“I have a feeling that as soon as Dante leaves her, I’ll know where she is. I’ll feel it.”
Rick looked at Shane as though he’d just spoken fluent Chinese but he didn’t argue.
“Bring her back safe and sound, you hear?”
Shane looked the sheriff square in the eye. “I promise.”
From in front of Jack and Angel, who were facing one another and smiling with tears in their eyes, Troy spoke up for all to hear, “The dark bonds that tie you, Angel Mercer…”
As Troy went on, Shane clapped his large hand on the sheriff’s shoulder and shot him a firm look, then waved at his brothers.
Conor and Dean met him as he started towards the entrance gate of the salvage yard.
“We’re going to have to split up,” Shane instructed. “But here’s what we’re going to do…”
Chapter Eighteen
WHITNEY
“Get the hell off of me!” Whitney screamed, clawing her fingernails down Dante’s face as he pressed against her, pinning her to the wall as he ran his hands all over her.
Larry Hardcastle was watching with a gleam of interest in his sick eyes from where he stood in front of the barred stable door. Ronnie McDowell, on the other hand, felt such immense shame to be involved that he couldn’t look. His teary gaze was locked on the ground. Why wouldn’t he help her?
Whitney delivered a hard blow to Dante’s jaw, slugging him across the face and buying herself a breath of time to turn to the shelves. She knew there were horseshoes and scrapers resting on one of the shelves. She could plunge the long blade of a metal horseshoe scraper into Dante’s fucking eye.
As she tore through the shelf, boxes and horseshoes spilling with a clatter to the floor, Dante grabbed her from behind, but she whipped around and slugged him with all her might, her swollen fist connecting with his nose.
He stumbled back, holding his bleeding nose, but then angled his dark eyes at her and smiled.
“I like the way you fight,” he complimented as if this were a game.
“Fuck you,” she spat before lunging for one of the metal horseshoe scrapers that had landed on the floor.
She fumbled to grab it, feeling Dante advance on her from behind, but she rolled onto her back just in time, lifting the blade of the rusty plunger upwards in a deathly thrust.
But when the blade should’ve pierced through his sternum, it vanished from her grasp.
Dante laughed at her as he pinned her to the ground, sitting on her and catching her flying wrists in his cold hands.
“You know that I’m letting you fight, don’t you?” he laughed. “I like watching your fire, Whitney. The performance of it. The rage and fury and fear. It’s gorgeous.”
“Get the hell off of me!” she screamed, as she squirmed and writhed beneath him.
He only went on, the grin on his face spreading wide, “You’re a little plaything, aren’t you?”
Whitney was angling her gaze at a cluster of horseshoes on the ground near her head. She needed another weapon. He might have her by the wrists, but she was determined to break free. She’d fight until the bitter end and beyond if she had to.
“I like how strong you are,” he complimented. “Perfect to carry my child.”
She spat in his face. “Go to hell!”
“My dear, I believe we’re already there,” he countered darkly.
Then suddenly, without warning, it looked as though some invisible dagger had sliced through his heart.
Dante’s eyes widened and though blood hadn’t been drawn, he looked suddenly crippled, overcome by some vision that had taken his breath away.
“No,” he breathed.
Whitney furrowed her brow at him then realized his grip on her wrists had loosened. She jerked free and Dante didn’t fight her or protest as she wriggled out from under him, grabbed another horseshoe scraper, and scrambled backwards to claim as much distance from him as possible until her shoulder blades hi
t the wall behind her.
“No!” he screamed before flying clear across the room.
He touched down just shy of the barred door and barked, “Open it! Get the fuck out of my way!”
Startling to action, Larry and Ronnie lifted and removed the wooden plank that had braced the stable door shut and then Dante kicked the doors open. Stark sunlight cut through the dim stable.
“Stay here!” he ordered, “and don’t let her leave!”
As Ronnie closed the stable door and returned the wooden plank, Whitney locked eyes with Larry and glared.
“Don’t even think about it, girl,” he warned.
But Whitney already had.
She wielded the rusty scraper in her hand to get a better grip then assumed a fighter’s stance.
“Open that door,” she threatened, “Or I’ll gut you like a fucking fish.”
“You think so?” Larry challenged.
Whitney hollered, yelling at the top of her lungs as she charged at Larry, the scraper lifted high above her head.
Larry raged forward, charging at her in response, but Whitney was too smart, too crafty, too fucking furious to get bested by a drunken waste of human life who had sexually abused his own stepdaughter.
On the down-swing of slamming the scraper, blade pointing downward, into Larry’s sunken chest—he cried out as the rusty scraper plunged deep—Whitney shifted into her wolf form. As he wailed in agony, she sank her fangs into his neck, bleeding the life right out of him.
He struggled and choked on his own blood, but she persisted and gave her wolf head one final shake to ring the entirety of Larry’s life right out of him.
When he was limp and lifeless between her clamped teeth, she dropped him loose and lifted her gleaming green wolf eyes to Ronnie.
In the blink of an eye, she rose up, shifting back into her human form.
“One down,” she informed him. “One more sick son of a bitch to go.”
As she advanced on Ronnie, she thought to herself that she might actually enjoy this.
***
As Whitney fought Ronnie McDowell, horrified to discover the young man was far more skilled than Larry Hardcastle had been, not three miles away Sheriff Rick Abernathy watched in astonishment in the salvage yard of Damned Repair as a wolf-man appeared and hovered over the nuptials procession.
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