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She stood as she saw him, her expression going soft. “Hey.”
Isaiah made a beeline for her, ignoring everyone else in the room. He took her face between his hands, a growl rumbling in his chest at the faint smell of blood that clung to her—a growl that came from both him and his cat.
“You were shot?” The words came out guttural.
She placed a palm on his chest. “In my cat’s hindleg. Bullet went straight through. Helena healed me.”
He skated his hands up to her hair, pinning it back to fully expose her face, needing to just look at her. “Who shot you?”
“I’m not sure who held the gun, but it was someone from the Vercetti Pack.”
His teeth snapped together. Bastards. “What exactly happened?”
“As I was heading to my car, I noticed a group of guys and… I just knew something wasn’t right. Then I recognized one of the faces. It was Sebastian Vercetti. I shifted and ran, knowing it was my best chance of escape. They followed but couldn’t catch up to my cat. All the shots went wide bar one. She disappeared down a badger tunnel.”
“We figured your cat used it to escape. We noticed it when tracking the wolves.”
“When she got out of it, she tried getting into our house but it was all locked up tight, so she came here.”
He carefully let her hair fall back to her shoulders and topple down her back. “The wolves seemed to have backtracked after your cat did her disappearing act.”
“Not surprised. They had no way of knowing where she’d pop out. Did you track their scents to see where they headed afterward?”
“Deke and JP are on it.”
“I called Deke about ten minutes ago,” Bailey cut in from the sofa. “He said the scents vanished in an alley. Looks like the pack left in two four by fours.”
Isaiah felt his nostrils flare. The fuckers had gotten away yet again, and so now the threat to Quinley was still very real. Curving an arm around her neck, he hauled her closer.
“I’m okay,” she said, leaning into him.
“Not the point,” Isaiah bit off. “I thought they would come for me, not you.”
She lightly pinched his arm. “Stop feeling guilty. This isn’t your fault. Dominants are strong, but they aren’t all-powerful. You can’t control other people’s actions. The pack did what they did because they wanted to, and because they’re assholes—plain and simple.”
“What she said,” muttered Aspen, pointing at Quinley.
“Listen to your mate, Isaiah,” Tate ordered. “Don’t take the weight of this.”
Easier said than done. He tightened his hold on Quinley and spoke against her hair, “I’ll kill them. I’ll fucking kill them.”
Her arms looped around him. “I know you will. I know.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Waking to her alarm the following morning, Quinley leaned over and turned it off. Letting her head loll to the side, she saw she was alone in bed. Her brow knitted at the very unusual occurrence. And then, just as she was extending her senses to detect if Isaiah was in the attached bathroom, memories of yesterday rolled over her.
Quinley felt her lips flatten. That goddamn sorry excuse for a pack needed executing fast. She couldn’t lie, it had given her a little scare to have them come at her that way—guns, claws, teeth, and all. But as she’d sat in the Alpha’s house waiting for Isaiah to return from trying to locate her, fury had settled in. And it hadn’t left.
It had, however, eased under the warmth of Isaiah’s attentiveness. He’d stayed at her side all evening, broody and quiet. He’d showered her, cleaning every inch of her himself. He’d then dressed her, carefully brushed her wet hair, and sat her at the kitchen island with a mug of tea while he made dinner.
A mini argument had ensued when she’d tried stacking the dishwasher—he hadn’t wanted her to lift a finger. She’d subsided, sensing he not only needed to feel he was taking care of her, he needed to feel in control. And it had allowed him to give all the protective anger tumbling around his system some release.
Several people had come to check on her, including his parents and both her sisters—who’d also kindly returned her bag and clothes—but he hadn’t let any of them stay long, insisting she needed to rest. None had argued, all sensing the real problem was that his protective instincts were in a tailspin and driving him to keep everyone at bay.
When he’d finally taken her to bed, he hadn’t fucked her; just held her close. She might have protested, but she’d sensed he hadn’t trusted that he wouldn’t lose all control. She actually wouldn’t have minded if he had lost it, but he would have minded. He would have later regretted it and been upset with himself. She hadn’t wanted that, so she’d let it alone, planning to wake him in style come morning.
Except… he wasn’t here. And if her senses could be trusted, he wasn’t in the attached bathroom either.
