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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Once he reached the ground, his phone was in his hand. The second Elliot picked up, he asked, “How long has he been hitting her?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Vivian. How long has her father been using her as a punching bag?”
It was silent on the other end. Elliot had known.
“Why do you think we built her the treehouse? It was a haven for her. Somewhere that she could go to escape.”
“He fucking hits her, Elliot. How could you let this go on? And don’t you fucking tell me it’s complicated. Complicated is in the rearview mirror. It’s about to get violent.”
He heard rummaging, then a door opening and shutting. “Where are you? What are you going to do?”
“Apparently good ol’ Norman wants my head. He’s gone to Thatcher, likely to dissolve the mating.”
“We’ll get you out of town. Rafe will–”
“Nope. We’re way past that now, Elliot. He’s a dead man. No one touches her. No one.”
From behind him, he heard Vivian calling to him, yelling for him to stop.
“I’m coming to meet you. Please, please, don’t do anything stupid.”
He hung up before Elliot could say more.
Knowing his cousin, both Elliot and Rafe, would get to the lodge at the same time as him. They couldn’t stop him now, though. Nothing would.
The soles of his shoes hit the forest floor at a fast pace. He was tempted to shift into his wolf in order to get there faster, but he didn’t care for the idea of standing naked before Thatcher and Norman when he arrived. So he kept his clothing on, and his pace up.
Behind him, he heard Vivian barreling through the trees, calling his name. She was fast, but not fast enough.
Soon, her cries grew more distant.
Abruptly, the forest ended, and a little ditch led to the road. He jumped the ditch, and turned on the pavement toward the lodge. Pressing on, he only looked back to see when Vivian broke through the tree line. She wasn’t too far behind, yet she wouldn’t catch him in time to stop him from confronting her father—and Thatcher—if it came to that.
But then he heard the truck.
For a second, he slowed, trying to gather his wits. The image of Vivian with a bruised face was vivid. His vision narrowed. His wolf growled in his mind.
No one would fucking hit her again.
Moments later, the truck slowed next to him. Elliot leaned out the driver’s side window. He spotted Vivian through the cab; her face red, swollen, and streaked with tears.
His jaw clenched.
“Get in,” Elliot commanded.
He focused on the path ahead of him. “You’re not going to stop me. This ends now.”
“Just get in.”
“No.”
“I’ll take you to him. I promise.”
Callum glanced over, skeptical.
