Page 81 of Bad Blood Alpha

Chapter 32

Flynn stared up at the grating, bruised and bloodied. He’d come so fucking close. Hooked the grate a couple of times, pulled one side away. But he could never get a good enough grip.

His hind legs burned from a hundred jumps, and his front paws were matted with blood from scraping against the stone wall again and again.

One more, he kept telling himself, over and over. One more. One more. One more.

But he was getting weaker, the edge coming off his strength. He couldn’t keep this up forever.

Never give up, never say die. Brody. Jasmin.

You’re a good alpha. Xander.

We’re behind you, brother. Always.Tank.

He bunched his muscles once more, and jumped. His claws hit the wall inches short, and he fell.

Never give up.

A scream sliced through him. Silent, and full of agony.

Kira.

Fear and rage shot through him. With one mighty effort, he gathered himself and jumped. His right claws stuck in the grate, and he pulled himself up, strained muscles screaming.

Then the other paw. He felt like all his claws were being pulled out, but he hung on. He stuck his claws through the bent side of the grate and pulled it away from the wall, bit by bit. When he could get his paw inside it he Changed, getting one hand over the edge of the ventilation opening, then the other, pulling himself up, toes scrabbling at the wall.

The shaft was barely big enough for his shoulders. He inched his way in, glad for the sweat and blood that slicked his skin and helped him slide through. He crawled on his elbows, inch by inch, desperately claustrophobic now, his whole self bent on getting the fuck out of this tunnel.

He’d half feared the shaft would end in a guard room, but it was some kind of storage room. Flynn punched the grate out on the other end, not caring how much noise he made, just needing out.

Finally he was crouched, panting, in a real room with a real door.

When he got out of here, he was never going inside another castle as long as he fucking lived.

He made his way through the lower hallways to the stairway out of the dungeons. There was a guard there, but Flynn was in no mood for either stealth or finesse. He launched himself at the guard, broke his neck, and took his clothes and weapons.

He was done playing nice. Anyone who worked here knew they were supporting the creation of an army of killer hellhounds. They deserved no mercy.

Flynn bounded up the stairs, senses alert for other guards. When he found none, he headed for the closest emergency bag he’d stashed.

It was time for Plan B.

The bag had a radio, combat vest, spare handguns and ammo, some grenades and a little C-4. Most of the rest of the explosives were gone—Sloan must have come back and taken them.

Dammit, he’d told Sloan to call in the cavalry, not to go around blowing things up.

On the other hand, this meant he still had backup.

He hit the radio call button once. If an enemy had the radio, they wouldn’t hear his voice and know he’d escaped. Sloan would answer if he was someplace where he wouldn’t be overheard; otherwise, he’d hit the radio back and head for somewhere they could talk.

Sloan came back immediately. “Flynn?”

“That would be me.”

He could hear the relief in Sloan’s voice. “Thank god you’re okay. We couldn’t find you.”

“I was underground,” he said. “Stripped—no bracelets, no radio. Where does that fucker have Kira? In the lab?”