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hts,” he yelled as he raced up the stairs.
He closed his eyes, letting the fury of the wolf warm his body in preparation. Thought wasn’t possible. Oscar. Jessa. The wolf took control, and Finn welcomed him. The shift was hard, driven by rage and pain. Every muscle stretched and tore. His shoulders snapped downward, his spine lengthening as he fell forward. His claws split through his palms to click against the concrete stairs. Raw instinct surged as fur bristled and his nostrils flared, pulling in scents—searching. The wolf was in charge now. Things like hesitation and restraint no longer applied.
Thomas’s odor reached him, tainting the air with the rank mix of wolf, blood, fear, and anger. He burst through the door, an ear-splitting howl of pure frustration and anger greeting him.
Thomas was angry. A good sign.
His ears perked up. No Oscar. No Jessa. He skirted the kitchen, through the great room, and trotted down the hall.
Silence. Thomas had scented him.
He crouched, waiting. And then darkness fell. Brown had cut the power.
Finn waited. Thomas would come. Thomas, a new wolf with no control or awareness, too loud, too nervous, and too clumsy to realize how lethal he was. The new wolf stumbled into the hall, pausing, anxious. His nails clicked on the wood floor as he took a few steps and paused again. Finn let the wolf’s fear build. Then he attacked. He was silent, his teeth clamping down on the new wolf’s neck before he could react. Thomas’s haunches gave out, his nails gouging the floor as he fought to get away.He spun and rolled, scraping fur from Finn’s shoulder and neck, desperate to break Finn’s grip.
But Finn held tight, hoping Thomas would give up.
The lights flickered back on, revealing a thatch of long, golden hair on the ground. Droplets of blood.
Jessa.
Fury rolled over him, choking him, pulling his wolf into the maelstrom of primal instinct. He growled, his jaws clamping tight. The spurt of blood was hot, metallic, and quick, filling his mouth, splatting onto the floor beneath them. In seconds, the new wolf—Thomas—hung limply from his mouth. But Finn’s rage wasn’t appeased.
Jessa’s hair… Oscar.
He dropped the wolf and ran into Oscar’s room, sniffing the mangled frame of the panic room door. He could smell Oscar and Jessa, but he didn’t know what he’d find inside. He forced the change, fighting the wolf back, ignoring the brutal burn and grind of bone and muscle aligning into his human form. He wouldn’t heal as fast, but he wasn’t ready for Jessa to meet the wolf.
If she was okay. And Oscar?
They had to be okay.
He didn’t give himself time to adjust, but stood and leaned against the panic room door. Breathing was hard, his legs were unsteady, but his apprehension forced him to move. He had to get to his office, to the keypad. But the door slid open. The red haze that had clouded his senses slid away, and his wolf retreated. He could finally breathe, finally think.
Jessa sat in the far corner of the room, her knees drawn up, Oscar on her lap. Her green eyes fixed on him, haunted.
He closed his eyes, fighting nausea.
“Are you okay?” she asked, so softly he doubted she’d actually spoken.
He nodded, vaguely aware that he was bloody—and naked. “You? Oscar?”
“Yes,” she murmured, her gaze unwavering. “Is he dead?” She was shaking, he could see that from here.
Would she hate him? He hadn’t planned on killing Thomas. But her hair and blood… His wolf was pacing again, ready to defend her, to do anything it needed to protect her. He nodded.
“He was here for Oscar.” Her voice was unsteady, thick. She pushed off the wall to stand, her arm supporting the sling with Oscar inside. “I tried to get Oscar inside, knew he needed to be safe. But I couldn’t get the sling off.”
Her words ripped through him. She would sacrifice herself for Oscar, and it gutted him. He crossed the small space, steadying her, his hands clasping her upper arms. “And you?”
“Thomas said he wouldn’t hurt me.” She was dazed, he could see that.
“He would have hurt you, Jessa. He would have done whatever it took to take my son.” He knew what Cyrus was capable of. And thinking of Oscar or Jessa at Cyrus’s mercy made his blood run cold.
“No, he wouldn’t.”
“Cyrus is his alpha. Thomas must obey him,” he argued. “It’s the way the wolf works.”
She stared up at him, fear in her eyes. He didn’t fight her when she shrugged out of his hold. “Oscar needs a bottle.” But she paused in the doorway, taking in the devastation that had been Oscar’s room.
