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Olivia didn’t let his words get to her. She couldn’t. She was too busy looking for Mal.
“Where is he?” she asked.
“He’ll be okay.”
“We are not leaving him. Do you hear me?” she shrieked. “I don’t ca
re if I get eaten waiting.”
The man grinned. “No need to get all riled up now.”
But Mal’s wolf was running toward them and everything snapped back into place. The hole was gone. The fear, too. He planted his feet, the fur on his neck and shoulders bristling as he faced their attackers.
“That’s his way of telling us it’s time to go,” the man said, pulling her into the helicopter.
She almost argued, but Mal climbed in after them.
Second later, the helicopter was rising in to the sky, the rapid whir of the blades drowning the frustrated howls of the wolves they left below. She didn’t know whether to hug him or punch him, so she curled into herself. But Mal’s nose slid between her face and knees, his whimper pulling at her heart. She hugged him close, losing her fear in the feel of his soft fur against her face. He pressed against her, a low rumble in his chest, sniffing her hairline and throat.
“Is he okay?” she asked Mal. “Dante?”
The wolf groaned, moving to Dante’s side, sniffing his wounds. He sat, staring at her, then Dante.
“I’m not a nurse,” she argued, crawling forward to peer at the wound in Dante’s chest. “I heard two shots.”
The wolf grunted, a sharp woof.
She looked at him. “It’s sort of rude, isn’t it? To shoot at each other instead of fighting it out as wolves. Sort of underhanded.”
Mal’s wolf grinned. He did—that’s the only word for it.
“What?” she asked, turning back to Dante. She pressed her ear to his chest. “His heart sounds good.” She hesitated, remembering what Mal had told her. “He’s calm. Even his breathing is normal.”
“Takes a lot to kill a wolf,” the voice crackled. “I’m Gentry, by the way.”
“Are you a wolf?” she asked.
“No.” He laughed. “But I sure love running with the crazy-ass-motherfuckers.”
She sat back on her heels, sighing.
“It’s fucking good to see you, Mal,” Gentry added.
“Damn good,” Dante whispered from the floor. “Damn good.”
Mal was up, ears cocked forward, nuzzling Dante’s face. Dante laughed, patting the wolf’s neck with an unsteady hand.
“What’d I tell you? Tough sons of bitches,” Gentry said.
Tears were streaking down her face. Tears? Why now—when he was safe? When they were safe? Now was not the time to lose it.
“They know about her now,” Dante whispered.
She stiffened.
Mal’s brown eyes met hers. As a wolf, Mal was more expressive—more in tune. There was regret in his eyes, and worry. She shook her head, sliding across the floor to rest against the metal wall of the helicopter. It vibrated violently beneath her head, the tinny echo sending painful sparks into her skull, behind her eyes.
What was wrong with her?
