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“I can’t leave you!” Marc hissed, dropping to his knees beside her and putting his small arm around her, the sounds of growls and snarling surrounding them.
“You have to,” she said, forcing her eyes open, but the sharp pain shooting through her stomach had her quickly closing her eyes and trying to bite back a groan.
“I can’t leave you here!” Marc urgently whispered, the small arm around her tightened as he tried to pull her to her feet, but she wasn’t going anywhere, not with this pain ripping through her and certainly not with Christofer back at the road trying to stop that monster from finding them.
“We need help,” she said, knowing that there was no other way to get Marc to leave her. She needed him to leave, to know that he was safe. The thought of that thing getting his hands on Marc and doing to him what had been done to her brothers terrified her more than the thought of that monster finding her.
“Help is already on its way,” Marc whispered, dropping his arm from around her so that he could take her hand into his.
“How do you know?” she asked, giving his trembling hand a gentle squeeze.
“I sent the signal,” was all he said before a man’s bloodcurdling scream tore through the dense forest.
“Christofer!” she cried out as her eyes flew open.
“No!” Marc screamed, his hand tightening around hers as she tried to get to her feet. “Don’t go!”
“I have to help Christofer,” she said, ignoring the cramps playing tag in her stomach as she forced her legs to work. “He needs me.”
“I need you!” Marc cried as she pulled her hand free and took a step towards the sound of another scream. “Please, Cloe! I need you!”
She stopped, her heart pounding in her chest as that scream tore through her. She needed to go to him, to make sure that he was okay, but she couldn’t leave Marc, not when leaving him meant that she was abandoning him to the same fate that she’d endured.
She refused to make the same mistake that her mother had made.
“Let’s go,” she said, taking Marc’s hand and stumbled forward, forcing her legs to move until she soon found herself running with Marc away from the screams, hating herself more than she’d ever thought possible.
*-*-*-*
“Let’s go!” Chris yelled jumping into the back of the van behind Caine as Ephraim hit the gas.
“Where’s the signal coming from?” Caine asked, as he double-checked his weapons.
“Baby, where’s the signal coming from?” Chris asked, pressing the switch to the microphone attached to his collar.
“A hundred yards ahead and two hundred yards in the woods to the north. They’re on the move and heading towards the mansion,” Izzy answered, trying to stay calm, but he knew that she was terrified and for good reason.
Marc.
His little brother wasn’t the type to call for help unless the shit hit the fan. He’d been trained on how to protect himself, how to hide and how to get his ass to safety and wouldn’t use the Sentinel system unless it was really f**king necessary.
“I shouldn’t have f**king let them go!” his father repeated for probably the hundredth time since the signal came in two minutes ago.
“He’s fine,” Chris said, forcing himself to remain calm, knowing that if he didn’t, it could cost his brother his life.
“Christofer wouldn’t let anything happen to him,” Caine said and heaven help him, but he wanted to believe him.
“He wouldn’t,” his father agreed, sounding more like a prayer than anything.
The alarm on his phone went off, signaling another emergency call. He ripped his phone free and looked down at the screen.
“Mother f**ker!” Caine snarled, voicing the thought going through his head.
“Chris, Marc’s phone just sent a second emergency call,” Izzy said over the radio, her beautiful voice cracking with fear.
“Where are they?” he asked, taking a knee by the open van door as his father sped down the road.
“They’ve stopped about two hundred yards from where you are now.”
“Send him a message that I’m on my way,” he said, grabbing the side of the van door and jumped out, hitting the pavement at a dead run.
*-*-*-*
“Where’s the bitch?”
“Don’t call her that,” Christofer growled, stumbling awkwardly as he kept his eyes on the man that not even a minute ago had been a raging beast trying to tear him apart.
He’d done a damn good job of it, he had to admit as he reached up and absently wiped blood out of his eye as his other arm hung uselessly by his side, blood dripping down his fingers to join the blood pooling by his feet. His breaths were raspy, his head filled with hazy thoughts as he struggled to stay focused. He couldn’t lose control, not now.
The man standing in front of him grinned as he looked past Christofer towards the woods. “Went for a little run in woods?” he asked, chuckling as Christofer watched with dread as all the wounds that he’d inflicted on the bastard quickly disappeared.
If he’d only stayed in his beast form he’d be dead by now, Christofer thought in a daze, stumbling back a step as his legs threatened to buckle. He’d had the beast howling in pain, battered and broken. He’d been damaged as well, but not as badly as the werewolf lying on the ground gurgling blood. He’d been moving in for the kill when the bastard started to change, startling him. Stupidly, he’d stood there trying to make sense out of what he was seeing and by the time he’d realized that the werewolf had shifted to heal, it was too late.
“An unturned Pyte?” the shifter demanded around a growl, scenting the air as all signs of amusement left his face and his eyes flashed silver.
Christofer held himself still as he waited for the shifter to mention the baby, but he never did. Instead, the shifter shook his head menacingly, his focus on the woods. “Not f**king happening,” the shifter growled as he took a step towards the woods.
“What’s not happening?” Christofer asked, moving to block him and wincing as his broken ribs rubbed against his lungs, threatening to slice them open.
“The Pyte won’t be reaching his immortality,” the shifter sneered. “My Pack won’t allow it.”
The meaning behind the shifter’s words hit him as he stumbled to the side, a breathless laugh leaving him as he felt the familiar stirring inside his head. He sent up a silent prayer for his mate and the boy, hoping like hell that they were back at the mansion and out of his reach as he let go.
