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“What the hell is Haven?” Gavin asked.
“No time,” Wyatt said, taking my hand. “Let’s move.”
Wyatt led us down the hall. We stumbled upon two guards. They’d been torn apart by something. It must have been fast because they never had time to pull their guns.
“Grab their weapons,” Wyatt commanded.
Chelsey and I grabbed the pistols. I checked them both—fully loaded with silver rounds. I nudged Wyatt, and we moved on. We didn’t move as fast as we could have. J.D. was hurt, and until he healed, it would be slow-going. The screams on the upper floors had started to die down. Dread hung over me. Fewer screams meant fewer people. The monsters were wiping out the entire crew. Anyone and everyone was fair game.
I felt sick to my stomach. As much as I hated this show, most of these people had just been doing their jobs, following orders given by upper management. Now they’d been killed in numerous horrifying ways.
I flinched and gasped as three quick gunshots sounded behind me. Turning, I found Chelsey panting heavily, the gun in her hand smoking. At our rear, a feral panther shifter writhed in pain as the silver bullets sent it into the agonizing throes of death.
“Good job,” I said.
There was terror in her eyes when she looked at me. “Yeah.” She lowered the gun and followed.
The massive foyer had turned into an abattoir. The white marble floors were smeared with blood. Bodies lay strewn about, and red paw and footprints were everywhere. The doors had been torn off the hinges and lay shattered on either side of the entrance.
“Hurry,” Wyatt said.
He took the lead, followed by Gavin and J.D. Chelsey and I stayed at the rear with the guns. We were almost to the door when movement to my right caught my eye. A blood-coated hand was waving feebly at us.
I skidded to a stop, slipping in blood and almost falling over. Once I focused on the figure and made out his features through the blood on his face, I realized who it was.
“Abel?”
“Help!” he shouted hoarsely.
“Holy hell,” Gavin muttered.
Chelsey and I ran over to help him. His body was covered in bites and gashes. It looked like a lot of the blood was his, but some must have come from elsewhere. If it was all his, he’d have been dead already.
“What happened?” I asked as we dragged him toward the front door.
“I got, ugh…” He moaned in pain. “Got caught between a couple of ghosts and ferals.” He coughed and hacked out a wad of bloody spit. “It was like being inside a buzzsaw.”
“Can you stand?”
“I can limp. My right foot is broken.”
“That will have to do,” I said.
Chelsey and I groaned in unison as we hauled him up, supporting him between us.
“Let me carry him,” Wyatt said, stepping forward.
I shook him off. “No. We need you to lead. You’re the strongest fighter. Here.” I shoved my gun into his hand. “We’ve got him. Let’s move.”
Wyatt looked like he wanted to argue, but he took the gun with a grunt and we started moving again. Outside, the howling wind and rain drowned out the cacophony in the mansion. The storm lashed at us, washing the blood from Abel and J.D. as we went. Descending the front steps with two injured men was slow-going, but we made it to the front courtyard. Knowing it was hopeless, I still glanced toward the helipad. Sure enough, no aircraft was visible. I gritted my teeth and swore to every god in the heavens that I wouldn’t be happy until I drove a stake through Von Thornton’s fucking chest.
“Help! Hey, help me!” The scream was barely audible above the storm.
“It’s Tate!” J.D. shouted.
Sure enough, the rapid-fire lighting in the sky illuminated the other alpha. He was leaning against a tree, looking harried. His face was smeared with blood, and his hair was matted and sweaty.
Wyatt waved to him. “Hurry! Come on!”
