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Chapter 28
Day 163 of the re-emerged Hat Island pack, Sunday, Nov. 17, Hat Island
Alpha....
Abby woke with a start. Who? she thought, disturbed by a voice in her head that she didn’t recognize. She had nightmares about that — that none of this was real, and the voices in her head were just the symptoms of insanity.
Alpha? Please.
Who?Abby demanded.
Benny. Benny-wolf. Alpha? Pack. Friend-mate.
Benny....Abby repeated. She got up and pulled on the sweats that were neatly folded in the chair by her bed. Not her doing. She left her clothes where they dropped. But 40 years as a Marine meant Jake could not sleep if things weren’t tidy and put away. She glanced at him, still asleep. He’d probably chastise her for not waking him, but really? They were on Hat Island, and it was Benny.
Please, Alpha. I can’t.... He wants to kill us!
Abby ran. Barefooted and barely awake, she followed the link in her head toward the ocean — toward the crashing sounds of the surf hitting the shore. It was always there, that sound, but usually there were enough noise from the daily activities of living that you stopped hearing it. But at night, like this, it seemed so loud. A storm was blowing in, and the wind was whipping up the waves. She ran face first into the wind.
I’m coming,she sent.Hold on. I’m almost there.
There was no response. Abby ran faster. She could feel others in her mind now — awakened by her fear and panic. She ignored them all, until she heard Jake:Abby!
Come,she sent.Something is wrong with Benny.
She scrambled down the bank onto the beach, the sand sliding under her feet. She looked down the beach toward the Beach House. A man was pacing there, just a dark shape. He headed toward the water, then turned back, then paced toward her, then tried to dart again toward the sea.
Abby’s eyes burned with unshed tears. The figure ahead looked so unhappy! And it was Benny?
She walked toward him, projecting calm, her hands out-stretched. She was afraid to run and startle him. Afraid his wolf would lose whatever control he was still exerting. Afraid she would lose this man to whatever demons were chasing him. Afraid he’d overpower his wolf and walk into the ocean as he was obviously trying to do.
He stopped when he saw her. And she could tell he was crying. “Let me go!” he shouted at her. “Please, Abby. Let me die. I deserve it.”
She reached him, then, and gathered him into her arms. “No,” she said simply. “I can’t. I can’t let you go, Benny. I need you too much to ever do that.”
He collapsed against her. She held him, rocking slightly together, crooning to him. Benny Garrison was usually so full of life that she forgot they were actually the same size. He’s got the devil in him, her grandmother would have said. All that impish laughter, the sheer delight he took in people, his playfulness. It was like a series of slides in her brain, images that she sent through their bond to him.
He sobbed, and her eyes burned with her own tears, still unshed. “I deserve to die,” he whispered.
“No,” she said. “You give so much to others, Benny. We will not let you go.”
She saw someone else slide down the embankment to the beach. A shorter figure — a woman. Sturdy, determined. She was almost on top of them when Abby recognized her. Karen Shumate. It surprised her that she would be the first to respond to her call.
Karen rubbed Benny’s back. “Shuh, shuh,” she whispered to him, her southern drawl showing up.
