Her Lone Wolf (27 page)

Clayne forced himself to move slowly as he left the stairwell and silently made his way through the construction debris, Danica’s voice guiding him.

Stay
calm
and
keep
the
asshole
talking
and
focused
on
you, babe
.
I’m right here.

He stopped at the corner of a floor-to-ceiling metal utility panel. It stuck out far enough for most of his six feet six inches, two-hundred-plus pounds to stay hidden behind while he got a good view of the room. To see if McDermott had his back to Clayne. If not…

Clayne was just about to take a peek when Danica’s words stopped him. At first, he assumed she was giving the shifter a dose of FBI psychobabble—connect with your kidnapper and all that shit. But she was talking about being his mate and knowing exactly where he was. And him knowing where she was.

Clayne didn’t stop to think about how insane that claim made her sound. He simply accepted it and stepped out from his hiding place. If Danica somehow knew he was there, she would have found a way to warn him if the coast wasn’t clear.

He bit back a growl. McDermott was standing less than ten feet from him, his back to Clayne. He couldn’t see Danica with the cat shifter blocking his view, but he could tell she was tied to a chair, and that there was only a foot of space separating her and the killer. That was too close. If McDermott heard him, he could slash Danica’s throat with those wicked claws of his before Clayne closed the distance between them.

Shit.
For the first time in his life, he couldn’t attack when every fiber of his being was howling at him to do just that. But he couldn’t. Not if it would risk Danica’s life.

But then Danica gave him that one thing he desperately needed—a distraction.

When McDermott asked where her wolf lover was, she gave that little laugh she did sometimes—sort of a cute snort—and told him that Clayne was right behind him. He rushed McDermott just as the cat shifter’s instincts warned him he was screwed.

Clayne swung for the back of McDermott’s neck with a deep, rumbling growl. He was going for a killing blow, but he’d settle for anything that got the other shifter away from Danica. Because McDermott twisted at the last second, the blow didn’t end him, but it still tossed him halfway across the room and bounced him off a wall.

Clayne risked taking his eyes off McDermott just long enough to check on Danica.

“He has a stun gun,” she warned. “Be careful.”

Not exactly the romantic line he’d been expecting, but then Danica had never been one for the damsel-in-distress routine.

He turned back to McDermott to see the shifter already on his feet, eyeing both him and the path to the exit. The guy looked different without the beard and the wild hair, but it was him—there was no mistaking the scent.

Clayne closed on him with a growl of pure hatred. He rarely had to find a reason to get violent, but seeing Danica tied to a chair and knowing what this son of bitch had intended to do to her gave him an urge to destroy like he’d never felt before.

That mindless rage almost got him killed.

The cat shifter moved faster than Clayne could follow, dropping into a crouch, then sweeping his leg around and taking Clayne’s out from under him. Clayne landed on his back so hard the air burst from his lungs and his head bounced off the floor.

Blackness studded with stars dimmed his vision, but McDermott didn’t give Clayne time to recover as he jumped on top of him and started swinging. Clayne barely got his hands up in time to fend off the swinging claws that came at him like a collection of razor blades.

Clayne heard Danica shouting at him to get up as claws ripped into his forearms. If McDermott succeeded in slipping inside his defenses, the fight would be over before it started.

But no matter how much his head hurt, Clayne wasn’t going to just lie there and take this ass whooping like a piece of meat.

Lacking any better alternative, he brought both knees up like he was going to do some crunches and slammed them into the cat shifter’s back. The force of his knees smashing into McDermott shoved the killer forward a little, just enough to momentarily slow the cat shifter’s slashing strikes.

That was the reprieve Clayne needed. He tensed his gut as if he was going to drive his knees into McDermott yet again, and when the shifter moved away from what he thought was an oncoming strike, Clayne instead threw a quick jab at his jaw. The punch didn’t have a lot of power behind it—not with him lying on the floor like he was—but he had the advantage of surprise. The punch snapped McDermott’s head back, and Clayne quickly followed up with a right-handed swipe at his attacker’s face, raking his claws across the shifter’s left cheek and eye. He felt them dig in with a satisfying resistance. That earned him a crazed yowl of pain and gave him a chance to finally throw the killer off his chest.

Clayne wanted to immediately leap to the offensive while his attacker was off balance. But his animal instinct wouldn’t let him. Above all, he had to protect Danica.

Instead of throwing himself at the cat shifter, Clayne did a backward roll, coming to his feet directly between McDermott and Danica.

The other shifter slowly pushed himself to his feet and wiped away the blood that was running down his face.

Clayne was bleeding, too, but slashed arms weren’t enough to hinder him, so he ignored them.

“Can you get free?” he asked Danica without looking back.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. Focus on protecting yourself. You know he’s not the guy we shot, right? It’s his twin brother.”

Um, he actually hadn’t realized that—he’d been a little too busy getting his ass kicked. But now that she said it, that explained things. He’d thought shifter twins were a genetic impossibility.

“Be careful,” she warned. “He knows how to fight.”

Clayne wanted to make a smart-ass comment about that being obvious, but he didn’t have time. The cat shifter was already circling around to work his way toward the exit.

Clayne automatically moved to intercept him, but then hesitated. Protecting Danica was his first priority.

McDermott suddenly stopped and reversed course, like he was going to circle back toward Danica. But then, without warning, he leaped at Clayne, lashing out with a kick. Clayne blocked it, but just barely.

They traded punches and kicks, using their claws to rip at each other in between. McDermott was faster than he was, and it was all Clayne could do to protect himself. Worse, the speed disparity was only part of it. Clayne was also at another major disadvantage—he had to focus on protecting Danica. McDermott knew that, too, and used it to his advantage. Every time he feigned a move toward her, Clayne disengaged to get in front of her, which was when the cat shifter would land a blow. It didn’t take long before Clayne was bleeding from more places than he could count. Chest, shoulders, back, thighs—nothing major yet, but at this rate, it was just a matter of time.

“That’s right, pup. You can’t win this,” McDermott taunted. “And as soon as I put you down like the mutt you are, I’m going to skin your wolf bitch. Too bad you won’t be alive to hear her scream.”

Rage exploded in Clayne’s head like a supernova, and he let out a deafening roar that echoed off the walls as he launched himself at McDermott. He grabbed the bastard’s shirt in both hands, digging his claws deep into the other shifter’s chest as he shoved him across the room. McDermott dug his own claws into Clayne’s shoulders and pushed back against him, trying to halt his slide across the floor. But Clayne ignored the pain and kept shoving until he got the killer away from Danica.

Barely able to see through the red haze of fury that surrounded him, Clayne allowed instinct to take over and did the first violent thing that came into his head—he stopped pushing and smashed his forehead into the asshole’s face. He ignored the extremely pleasant crunching sound and pulled the bastard off his feet, slinging him halfway across the room.

Unfortunately, in his anger, he forgot where Danica was, and ended up slamming her with a couple hundred pounds of cat shifter.

Shit
.

Fortunately, the chair took the brunt of the impact, but both the cat shifter and his woman went down in a heap.

He rushed over to check on Danica, but she waved him off. “I’m fine.”

Clayne hesitated. She had to be hurting—the blow had crushed the chair she’d been strapped to like it was a kid’s toy. A few feet away, McDermott slowly rolled onto his back.

“I’m fine,” she repeated. “Go!”

Clayne leaped over her, and the tangle of chair and power cords she was still wrapped up in, and threw himself on McDermott, ready to deliver some of the same punishment the son of a bitch had given him when he’d been in that position. But before he could get in the first blow, the greasy cat shifter somehow twisted around and slipped right out from under him to head for the exit.

Growling in frustration, Clayne scrambled after. There was no way he was going to let this piece of shit get away this time.

He caught up in a few strides. Sinking his claws into McDermott’s shoulder, Clayne spun him around and bared his teeth, preparing to go for his throat.

The cat shifter brought up his right hand, the stun gun crackling with sparks.

Shit
.

Danica had warned him about the weapon, but McDermott had still suckered him like a chump. Clayne had to jerk his upper body backward like a limbo dancer to avoid taking the tip of the hand-sized cattle prod right in the face. A shifter his size could handle a lot of punishment, but a million volts could incapacitate anyone.

Clayne grabbed McDermott’s wrist and twisted it, trying to keep the stun gun away from him at the same time he threw the cat shifter over his hip. They both landed on the floor beside Danica. She was frantically working herself loose of the extension cords binding her.

McDermott immediately jumped Clayne, shoving the stun gun in his face again. Clayne swore, grabbing his wrist just in time. Another few inches and the shifter would have fried him.

The cat shifter hissed and sunk the claws of one hand into the wounds on Clayne’s forearm. Clayne grit his teeth against the fire shooting up his arm.

“That’s right, mutt,” McDermott snarled. “First you, then your bitch. I wonder how long it will take to kill her if I zap her over and over with this thing?”

Clayne opened his mouth to tell him to go fuck himself, but Danica cut him off.

“Guess you’ll never know, asshole.”

The cat shifter suddenly arched up, yowling in pain.

Clayne didn’t have a clue what happened, but he wasn’t going to waste the first clear shot he’d gotten to end this fight. The moment McDermott pulled away, he wrenched the stun gun to the side and lunged at the shifter’s throat with his free hand. Then he dug in his claws and ripped.

The amount of blood that sprayed out was enough to tell Clayne he’d done more than enough damage, but that didn’t mean he was done. The bastard had just threatened to torture the woman who meant everything to him to death with a stun gun. Just killing McDermott wasn’t enough anymore.

Clayne jumped to his feet, pulling the other shifter with him. Then he shoved him across the floor and slammed him against the wall. McDermott thudded into the concrete with a satisfying crunch.

“You can stop now, Clayne,” Danica’s calm, soothing voice intruded from somewhere nearby. “He’s dead.”

Clayne let go of the cat shifter and took a step back, watching as the killer fell limply to the floor. Then he looked over to see Danica lying on her side on the floor. Her legs and one arm were still tied to the remnants of the chair, but she’d somehow worked her other arm loose. There were red marks on her skin where the extension cords had been. The sight made him so furious, he almost picked up McDermott and bashed him against the wall again.

Danica must have read his mind because she motioned him toward her. “He’s dead, remember? Maybe you could just untie me instead?”

Shit.

He started to hurry over so he could do just that, but stopped when he saw the piece of metal sticking out of the back of McDermott’s leg. It was the arm of the chair. That’s why McDermott had screamed the way he had. Danica had somehow gotten herself loose, dragged herself and what was left of the chair half a dozen feet, then skewered the bastard through the thick muscles of his hamstrings.

He shook his head. Damn, she was amazing.

Suddenly remembering she was still waiting for him to untie her, Clayne ran to her side and dropped down to start working on the knots. The freaking cords were so tight it was almost impossible to get his claws under them to free her. How the hell had she managed?

He hadn’t realized he was growling until she told him to stop. “Clayne, I’m fine. Better than you, in fact. Just get me untied so I can take a look at those wounds.”

It took him a couple minutes, but he finally got her loose. Then he pulled her into his arms and squeezed the hell out of her.

“Whoa,” she squeaked out. “Trying to breathe here.”

Cursing his thoughtlessness, he relaxed his grip. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in. He wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to let her out of his sight again.

Danica pulled away so she could examine the wounds on his arms, chest, and shoulders. He frowned when she gently touched his neck—he hadn’t even noticed those.

But he couldn’t care less about himself. He cupped her face. “Never mind that. What about you. Are you okay?”

She covered his hand with her own. “I told you, I’m fine. I can’t believe you did that, though.”

“Did what?” he asked. “Found you in time? Or killed that sick bastard?”

Her lips curved. “I never doubted you’d find me. I also knew that when you did, that asshole’s days were done.”

He frowned. “What then?”

“I can’t believe you threw that bastard at me.”

Oh yeah, that
. He gave her a sheepish look. “Sorry. I was sort of in the middle of fighting, remember?”