Last Wolf Standing (13 page)

She just wasn’t ready to accept the fact that they were being slowly surrounded by howling, meat-eating werewolves—ripped straight from her nightmares.

Blowing out a rough breath, Mason brushed back a curling wisp of hair that had stuck to her cheek, the tight smile jerking at the corner of his mouth somehow comforting her, even though she was breaking apart inside. “There’s nothing out there that Jeremy and I can’t handle, I promise you. I only just found you, Torrance. No way in hell am I going to let anything happen to you.”

She tried to smile at that, but only managed to wobble her mouth. “What should I do?”

His dark eyes scanned the surrounding trees beyond the windows of the SUV. “Exactly what I said. Stay down and keep quiet.”

“Can’t you call someone to come and help us?”

“No time for that,” he answered grimly.

“C-can I have a gun?”

“I never take guns into the city with me, and it won’t do you any good anyway, angel.” He looked back at her, rubbing his knuckles under her chin in a tender gesture so at odds with the banked fury etched into the rugged features of his face. “Bullets may slow one of us down, but they can’t kill us. We can bleed out if cut up enough, but the only way to really make sure we won’t heal from our wounds is to snap our spinal columns or separate our heads from our shoulders. Just in case you were wondering how to get rid of me,” he added lightly, giving her a playful wink.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she laughed shakily, caught off guard by his unexpected teasing. He turned to open his door then, and she clutched at his arm, grabbing on to the firm bicep beneath the soft flannel of his shirt. “Mase?”

He looked back at her over his broad shoulder. “Yeah?”

The words tumbled past her lips, soft and fast. “Is it too late to go back?”

“Back home?” His dark brows drew together as he stared at her, waiting for an answer.

Torrance shook her head, trying to stay calm, but perfectly aware that she was terrified beyond belief. What was so amazing, though, was that most of her fear centered on the man in front of her, who was about to leave the shelter of the Tahoe and put his life in danger to battle against the monsters. She still didn’t understand the connection between them, the unsettling mixture of fear and hunger that drew her to him—but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she didn’t want to lose him. “Back to the beginning,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Before this started happening.”

He grunted under his breath. “If not today, it would have landed in your lap sooner or later, Tor. Nature would have brought us together, no matter how hard we tried to fight it or avoid it.”

Her fingers tightened, nails biting into rigid muscle. “It’s not the two of us finding each other that’s bothering me! It’s the thought of something happening to you—of you getting out of this damn vehicle and never getting back into it again!”

“You’re not going to lose me. Just let me get us home alive,” he rasped, leaning over and stamping another hard, searing kiss across her trembling mouth that would have been delicious if she wasn’t sick with fear. “Then I’ll show you that there is something good about all of this. That having me in your life isn’t going to be all blood and battle.”

She nodded numbly.

“I want you stay down and out of sight.” Long fingers grabbed her chin, forcing her to hold his hard stare. “Do you understand me?”

“Okay, okay. Just…”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t make me wait too long.”

He gave her a hard grin, and then he was gone, the door slamming with a dull thud of finality that made her wince. Then the shivering began deep inside her body, before rushing through her, until her teeth were chattering so hard she sounded like a set of castanets.

The forest had grown eerily quiet, but Torrance knew the monsters were out there, watching them like vipers camouflaged in the leafy floor, lying in wait before striking. Beyond the dark windows of the SUV, she could see the shimmering shades of dusk, streaks of purple and pink splashed like watercolors across the canvas of the sky, and her breath caught at the brilliant display of beauty. How could a moment so awe-inspiring be filled with so much terror? How had a week that started out so ordinary, so routine, end up containing the most amazing hours of her life?

She didn’t know, didn’t understand, didn’t have the answers. All she knew was that she wanted the chance to figure it out. To discover the truth of what had happened to her, and what it all meant. What it would take to get over her fear, if such a thing could be done—and what the dark, outrageously intense Mason Dillinger really wanted from her.

And if they made it out of this alive, Torrance had every intention of finding out.

Forcing himself to stay calm, Mason watched through the SUV’s window to make sure Torrance followed his orders. Having been through this drill before, he and Jeremy took their stations, Mason on the passenger’s side, Jeremy on the driver’s. They braced their legs, then flexed their long arms out at their sides, allowing their hands to transform. Bones cracked and snapped into position as they lengthened, skin molding itself to the new structure, while long, lethally sharp claws pierced through their fingertips with a slick, sibilant hiss.

He was ready. Ready to kill. Ready to protect what was his. Then he would get his mate to immediate safety. He knew he needed to stay levelheaded and cool, but the icy claws of fear were digging into his gut, and there didn’t seem to be any way to shake the sheer “emotion” of the situation. Always before, he’d operated, functioned, on pure instinct and training. Emotion didn’t weigh into his fighting. Emotion didn’t weigh into anything in his life. And now his goddamn claws were rattling at his sides, fury pounding hard and swift through his system, making him want to tear something apart.

You’re screwed, Dillinger.

Yeah, on a personal front, he was in some deep shit. But as the branches began swaying off to his left, he knew he was about to be offered the perfect outlet for his rage.

“Come on, you sons of bitches,” he grunted under his breath. “Let’s get this over with.”

His lips curved in a grim smile of anticipation, as the first one came at him in a blur of dark, midnight-black, leaping from the dense foliage that swallowed the lower portion of the tree trunks. His body relaxed at the same time his instincts sharpened, and he countered the first volley of slashing claws with an ease that told him Simmons’s lackeys had yet to be properly trained. They were also young.

It was the lack of training and experience that made them easy takedowns. Even when in human form, the Bloodrunners possessed preternatural strength—and they were trained with deadly skill in physical combat. Without proper training, not even the fully shifted Lycans’ impressive height and mass could ensure them victory in battle against the Runners.

Mason took the first wolf down with a hard kick to its gut. It lurched to its knees, and he wasted no time grabbing its furry skull and jerking the beast’s head sharply to the right, breaking its neck in a clean, fast strike.

Before the werewolf had even hit the ground, the second assailant rushed him from his right, swiping long, curling claws at his head. He growled as the creature lunged for his throat, its jaws gaping, and spun his body, striking back with a side kick that smashed the wolf’s genitals. It was a dirty move, but then so was attacking in full wolf form when the sun had yet to set. Simmons obviously wasn’t the only Lycan dayshifting who shouldn’t be, and the implications were enough to make Mason’s blood run cold.

“These bastards are really starting to piss me off,” Jeremy shouted from the other side of the Tahoe, fighting off his own set of attackers, as it became increasingly obvious they were outnumbered. In the past Mason had always thrived on challenges such as this, but not this time. Not today. Not when his human life mate was hiding in the Tahoe, terrified out of her mind.

His eyes scanned the trees, looking for the next attack, and he saw a familiar mangy ruff of ginger fur just before his third assailant rushed him in a head-on assault.

Oh, man, he should have expected this. Alan Curry, one of Simmons’s longtime pals and partners in crime.

“Shit,” he snarled, knowing damn well that Curry was going to be a bitch to take down.

The werewolf threw his entire body at him, crushing him into the front passenger’s side door, and it took every ounce of strength Mason possessed to throw him off. Then the asshole moved in again, landing a round kick to his chest that knocked the wind out of him, really pissing him off. He kicked back, slamming Curry on his hairy ass, and smiled coldly, drawing from the anger burning through his veins. Curry gained his feet quickly, but Mason was already on the offensive, striking with his claws again and again, following him as he retreated toward the back of the SUV. The massive werewolf lunged for his side, but he swiveled on the balls of his feet, and the beast’s strike missed its mark, long claws screeching ominously across the sleek black metal of the Tahoe’s back door.

“Let’s put an end to this thing, Burns!” he roared, disliking the fact that both sets of doors were now unprotected, with his partner fighting at the front of the vehicle and him at the back. Curry made another lunge for his gut, and he countered with a front kick that sent the wolf stumbling back on its hind legs.

“What the hell do you think I’m doing? Playing Parcheesi?” Jeremy snarled a moment later, sounding outraged as he came around the back of the Tahoe from the driver’s side. “I just put the last of mine out of its misery and ran off two more.” Coming to a stop by the left taillight, Jeremy whistled under his breath when he saw who Mason was faced off against. “Well if it isn’t Simmons’s little gofer boy,” his partner snickered. “I should’ve known that foul odor belonged to you, Alan.” Sniffing the air, Jeremy shook his head with disgust. “You bathing in vinegar nowadays to cover your stink or what?”

The ginger werewolf growled in response, watching him with a cold black gaze, its massive chest heaving as it slowly backstepped while Mason advanced. They’d been waiting for Curry to turn rogue for months now, and it looked as if their wait had finally come to an end. He recognized that dead look in the wolf’s eyes all too well.

“Did you get Simmons?” he asked his partner, keeping his eyes on Curry.

“Get him? I haven’t even seen him,” Jeremy grunted, just before a powerful wall of dark red fur sprang from the trees, slamming the blond into the side of the SUV. At the same time, Curry rushed Mason, taking him to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he saw a golden wolf join in the fight against Jeremy, while Curry fought to get his long claws around his neck. Planting his feet in Curry’s gut, Mason flipped the massive werewolf over his body, sending him flying through the air.

A low noise came from the Tahoe, and Curry lifted his muzzle in interest as he sluggishly gained his feet, sniffing at the air. He drew in a slow, deep breath, then flashed his signature sadistic smile. “Are you hiding your little bitch in there, Dillinger?” he asked, making a smacking sound of anticipation. “Simmons said she’s all mine if I can get my hands on her—and I’m gonna make it last, bite by bite.”

“Come on, Curry,” he rasped, flexing his claws at his sides. “I’ve been waiting to take your head off for years.”

The werewolf came at him hard and fast this time, throwing a roundhouse that landed in the center of his chest, sending him flying backward until he slammed into the trunk of a towering pine. Mason hit the ground hard, on his knees, pissed that he’d let the bastard get in such a good shot. Aware that Jeremy still had his hands full with the other two wolves, he knew he needed to work fast and take Curry out of the equation. He took a step forward, planning his attack, when the engine cranked, roaring to life, and the Tahoe reared back. Its wheels screeched as it slammed into Curry’s massive body and knocked the Lycan twenty feet through the air, until he finally landed with a dull thud in the middle of the road.

What the…?

For a moment, Mason just stared in shock, unable to believe that Torrance had disobeyed him. He wanted to drag her out from behind the wheel and turn her over his knee, but he didn’t have the time. He needed to get to Curry—who lay slumped in the road, silent and still—and break the bastard’s neck, but Jeremy was in too much trouble. The wolves had come at him hard, the side of his shirt already covered in blood from where he’d been savagely clawed. Growling low in his throat, Mason lunged for the red wolf, taking him to the ground, then quickly twisted its massive head until he heard the final snap of its spinal column, like a sharp, resonating crack.

Getting back to his feet, he swiped the back of his arm across his forehead, wiping away the salty sting of sweat running into his eyes, and watched the impressive sight of Jeremy striking claws with the remaining golden wolf. Mason was ready to tell his partner to put an end to it, when he heard metal screech, and turned just in time to see a burly charcoal-colored wolf perch on the roof of the Tahoe, one claw-tipped arm battering at the windshield.

“Torrance,” he rasped, feeling the angry rush of blood drain from his face.

Everything that happened after that seemed to move in excruciatingly slow motion. With wild eyes, he watched Torrance throw open the driver’s door just as the reinforced windshield groaned under the hammering force of the Lycan’s fist. She stumbled over one of the fallen bodies, her terrified eyes burning a deep green in the paleness of her face. Mason’s legs were already running in her direction, but Jeremy was closer. His partner quickly slammed the golden wolf against the nearest tree, then lunged for Torrance.