Page 63 of Pack Favero

I only wait two seconds before I’m up and vaulting over the window frame that now stands empty, opening the room for the cold bite of the night air to enter. I don’t care about the shards of glass that might cut my feet, or the slices that now cover my arms and legs. I have one goal, one primal need, andthat is to survive. That means suffering a few scrapes and cuts, knowing that being trapped in that house with a man who had plans I wasn’t willing to go along with would be a worse fate than the wounds on my body that will heal.

Taking my first cleansing breath since waking, I actually sob as I clear my entire body of the rubber and gas scent I never want to smell again for as long as I live.If I manage to get out of here, I’m taking an hour-long shower, and then I’m sitting in the bath for the entire day, scrubbing at my skin until I’m sure I no longer smell like that deranged psycho.

Those thoughts fuel me as I run over a perfectly manicured lawn, rounding the over-the-top house, and finding the lavish gravel driveway kitted out with a fountain of a naked woman spurting water out of her mouth. And on that driveway is a car, the back door open wide as though Hunter didn’t waste time in shutting it after he dragged me inside his home with every intention of playing house with me.

Gunning it toward the car, I dive into the backseat, searching for the phone I remember having with me when he took me. I find it in the footwell and snatch it up, pressing the unlock button. It still has battery, thankfully, but like every fucking cliché ever, the signal is dead and I curse all of my rotten luck before stuffing my cell into my borrowed boxers and climbing out of the car and back into the driver’s side, looking for a key. Of course, things aren’t that easy. The key is missing, and I don’t know the first thing about hotwiring a vehicle so, with only one thing left to do, I run.

I run and I run and I run, thankful for all those years of gymnastics that have kept me fit and healthy, my legs aching something fiercely as I run down the long, long driveway and onto a road that looks as though it barely has any travelers on it. Even during the day, I’m sure it remains barren.

Looking left and right, needing to choose a direction tohead in, I go right. I have no idea where the hell I am, or how far away from the lake house I am. How far away from my pack I am, but I don’t think about it. I can’t. I bottle it all as my survival instincts rule me, and I run with bleeding feet, a thundering heart, and tears down my cheeks until I spy another fancy house in the very near distance.

I’m beelining right for it without making a conscious decision to do so, colliding with the front door of the mansion-like home with enough force that it sends a boom of sound across the large yard at my back. It’s followed quickly by me slamming my fists against the hardwood door, beating it harshly as I yell, “Help! I need your help!”

I have no idea how long I beat that door until finally, blessedly, it swings open and I topple into the house and fall onto my hands and knees as an older couple look down at me with utter shock and alarm.

“I need help. Please help me,” I rasp, breathless and heaving for air, a pang of guilt tickling my senses as I realize I’m getting blood over these strangers’ shiny floor.

“Oh, heavens. What happened to you, honey?” the woman blurts, diving for me, her aged hands fluttering over me as though she has no idea how to help or where to even start.

“I was kidnapped. I don’t know if he’s coming after me or if I killed him,” I rush out, my words bleeding into one long word, but the couple seem to understand me.

The man blanches, horror painting his wrinkled face, and he blurts, “I’ll call the police. Dierdre, you get the med kit.”

“Where did you put it, John?” she asks shrilly, rising to shut the door when her husband shuffles off in his slippers and house coat.

“Under the sink in the kitchen, Dee. You need me to tell you how to apply ointment, too?” the man snaps, and the woman rolls her eyes before rushing back over to me, offering her smallhands to help me stand.

As soon as I’m up, the aches, pains, and cuts all make themselves known, and I whimper as I try to walk. My legs are killing me, there’s a cut along the side of my foot, and I’m still gasping for the air that evades me, what little I’m catching bringing with it the faintest clean smells of betas.

“Oh, dear. Okay. That’s alright. You sit right back down and I’ll bring you something for the cuts. Stay right there,” Dierdre demands, before waltzing away in her pink, fluff-lined house coat that makes her look like a countess to a mansion that was passed down to her from her wealthy family.

But, I do as I’m told, slumping back to the floor, dragging myself to a wall that I can lean my back on. As soon as I’m propped up, my energy gradually seeping from me, I reach for my phone with shaking hands and a palpitating heart, tugging it free before unlocking it. I waste no time in pulling up my contacts, pressing dial on the first number my finger touches.

“Zira? Oh my fucking god, Zira, are you okay? The twins said they felt it the moment you were awake, and they said you were terrified. Tell me you’re okay,” Alek demands gruffly, his voice strained and rough and heartbreaking. It’s enough that it releases the bottle on all the things I’ve been suppressing since waking up in the horrible room that will haunt me until I die.

“I’m okay,” I breathe, slumping into the wall while tears fall from my eyes as relief makes me dizzy. I laugh hysterically, before repeating myself, like I don’t quite believe what I’m saying but needing to hear it again myself. “I’m okay.”

“Where are you, Freckles? We’re coming for you,” I hear Barnes demand, and that relief burrows deeper and deeper, even as I continue to cry and whine and mutter, “I don’t know.”

“That’s alright, sweetheart. Don’t you worry. Just keep your phone on. The tracker I put on it just pinged us your location. You’re only twenty minutes away, so sit tight. Are yousafe?” he asks sternly, and I nod before I remember he can’t see me.

“I think so,” I answer, eyes darting up just as Dierdre hurries back to me with her arms loaded with gauze, ointment, and other medical supplies. “I ran and didn’t stop running until I found a house.”

“Alright, darling. We’re coming for you, okay? We’re coming,” Laz promises with enough conviction that I begin to cry harder, dropping the phone even if I don’t end the call. I don’t have the energy for much more.

“Oh, honey, what have you been through tonight?” the sweet woman asks, just as her husband returns, speaking lowly on the phone. “Sure is. No older than twenty-five, I’d say. Red hair, skinny thing. Pretty sure she’s an omega, but I can’t smell much other than stress and maybe gasoline. Oh, yeah, hold on.”

He moves the phone and asks, “What’s your name, honey?”

“Zira. Favero,” I answer, wincing as the woman begins to clean and dress the cuts over my skin.

The man’s eyes widen and I know then that the police are on their way. So, with nothing more to do than wait, I succumb to my dizziness that continues to plague me, my vision going white right before I pass out on a fancy floor that belongs to complete and total strangers.

Chapter 21

Lazarus

“Other than the concussion, dehydration, and the cuts on her legs and arms, she’s okay. She’ll make a full recovery in no time,” the doctor tells us while we surround Zira lies in my bed, my hand secured in hers as I sit beside her and she sleeps soundly.

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