Page 86 of Taken By The Wolves
I scan the carnage, my thoughts a mental thread reaching out to Nixon.He’s not here.
His reply is immediate, ice-cold.I don’t see him, either. I’ve torn through ten of his wolves, and not one of them has his scent on them.
He sent them to die.
That’s not an alpha. That’s a coward.
A pause. Then Nixon again.The rogue bear, Bruno. Do you see him?
No.
We’re being flanked.
My blood chills. We both know it. The timing, the absence of Gregory’s scent, the missing rogue. It all screams diversion.
I grit my teeth against the pain and break off, launching into the trees, leaping over fallen logs and ducking low-hanging branches, racing the wind back to the cabin.
My lungs burn. My side and thigh throb. But nothing can stop me. If they’ve reached Scarlet and the kids—
No. They won’t get that far.
The cabin appears through the trees, lights glowing. The scent of Reed is thick in the air, which means he’s still alive and defending our precious mate. But there’s something else cloying in the air now. The copper stench of blood.
I skid to a halt, my paws clawing at the dirt, nostrils flaring. Nixon and Connor appear beside me, their forms hulking and bristling with tension. No words pass between us. We move.
The clearing opens ahead like a gaping wound, and time slows.
Gregory stands in the center, his fur matted and dark, his massive form crouched low. His jaws are locked around Reed’s throat, and our brother hangs limp in his grip, blood pouring in rivulets over his chest, his eyes half-closed, barely conscious.
A snarl tears from Nixon, pure rage and anguish. I don’t wait. I leap.
Gregory whips his head around as I strike, his fangs ripping free and leaving Reed crumpling to the ground in a heap. I smash into Gregory, claws raking across his side, and we tumble across the earth in a blur of fur and fury.
Robert crashes into him next, and then Nixon, and the three of us are a whirlwind of vengeance, of grief, of blood. Gregory fights like the cornered beast he is, tearing into us with abandon, but we are not fighting for territory.
We are fighting for family.
And he will not survive this night.
43
REED
Everything is red.
Red behind my eyelids. Heat in my mouth. Red pounding through my skull like a war drum.
I don’t know if it’s blood or rage, but it’s everywhere.
Something wet pulses at my neck. It hurts to breathe. My body’s limp, barely responsive, like I’m trapped in someone else’s skin. I want to move, to shift, to fight, but the connection between will and body is severed.
And yet… I hear them.
Growls, low and deep. Snarls like thunder rolling over the earth. The scent of them slaps me, rousing the little strength I have.
REED.
My brothers howl my name together.
