Page 83 of Pack Ruin
Glen went still on top of me. When I pushed at him, his limp body tumbled away, but I couldn’t muster the energy to sit up. Not that I would have been able to fight. My back was healing, but I still couldn’t stand.
Whatever had happened to my spine had been bad, but I could almost smell Brand’s pine and wild berries over the acrid bite of what had to be gunpowder. His power still flowed into me like a cold mountain stream. The hell I saw when I was able to focus my eyes, though, made my heart stutter.
Luke stood in front of Glen and me, his back to the ones who had been firing at us. He’d been wounded so badly that I didn’t understand how he was still standing. Then I realized the guns had stopped. The fighting, all of it, had ended.
Or had it?
I heard a voice, a female one. “What have you done, Torran? Shooting the Alpha Heir of Southern?”
“I had no idea he was here, Mistress. I only knew about the girl, and the rogue.”
“Hm, yes.” I half-closed my eyes as the woman came nearer. She kicked my steak knife out of my hand with her shoe. A high heel, with links of silvery chain that criss-crossed her ankle and vanished under black wool trousers.
I had a ridiculous thought that Vanessa would have killed for those shoes.
I couldn’t get away. I couldn’t protect myself. Best I could do was play possum.
So I held still, trying not to react when she picked up the steak knife and stabbed it through my stomach. It hurt like fuck, though.
I held my breath as she leaned close, humming. Sniffing. She smelled like magic. I knew all I smelled like was blood… though I was afraid she’d nicked an intestine, from the added odor.
“This one won’t make it. I’m vexed, Torran. The Heir told me she had magic. You knew I was hoping… Well, in any case. Take the Heir, clean him up, and put him in my vehicle. Alive. Not injured any further, do you understand? I need him.”
Her accent was weird, I decided, trying to focus on anything other than the pain I was in. Like the time I’d watchedPride and Prejudicewith Glen at Northern, and we’d tried talking in those voices the next day. I’d still sounded Southern underneath. She sounded that way, too.
Luke’s eyes were still on me. I could tell he didn’t want to go, but he didn’t have the strength to fight. None of us did. In seconds, he was hustled away by two burly shifters, struggling weakly before he collapsed into their hold. In no time at all, he was out of my line of sight.
“And the Russian?” Torran’s tone was uncertain.
“He’s been contained. I’ll take him to the lower levels myself when I get home.” I felt her prodding at Glen with her foot as well. “Won’t this be sad news to give to the Hilliers when I do. Maybe I won’t tell them yet.”
“You can’t stay?—”
She cut him off, already walking away. “After I go, make sure these two are dead, won’t you? You know what to do.”
Torran snapped out an order for someone to bring gasoline. “At least have a meal with me. I’ve missed you.”
“I can’t look at you right now. You’ve failed me too many times. Losing half the females? Allowing the rogues to run unchecked in the woods? Honestly, I thought I could trust you to do this one task on your own.”
“Mistress…”
“And leave a few Southerners alive to clean up this mess, unless you’re planning to do it yourself.” Her voice was faint when she added, “Though I suppose we could just burn it all down and rebuild. I’ve hated this place since I was a girl.”
Torran called out, “Wait for me,” but I wasn’t certain who he was talking to.
The voices were gone then, and the only sounds were from the shifters who’d been fighting me. I could sense that Glen was alive, but only just. I kept my eyes closed, letting Brand keep healing me, and concentrated on pushing some of that healing power on to Glen.
I smelled the gasoline before I felt it, and wished I could close my nose to the pungent fumes. I sucked in slow, shallowbreaths, waiting for my moment. I was hoping at least some of the Council Enforcers would leave, but none of them seemed inclined to do that.
A few made crude jokes about which packs made the best barbecue. Two of them called out that they were going to get some sticks and marshmallows. One of the men kicked Glen closer to me before they dumped more gasoline on the ground.
I wanted to laugh. These fuckers had no idea what they were doing. Once, a couple of stupid boys had decided to build a bonfire, and they’d used a half gallon of gasoline to wet the wood. They’d stepped back plenty far, but when they’d lit the match, the fumes all around them had caught as well. The younger of the boys had died from the burns, and the older had been forced to shift to heal, though his hair never came in right afterward.
I felt wood landing next to me. I was healed now, more or less, though no one had noticed. I opened my eyes a crack and saw Glen facing me. His eyes were still closed, his chest not rising noticeably enough to see him breathing, but I knew he was still alive.
Alive, but not for long.
The number of shifters around us diminished, and the ones left sounded restless. The scent of the fumes had to be bothering them, too. I heard engines in the distance, and the main gates of the compound ratcheting open, then shut.
