Page 143 of Pack Choice
“I wasn’t responsible for what happened to your packmate,” I say, still hanging on to my calm. “That was between you and my brothers.”
“You’re right,” the other alpha says, wrapping his arm around Dr. Hannah’s waist and dragging her into his side. She mewls and clings to his arm. “But they took something precious of ours and so now it’s time for us to take something precious of theirs.”
“Of course, we’d have preferred it to be that omega bitch of theirs,” Dr. Hannah hisses, “but you will have to do.”
I scowl at her, and although I know I should keep my tongue still, I can’t. When have I ever been able to remain quiet when I should? “Fine,” I say, “because I tell you now, if I’d have been there, I’d have happily driven that knife right through your packmate’s skull. The things you were going to do to Bea …” I shake my head in disgust. Dr. Hannah breaks away from her alpha, glares into my eyes, and slaps me hard around the face. I taste copper in my mouth and see stars twinkle across my vision.
I raise my arms to scratch her fucking eyes out, but the alpha behind me, grabs my wrists and twists my arms violently behind my back. I cry out and Dr. Hannah smiles again, lifting her hand to slap me a second time. But then that alpha is there, nuzzling into her neck.
“Love it when you’re all riled up, baby, but we gotta get out of here. Got to get her away. We can’t risk being found.” He practically purrs the words in her ear, and her features soften, her eyelids drooping. He hooks his arms around her a second time and motions with his head towards his packmate.
“Let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you!” I yell, hoping someone in the tent might hear me, twisting against the man’s hold despite the shooting pain radiating through my shoulders.
The alpha restraining me slaps a hand over my mouth, muffling my cries for help, and then he’s marching me along, forcing me to walk.
I close my eyes, trying desperately to think of a plan, of a way of escape, but nothing comes, nothing but an overwhelming terror.
40
Ford
It’smoments like these that the training kicks in and everything becomes automatic. Because there’s no time for panic, no time to stop and plan; every minute lost is a vital one.
My heart-rate slows, and so does everything around me, all the people moving as if in slow motion. My eyes, my ears and my nose focus too. I can hear every murmur, smell every scent, see every face.
I dash through the crowd, eyes scanning everything that lies in my path, yelling orders and instructions down a radio I grabbed off one of River’s men.
“Any sign?” I ask.
“No, nothing yet.”
“Keep looking,” I instruct.
I spy a clown on stilts, teetering in the air, a large crowd of children and their parents beneath, all staring up at him.
I make a beeline there, already searching the faces.
I spot dark pigtails and I pick up my heels, sprinting that way.
“Harper!” I bark. “Harper!” She swings around her head, red ice cream smeared all over her face, a cone in her hand.
“I have eyes on her,” I yell. “Repeat: eyes on her. Northwest, by the clown on stilts.”
“Roger that,” one of the men repeats.
“Ford,” Harper says with glee, as I snatch her up into my arms.
“Hey,” a young woman says, “what are you doing?”
I ignore her, eyes scanning the little girl for any signs of injury. Apart from the ice cream, she appears just fine.
“Are you okay, Harper? Are you hurt? Did anyone hurt you?”
“No,” Harper says, frowning with amusement.
“Then where did you go? We’ve all been looking for you. You know you shouldn’t go wandering off on your own.”
