Page 89 of Bad Wolf's Nanny
The irony made her sick.
A single flickering bulb cast a sickly glow over crates, stacked chairs, and forgotten equipment shoved to the corners. Daisy, Cassie, Poppy, Bree, and a few other pack females crowded in, huddling together like warmth could be sharedthrough proximity alone. Lola wrapped her arms around herself and stood slightly apart, trying to keep her hands from shaking.
She was terrified.
Not the prickling, nervous kind of fear she’d felt when she presented at academic conferences or when she’d first arrived in Silvermist. Not even the sharp, panicked fear of falling for someone she knew would break her.
This was the kind of fear that was rooted in the marrow. That echoed in the blood. This was the fear of dying. Of everyone she loved dying. Of the club exploding into ash above them.
Her mouth was dry. Her heart thudded unevenly in her chest. Her senses, so keen as a shifter, were overloaded. The stink of old pain. The murmur of whispered prayers. The constant threat of footsteps returning. Every creak in the floor above made her stomach drop.
She sat on an overturned crate and dug her nails into her palms.Stay calm, Lola. Stay present.But her body didn’t listen. Her mind was a storm.
She thought of Dane.
God, Dane.
What if he charged in? What if he didn’t know the building was rigged with explosives? What if he walked right into it thinking he was saving her, only to—
Her throat closed. A tear escaped down her cheek, and she wiped it away angrily. This was not the time for tears. This was the time for thinking. For surviving.
The other women murmured to one another in hushed tones. Daisy was comforting Bree, who was shaking. Cassie had her arm around Poppy, trying to coax her into drinking some water from a dented metal thermos someone had found.
Lola couldn’t bring herself to speak. If she opened her mouth, she wasn’t sure what would come out.
This had been her worst nightmare.
Not being kidnapped, necessarily, but being powerless. Being cornered. Having every bit of her intellect and strength rendered useless by brute force and the cruelty of wolves with no conscience.
Her eyes wandered the room.
The hooks in the ceiling. The water-stained concrete. The vague discoloration on the far wall, brown and streaked, not quite paint.
Someone had suffered here once; many someones.
And here she was, caught in the same place.
Her stomach turned. She curled tighter into herself.
Was Dane already on his way? Had Felix gathered the others? Were the twins safe? Was Thea?
She thought about Sam.
Oh God, Sam.
Her hand went protectively to her belly, the barely-there curve hidden under her dark wool coat. She hadn’t told the females yet. It felt fragile still, too new, too precious. She’d wanted to be sure before she said anything, before she let it become real in the world.
Now, she might never get the chance.
No.
Her hands curled into fists.
She would not die here. She would not let her story end in a damp cellar beneath the bones of the past. She was smart. She was strong. She had survived worse.
Or…maybe she hadn’t.
But she would now.
