SEVENTEEN

Billie

I DON'T KNOW where the wolf went. O wolf, where art thou? Ha ha... wait, why is that funny?

"Billie!" Enzo cries out, but it's muffled with sounds of scuffling and groaning coming from behind me. Maybe? Man, things are getting a little hard to decipher. I close my eyes—hold up. Nope, they're already closed. Awesome, I'm ahead of the game.

Focusing on my hearing, the sounds become clearer. Growling and barking. Opening my eyes, I tilt my head backward, only to have my neck scream out in pain. I do manage to keep myself from vocally reacting, learned that lesson fast. Neck still hurts though. Squinting, I'm equal parts relieved and afraid seeing Blondie on top of Clyde's wolf, both snarling at each other.

There's more commotion coming from another direction. I think? Things are getting fuzzier and fuzzier. There's a lot going on, and I kinda wish there were more time between the events pulling at my senses . I try to push up to a seated position using my hand, only to collapse back down, biting my tongue from the stabbing pain shooting up my arm. "Fuckidity, fuck," I grumble. I take a deep inhale, which also hurts. Super. It seems like everything irritates a neck wound. Good to know. I press down through my forearms, but the throbbing ache in my right arm has me leaning to my left. And I'm whimpering. I'm totally whimpering.

Twisting my head around, which—ah, whatever. You know what moving my head does. I find Enzo still here, being pulled back by the leather-vested, mustachioed shifter and the alpha. Dude, if I weren't dying, he'd be in so much trouble with me later. Both of him, because I see two Enzos. I narrow my eyes and rasp out, "Enzos... the both of ya! Get the hell outta here!"

My voice doesn't sound right. It definitely doesn't feel right. My neck is burning with searing, stabbing pain.

A wave of nausea nearly bowls me over, and my head spins. I feel rather dizzy, wish my name was Lizzy, cuz then I'd be a Dizzy Lizzy... ha, ha, ha. I giggle to myself. Wait, did I just add another verse to my "Life Song"? It could follow "Bring on the fish, bring on the fish" and "You gotta pay the toll, yeah, you gotta pay the toll." Everyone has a "Life Song" of their own, right?

Glancing down at my chest, my giggles subside when I see just how drenched in blood my O'Sullivan's hoodie is. Based on how heavy it feels on my stomach, I wouldn't be surprised if I could wring it out. Maybe "Death Song" would be more appropriate.

Oh well, at least I wore my black one.

There are pounding footsteps coming from... not behind me. Jostling myself, I blink several times until Ethan and Xander come into focus. Both are hauling ass toward me. Ethan's eyes look like black opals, with his shifter coming through. His lips in a snarl, his focus is on the alpha who has pushed Enzo into the Zappa shifter and is now heading for me.

The stomping of what sounds like elephants, a whole bloody circus of them, draws my attention toward Marcus, Jake, and Jimmy running to help out Enzo; who's managed to slip out of the shifter's hold. They're both circling each other in wary challenge. Why didn't he just leave? For Christ's sake! What a stubborn brat. I mean I should know, right?

Not able to hold myself up anymore, I fall back down onto the cool earth. Closing my eyes, I find my fox. She's curled in a ball, her side barely rising and falling with her small inhales and exhales, while her eyes are half-lidded, unfocused, and glazed over.

"Shitballs," I huff out. We're really not doing good. We don't even have enough energy to shift and heal. I don't know if we're going to make it. Feeling my pulse start to taper off, a disturbing truth settles deep into my bones: we don't have enough energy for much more than lying here and bleeding out.

There's a shout and sounds of someone hitting the ground hard. Opening my eyes, things are blurry—blurrier than blurry. I think I see the shape of a tall, toned guy with a short-shaved head. Ethan, gotta be Ethan. He's hurling blow after blow down on the alpha, taking him to the ground, and never once does he stop throwing punch after punch. Hella hot. Huh, maybe things aren't as bad as I thought. My libido is somehow alive and well, even if the rest of me appears to be dying. I've often wondered how I'd react when faced with true death, and I'm really quite happy with my inner ramblings and humor.

Hey, if you're gonna die, do it with a smile.

"You're not going to die, Wilhelmina," a stern voice that sounds like Xander's vows from somewhere close.

Opening my eyes—guess I closed them at some point... again—I see a mop of dark, almost-black hair. My fingers want to twist and twirl through those strands, remembering how soft and thick they feel. Xander. He's here. And I'm gonna be in big trouble . He bends over me with his hands at the collar of my hoodie, and then I hear a rip , as he tears my hoodie in half from collar to hem.

The misty ocean air touches my blood-coated flesh, and shivers ripple over my skin, leaving goosebumps behind. His hands slide—and I do mean slide 'cause I'm slippery with blood—from below my collarbones slowly up and around my neck. My hearing is overcome by the whooshing of his panting breath, and my perishing body longs to feel more of his touch. But when he presses his hands against my battered neck, I don't feel much. At this point, maybe I'm too close to death to feel the pains of life. Man, that's kind of deep.

The smell of concentrated cloves and pine surrounds me. Ah, so nice. It seems I'm only able to focus on one sense at a time. I move my awareness to my eyes. Tracking my gaze over his face, I ignore the serious, worried expression—totally don't want to see that—and instead I try to memorize his features. Bee-stung lips. High cheekbones. Glowing arctic eyes. Large nostrils. And I think I may have a thing for large nostrils.

Reaching my hand out to touch his face, I grin and slur, "You soooo preeetttyy Alexxxxaaander." My hand looks like an inflated surgical glove, and several of my fingers are contorted. Gross. And now I've streaked blood all over his pretty, pretty cheek. I drop my hand back down and pout. "Oops, sorry I made you not sooo preeettty." Seeing the edges of his lips curl up warms my cool body, and I titter-slur, "Maaadddee you smiiiile."

The thought of possibly never getting to see him smile again, never getting to feel the curving of his lips against my flesh, has emotions clogging up my throat. Choking on my feelings and probably my own blood, I croak, "Alwaays loved the feeeeel of yoouur smiiile."

Blondie

I'm a happy mutt of a dog.

I'm a happy mutt of a dog.

I keep repeating this to myself, though we all know I'm one badass freakin' wolf while I prance—yes, I can prance, and so can Jax if you must know—my way through the fort. Lifting my head up, I take several deep inhales, sniffing the salty air that's saturated with our mate's scent. It's too pure. This isn't from sweat or perspiration. No. This is her essence. Her blood. Her scent is so thick that warm moisture begins to coat the inner lining of my nostrils, and water heavy with her spirit pools behind my eyes. Hang on playmates, Jax and I are coming. Underneath the smiling muzzle, wagging tail, and prancing legs, I'm molten rage—scorching lava ready to erupt. I'm glad Jax shifted so I can take the lead on this, the deadly predator that I am. Sorry, we are. Jax is deadly too. Can't forget him.

Loping into the courtyard, we use my far-superior sight to scan the area. There's only one group in here, which is good. Fewer people to witness the carnage and mayhem I'm about to rain down on those confined within these walls. They're under the small grouping of trees on the other side of the courtyard. My claws dig into the turf, and my paws fly over the grassy terrain, assessing the situation while racing into battle. My heart goes into overdrive, with adrenaline-charged currents pulsating through my blood as I bolt toward our prey. Our enemies. The alpha and the Sons of Anarchy reject from last night are holding Enzo back from approaching a light-brown wolf on the ground.

Zeroing in on the wolf, a whirlpool of fury and horror swirls inside me. He's not alone. No, he's on top of Billie, and she's struggling to break her arm free from the manacles of his jaws. Our mate is fighting for her life, hammering her small fist into the wolf's face repeatedly, refusing to give up. When I'm in striking distance she finally manages to pull her forearm free. Jax's pride swells within. I push off my hind legs, soaring into the air toward them. Billie lands another couple of solid punches to the wolf's muzzle before I tackle him to the ground.

My jaws immediately latch onto the wolf's neck. Coarse fur and flesh fill my mouth. I bite down harder and am rewarded with the sweet tang of coppery blood. Tasty . My paws on his withers and ribs press him into the ground. Growls of warning vibrate through my full mouth into his flesh, urging him to submit. One of his eyes has sunken into the socket and there's blood seeping out. Before I'm able to administer the beta-toxin he kicks his back legs into my undercarriage dragging his claws through my flesh. My freakin' tender underbelly! Does this wolf have no honor for the fight? Feeling a burning sensation on my lower stomach (far too close to the family jewels), I release my hold on his neck and jump off, putting space between my intimates and his claws. Arching his spine, he quickly flips over onto all fours. His top lip pulls back over teeth that are leaking saliva and stained with blood. That's Billie's blood, Jax snarls.

We're circling, growling, and foaming at the mouth. I will lick her blood from his teeth and then dislocate his mandible, tear it right off his face, a half mouth to go with his one eye. Sounds good to me, Jax comments.

As if this wolf knows I want to rip his lower jaw from his ugly mug and suck the marrow from his bones, he lunges for me, snapping at my face, taunting me. Bite me! Bite me! Yeah, not happening like this. Don't eat the random cupcake when it's dangling in your face. That's how you get sick. Learned that one, didn't we, Jax comments. Honestly, he always has a comment, yet I'm more silent than not when he's running the show. Dodging the attack, I twist around and chomp down on the wolf's hind leg. Once he's securely in my jaws, I close my eyes, give it a hard jerk, and embrace the beauty of bodily destruction. The feeling of tendons and ligaments tearing and the distinct popping sound of the joint dislocating has me preening with delight and drooling for more.

The wolf's head comes around and bites into my hind leg. Bastard. With the damage already done, I release his useless leg. Then with fluid, agile movements, I whip my body around and impale my teeth into the thick flesh above his upper shoulder. Locking my jaw, I yank. He releases his pathetic hold and starts snapping his teeth at my face. Ignoring his dramatics, I dig my claws into the dirt and twist my torso, coiling up tension in my body. I use that torque and press through my paws, untwisting my spiraled body to propel him into the stone wall. He hits the wall with a heavy thud and yips out in pain. He slides down the wall, one hind leg lying limp at an odd angle. Before he can orient himself, I'm on him, biting down on his nape and impaling him with my secondary canines. My gums pulse with the pumping of my beta toxin being injected into his bloodstream.

My tail wags in triumph. We're totally getting epic snuggles for this. Yeah, we are, Jax affirms.

The fire in the wolf's eyes, or should I say eye , fades, and his body turns lax with the toxin quickly working its way through his blood and nervous system, shutting down his ability to move. When the pressure weakens behind my beta canines, I release my hold and turn to take in the situation behind me. Behind us—I'm here you know, Jax gripes. See what I mean, he always has a comment.

Marcus, Jake, and Jimmy are now standing with Enzo, facing the wannabe biker (fine, he may be a real biker for all I know), who has his hands up in submission. Ethan pushes up from kneeling, his entire body heaving with his panted breath. On the ground before him lies a badly beaten and totally knocked-out alpha. Nice job, Ethan. Taking, I assume, Clyde's wolf in my mouth by the scruff of the neck, I drag his unresponsive body to join his alpha's equally unresponsive body. The beta toxin should keep him immobile and unable to heal for a couple of hours.

"We need to get these guys out of here," Ethan says, motioning a blood-smeared hand over the two bodies. He exhales. "As discreetly as possible and hold them somewhere until backup arrives."

At his mention of backup, I tilt my head to the side and perk up one ear in question, which would look adorable, like ASPCA-commercial adorable, if not for the blood coating my golden muzzle.

"Alessandro, Heydar, and Assad are on their way," Ethan says, rubbing his sweaty forehead on the sleeve of his T-shirt. "I thought they'd be able to help with the security footage and cameras."

Enzo jerks a nod and pulls his phone out to make a call, as does Marcus. Glimpsing over at The Den, I see they're all pretty silent, their faces a mix of threatening rage when looking at the shifters. Then their expressions morph to drawn and creased in concern when looking over at Xander. Jimmy's pale face is even paler, if that's possible. His hand covers his mouth, and his wide eyes, which I haven't seen blink, are locked on Xander. I don't think he's even breathing.

"Jaxson, Blondie—beta-toxin the alpha and the other shifter," Xander rasps out, bringing my attention to him. He's not looking at me. His eyes remain locked on Billie while he pulls his black T-shirt over his head and begins wrapping it around her bloody forearm. "Ethan," he calls out, finally twisting his head around to look up at us. His face is pale to the point of pallid, and his eyes are heavy and drawn down at the corners. He exhales a long breath. "I'm going to need energy."

My gaze drops to look at Billie, my mate. The world stops.

My heart seizes, and my chest constricts from what I see. From what Jax and I see. Jax gasps a croaked breath and I whimper. Our mate, our love, heart, and playmate, is lying on the ground unconscious, covered in blood. The forearm Xander's wrapping up in his T-shirt has blood oozing out of several deep bitemarks, and her other hand is a swollen, distorted mess of broken bones. Some stick out of the back of her hand, and several of her fingers are curled up at odd angles, completely twisted. Her neck has wounds that still need to be healed. Seeing the slow rise and fall of her blood-coated chest is the only comfort we can find in looking at her.

Feeling attention on me, my gaze rises to Xander. He's staring at me expectantly. Right, the beta toxin. Focus on what needs to be done. Trust our alpha.