31. When I Need You Most

31

When I Need You Most

P ain in my head and neck wakes me from my slumber. As I blink my eyes open and slowly register my surroundings, the pounding from the back of my head increases. Jesus Christ, if I make it out of Jack's dungeon, I'll need to see a doctor. From how many times I've been knocked out over the last few days, I should be brain-dead. I pray my werewolf strength can help me withstand injuries, although I'm not confident in my abilities after being overtaken by a man yet again.

I wiggle my hands, tied behind my back to the wooden chair I'm sitting on, and swivel my head, looking for any opportunity to escape. Jack placed my chair in the middle of the room, right under the creepy dangling lightbulb. It's not on, though; the only light comes from the foggy window to my left. I push myself up in the chair to scoot to the workbench. I slam back onto the concrete floor without even moving an inch. It will take forever to reach the other side of the room. By the time I make any progress, Jack will likely be back. Hello? Wolfy strength. Where are you now when I need you most?

I stop struggling for a moment, the pain from my position begging for my attention. "Fuck," I mutter as I let my head drop to my chest. How could I be so stupid? I should have picked up on the signs that Jack was a psychopath. I used to believe no one could be completely evil—they had to have a motive. Even when Jack had me hating the werewolves, a part of me couldn't rationalize hating a whole group. But witnessing Jack's hate toward the Weres changes my mind. Sure, his mother was killed by Were—so he thinks—but to commit mass murder to such a large group of werewolves—not just Weres, people—evil must surely swim through his veins.

Still, I shouldn't have said I loved Cameron when it's not even true. Of course, that would push Jack over the edge. I should have just said whatever I could to get the hell out of Jack's cabin and back to Granny.

Granny. Surely, she's filed a missing person for me by now. At her age, worrying about me can't be good for her health, but maybe Jack's told her some sort of lie to keep her off the case. My mind races with horrible images of the torture Granny must have endured to forget about my family's lineage. Why would they want her to forget her Hunter history and that her son-in-law was a werewolf? I guess she'd grown to love my father, but the Hunters didn't want her to grow soft.

No, that's not it. How could I be so stupid?

Werewolves didn't murder my parents. The Hunters did.

A sob escapes from the back of my throat. I'd been so shocked to hear that the Hunters were the ones to kill all those people that I didn't put the pieces together to realize that if the Hunters were so set on eradicating werewolves, obviously, my dad would be on their kill list. Even if my dad was the Human Liaison and the most powerful, they still could have killed him. My parents would never have agreed to help the Hunters. I don't need anyone to confirm it—I just know they wouldn't, even if I didn't know them very well.

The sorrow quickly turns to anger. I struggle against my binds again. I don't just need to get out of here not to be tortured and impregnated; I need to avenge my parents.

My newfound rage ignites my strength, and I jump my chair closer to the workbench. A shiny pair of pliers catch my attention. Jack's an idiot to leave them out, but obviously, he doesn't think I'm capable of much. Sweat drips down my forehead as I get closer and closer, and my heart pounds in my chest, anticipating Jack barging through the door at any moment. One last jump until I reach the pliers. I use all my strength but overcompensate, crashing to the floor on my side. "Fuck," I mutter as a new wave of pain spreads down the side of my body. I wait for Jack to rush in—already anticipating his smug remarks about how I failed miserably to escape.

A crash comes from above. I dart my attention to the window, closing my eyes as glass breaks and falls to the workbench above me.

"Red," a worried voice whispers into the room.

"Cameron!" I yell, nearly sobbing.

He pulls himself through the window, ignoring the broken glass around him. He jumps quietly to the floor beside me and pulls my chair upright. "That fucking prick," he mutters before leaning over and snapping the zip-ties around my wrists with his teeth .

I gasp in relief as I yank my hands in front of me, rubbing at the red sores. "How did you know to find me here?"

He kneels in front of me, desperation painted on his face as he grasps my hands in his. He brings my wrists up to his lips, kissing them hungrily. "The Hunters—I smelled them coming before they arrived. I had a key in my pocket and freed myself before they got to me. You were gone," he says in a pained voice in between his kisses. "I looked for you. I felt it in my bones that something was wrong. I knew you wouldn't have escaped after last night."

Tears of relief well in my eyes. I look down at him—his dark hair tousled, his face back to clean-shaven—the sight of him stirs something in me. I don't wrestle with the thoughts about how I just went from one man's prisoner to the next. He's right. I wasn't a prisoner after last night. Something changed inside of me, even if I can't explain it.

He sits on his knees, noticing my eyes taking him in, reaching out and pulling me to his lips. He kisses me desperately, yanking the air from my lungs. "I thought I'd lost you," he says between a hurried breath, his voice needy and his hands running up my legs.

God, his touch melts me in place. I'd love to let him take me here and have Jack walk in to witness it. The idea sparks a bit of rationale in my mind. Jack. We're in his house, and he could be back any second. In fact, we're extremely lucky he hasn't already barged in here. He must have left to speak to the other Hunters to tell them about me.

I push him away. "Cameron, we have to go."

He shakes his head. "Yeah, of course." He stands and extends his hand.

I rise, the floor unsteady under my feet, and I cling to him. He wraps his arms around me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I nod, clenching my eyes and willing the pain in my head to leave. I want to tell him the details of my capture, and that I should probably head to the ER to get an MRI, but from the look on his face—if I showed even an ounce more discomfort, he'd insist we stay and burn the place to the ground.

"Is there somewhere we can go? Somewhere he wouldn't know about? I need to rest and regroup before we deal with all this."

He pulls me into his chest. "I know a place."

I soak in his smell for a moment. Days before, it infuriated me how strong it was. Now, it's like a warm blanket, instantly easing the pain in my head. Maybe I need to spend a few days curled up with him. I don't want to think about what all of this means or what my next steps are to avenge my parents' murders; I just want to smell this man.

Fuck, I'm officially a full-blown animal.