CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Slumping onto the sofa, Quinley swore long and hard. All she’d done since Isaiah and the others had left was repeatedly alternate from sitting to pacing. And there’d been cursing. Lots and lots of it.

Stuffing her hands between her thighs, she rocked forward slightly. God, she felt like screaming. She really did. Anxiety crawled over her, making her skin prickle and itch.

It made Quinley feel shitty that she couldn’t be relieved to be tucked up in the safety of her own home right now. Isaiah had wanted her to be, to feel, safe and therefore at ease. But it was hard for a person to be left behind at times like these.

It would absolutely be harder for those driving into danger, yes—ten times harder. But it was a kind of torture to be here alone while others risked their lives, especially when one of those people was your mate.

Watching Isaiah go, waving him off, going back inside and doing nothing … She felt useless. Powerless. Useless to him.

If she’d been dominant, an enforcer, she could have gone with him. She could have helped, could have had his back and fought at his side. But Quinley was neither of those things, so she would only have been a hindrance to him. That hurt in a huge way, as did the fact that she’d need to trust the others to watch his back. They had their own mates to look out for.

Her inner cat was in no better state, anxiety-wise. She was all knotted up inside, worried for Isaiah and Raya and Lori; annoyed that she wasn’t part of the hunt for the Vercetti Pack.

For the feline, it wasn’t only about wanting to help, though. It was about answering her craving for vengeance. The animal wanted to savage the bastards who’d shot her and tried to take Isaiah. She knew they wouldn’t stop coming until someone was dead.

The cat was determined that that “someone” would not be either her or Isaiah. So was Quinley. But here in the house, she wasn’t able to do anything to ensure it didn’t come about.

Sitting up straight, she took a stabilizing breath. It didn’t help much. Impatience, panic, and uncertainty badgered at her.

It felt as if time had slowed down. Every minute felt like an hour. Every five minutes without a call from Isaiah made her stomach bottom out.

The occasional faint vibe of reassurance skipped down their partial bond. It made her heart squeeze that even now, when he had so much to think about, he made sure to take moments to comfort her and set her mind at ease.

But even with that reassurance he offered, her stomach kept rolling and her chest kept tingling and she couldn’t shake off the dread. Her mind kept obsessing over what might be happening to Raya and Lori; over whether they were even still breathing.

Please don’t let them be dead.

Fear for them lived and breathed in her gut. Quinley felt that same fear for every member of her pride who’d gone to the mines. She even feared for the three wolverines.

But most of all, she feared for Isaiah.

As mates went, she couldn’t have done better. He was amazing. Everything she could ever have wanted. And if something happened to him at the hands of the Vercetti Pack—

She cut the thought off, her lungs burning at the mere prospect of it.

Even as she told herself not to think about what could happen, corners of her mind conjured up and fixated on worst case scenarios. None of which helped calm her cat.

Biting at her lips, Quinley put a hand to her fluttering stomach. He’d be fine. He would. The universe wasn’t so cruel as to hand her such a mate and then snatch him away in a matter of weeks.

A floorboard creaked.

Quinley started. Held her breath. Went unnaturally still.

She heard it again. Another creak. The stairs. Someone was on the stairs.

A chill raced down her spine, and her cat nervously jumped to her feet.

Her phone. She needed her phone. She quickly glanced around and then remembered that, shit, it was in the kitchen.

She didn’t really have time to make a call, though, anyway. Not if she meant to hide. So Quinley called to her cat and shifted.

His hands clenching on the steering wheel of the SUV, Luke sighed at the wolverine riding shotgun. “I’m just saying that aggressively invading the mines would not be the best way to go.”

“Why not?” demanded Isaak, who wouldn’t stop whining about the Alpha pair’s plan to conceal their presence from the pack as long as possible.

Tate had written off the wolverine’s protests before hoping into the other SUV with Havana, her bodyguards, and their mates. The rest of them were riding in this vehicle.

“Once they know we’re there, they’ll kill Raya and Lori if they haven’t already,” replied the Beta, a hint of impatience leaking into his voice.

Isaak’s brows met in confusion. “Who?”

“Quinley’s sister and her mate,” Blair reminded him from her seat behind Luke.

“Our aim is to rescue them, not put them at risk,” Luke said to him. “So rather than charge into the mines like Viking marauders, we need to do as Tate ordered and move quietly. It’s best we pick off their numbers one by one.”

Isaak peeled back his upper lip. “Such a hideous plan.”

“You mean tedious,” Dimitri remarked, sitting beside Isaiah in the rear passenger row.

Isaak twisted his head to peek at his brother. “Is that not same?”

Dimitri pursed his lips. “Well, yes.”

Isaiah exhaled heavily, feeling sorry for whatever females mated these crazy fuckers. “Tedious or not, stealth is what we need here.”

Dimitri huffed. “Fine. My brothers and I will lead,” he declared with the authority of an Alpha.

“You really expect Tate to agree to that?” asked Luke, catching the wolverine’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Because he won’t.”

Dimitri sighed. “Why must you argue? Always you cats want to argue.”

Luke’s face scrunched up. “That’s you.”

“It is best we lead,” Sergei maintained from Dimitri’s other side.

“Why?” Isaiah challenged.

Sergei shrugged. “It just is.”

Dimitri exchanged an exasperated look with Sergei. “Always they want to argue.”

Isaiah stilled as an echo of fear skittered down the partial imprint bond, sharp and cold. A buzz of adrenaline came next, rapidly followed by a sense of “fight or flight.”

Unease clutching his throat and raking at his cat’s insides, Isaiah whipped out his phone and called Quinley. It rang and rang and rang, but no one answered. Fuck.

“Something’s wrong.” Isaiah shot forward in his seat, his cat anxiously unsheathing his claws. “Luke, stop the SUV. Now.”

The Beta frowned. “What?”

“Stop the fucking SUV! Quinley … I felt her fear. A spike of adrenaline. And now all I’m getting is pure pissed-off female.”

Cursing, Luke slowed the vehicle. “Call one of the neighbors; have them check on her.”

“I don’t need to,” began Isaiah, speaking through his teeth. “I feel that something’s wrong. The rest of you should head for the mines—our pride can’t afford to be outnumbered—but I’m going back.”

“Do you think it’s Zaire?” asked Blair, her expression concerned.

“I don’t know, but it could be the Vercetti Pack,” said Isaiah, talking fast. “It didn’t make sense to me that Sebastian would try luring her to the train station—the plan had a low chance of success, so why bother? Maybe all he wanted to do was draw us away. Luke, let me out of this fucking SUV or I swear …”

“I’m stopping, I’m stopping.” The Beta pulled up as they reached the emergency lane at the verge of the road.

“I’ll call Farrell and have someone pick you up,” said Blair, all business, her phone in hand. “Stick to the side of the road while you’re running and you’ll cross paths with them at some point. I’ll also have someone check on Quinley for you—don’t worry, they’ll move cautiously.”

Isaiah ragged open the sliding side door and hopped out. “Do whatever you have to do to save Raya and Lori if they’re alive.”

Sergei’s brow wrinkled. “Who?”

Isaiah gritted his teeth. “Fuck this shit.”

“Always such drama with these cats,” muttered Dimitri.

Staring down at the puddle of clothes on the living room floor, Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “She must have shifted into her cat form. Probably sensed us.”

No matter. They’d find her.

He wasn’t surprised that she’d chosen to hide. Typical submissive. She was probably trembling in pure terror—a thought that made his mouth curve.

His inner wolf stirred in anticipation of the hunt. He wanted to track and maim the feline. No, this kill would be Sebastian’s.

Davide glanced around, his brow pinched. “I don’t see her anywhere.”

“Could she be outside?” asked Wattie.

Sebastian shook his head. “A window or patio door would be open.” The cat couldn’t have closed them behind her. And if any were open, the sound of the wind outside wouldn’t be so muffled. “She’s here somewhere. Close the living room door so she can’t get out. You two find her while I position these explosives.”

Sebastian used tape to stick all three against various walls. Satisfied, he activated them with the app on his phone.

Once he and his pack mates were safely away from the house, they’d blow the place using the detonator linked to his cell. But not until Hale was home and had discovered his mate dead—Sebastian wanted him to feel that gut-wrenching pain of losing someone you loved; of seeing them dead and bleeding. Only then would Hale die.

Done, Sebastian tracked his pack mates to the kitchen. Both were searching cupboards, muttering curses beneath their breath. He frowned. “You haven’t found her yet? Seriously?”

Davide scraped a hand through his hair. “It’s like she vanished.”

For God’s sake. “She’s just a tiny little cat.”

“Which means she’s better at hiding than the average shifter,” Wattie pointed out before he moodily exited the room.

“It’s hard to follow her scent,” groused Davide, slamming a cupboard door shut. “It’s everywhere and nowhere. There’s no actual trail coming from or leading to any place.”

Sebastian reached out with his senses, searching for a ribbon of scent to follow. There was none. “So maybe she just didn’t come into the kitchen.”

Davide gave his head a fast shake. “There’s no trail in any room. I’d suggest we shift, but our animals would do no better at finding her. They’d also eat her alive if they did, and you’re set on snapping her neck yourself.”

His frustration mounting, Sebastian kicked a stool, sending it skidding aside. “She has to be here somewhere. She can’t have just disappeared.”

“Seb?” Wattie called out.

“What?”

“I think … I think she might be sitting in the Christmas tree.”

Feeling his brows draw together, Sebastian stalked out of the kitchen and through to the living area.

Wattie pointed to a particular spot. “Look.”

Sebastian tracked the hyena’s gaze. A tawny, black-striped cat was perched on a tree branch, huddled near the thin trunk, her light-green gaze fixed on his.

His irritation wisping away, Sebastian grinned. “There you are.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t tense. Didn’t look in the slightest bit perturbed.

She was either too dumb to sense the very real danger that she was in or she stupidly thought her mate would get here in time to save her.

His wolf snarled, inching closer, hungering to attack. “Come on out,” Sebastian coaxed. She wouldn’t understand his words, but her human half would; she’d communicate what he wanted to the feline. “We’re not going to kill you. Not if you shift back and tell us where Tommaso is.”

The cat only blinked. It was a slow, uncaring movement that held a hint of dismissiveness.

His wolf’s hackles rose in affront, and Sebastian pressed his lips together. “It’s that, or we butcher you here and now. Imagine how your mate will feel coming home to find your body, dead and bloody and broken.”

Another lazy, nonchalant blink.

Disrespectful little bitch. Sebastian put his face closer to the tree. “Come out from there right fucking now.”

She lunged. Dove at him so damn fast she was a mere blur. Hissing, she clawed rabidly at his face, scraping a claw right down his eyeball.

He staggered backwards as he cried out in pain, reaching up to grab her.

That fast, she was gone. Gone. It was like trying to catch smoke.

Putting his fingers to his eye, he backed up and whirled around. He couldn’t see her anywhere. His furious wolf let out a loud growl of pure challenge.

“Jesus, are you okay?” asked Davide, wincing.

“No. Fuck.” His eye felt like it was on fire. “Where did she go?”

Wattie puffed out a baffled breath. “I don’t know. She moved too fast for me to—Shit, Seb, your eye don’t look good.”

“Of course it doesn’t! She scratched my goddamn eyeball! Find. Her.”

They searched everywhere, flipping up or knocking over furnishings; emptying cupboards and clearing shelves; ripping open—

A pain-filled curse erupted out of Wattie as one of his legs crumpled, his foot wobbling. The big man went down on one knee, hissing in sheer agony.

His sore eye squeezed shut, Sebastian scowled. “What the hell?”

Wattie bared his teeth. “She got my Achilles heel, the bitch! Darted out of nowhere, fucked up my foot, and then vanished into thin air again.”

Growling a curse, Sebastian returned to ransacking the living area. With Davide’s help, he did the same to the dining area. Then the kitchen. But—

A bellow of agony burst out of Davide, his back arching, his face scrunching up in pain.

“What?” demanded Sebastian.

“The cat pounced on me from behind,” he ground out.

Sebastian examined his brother’s back. Claw marks ran down the length of it all the way to the base of his spine. Cloth was torn and skin was shredded. It was like she’d landed on his nape, hooked her claws into his flesh, and then dragged them right through his skin as she skidded downwards.

“She’s in here!” Wattie yelled.

Snarling, Sebastian darted back into the living area, his wolf raking at his insides; demanding release so he could savage the cat.

“She ran under the sofa,” Wattie told him.

Sebastian whipped out his gun—topped with a silencer so as not to attract unwanted attention from neighbors—and pulled the trigger again and again, peppering the couch with bullets. A hissing yowl of pain rang out.

He smirked, prowling to the sofa. He moved it out of the way … and his smirk faded in an instant. There was nothing. Not even the scent of blood.

He clenched his fist. “That fucking cat is toying with us. I’m gonna blow her head off, I swear to Christ.”