Saved by Wolves (Shifters Meet Their Mate Book 1) (20 page)

While Jackson disarmed the guard, Kirra went to the nearest door and peered through its small, six-inch-square window, cupping her hands to see better. She shook her head and rushed to the next door and the next, working her way down the left-hand side of the corridor.

Marcus took the right side and looked into the first cell. A man slammed against the other side of the door and pressed his snarling face against the window, baring his teeth. “I’m guessing that’s not Francesca,” he muttered under his breath. As he backed away, he automatically checked the door’s lock to make sure it was secure. They didn’t have time to deal with crazies. It was set up the same way the other doors had been—with electronic access pads. He moved to the next cell. A young boy was in it, curled up on a cot. He met Marcus’s gaze with listless eyes, and didn’t bother lifting his head from his thin pillow.

The further down the line Marcus went, the more anger and disbelief built in him. He’d seen some terrible things in his life, and intellectually had understood what Kirra had tried to tell them about the lab, but seeing it was a punch to the gut. People stripped of their dignity, their sense of self. Locked up and controlled for who knew how long.

Jackson stood guard by the door. “Finn? Jason? Sam? My uncle?” he questioned in a low voice, listing a few of their pack who’d gone missing over the years. Marcus shook his head in answer and moved to the next cell, part of his attention on Kirra.

Determination and strength radiated from the set of her shoulders and the way she carried her head, and he gave silent thanks that she had survived such horror and thrived. Kirra was moving faster than he was, and there was only one cell left unexamined between them. Holding his breath, Marcus looked inside, hoping to see a blonde woman with a broken leg.

He let out his breath in a rush and shook his head at Kirra’s questioning look. The occupant was blond, but it was a man. Sitting on his cot, back pressed to the wall and hands clasped around a knee drawn to his chest, he looked strangely relaxed.

Kirra looked in the cell anyway, as if she couldn’t believe it without seeing it with her own eyes. “Where is she?” Kirra cried, slamming a fist into the wall beside the cell.

“Who are you looking for?” The question came from the lean man in the cell. The tone was casual, as if they were on the street asking for directions and he’d stopped to help them out.

“My sister,” Kirra said, pressing up against the door. “Frankie—Francesca. Blonde, a bit taller than me, really smart... broken leg.”

“You’re Brain’s sister?” he asked, easing off the bed and approaching the door. Thin cotton pants hung low on his hips, secured by a drawstring, and his tight abs gleamed when he stepped into the brighter light from the hall. “I wouldn’t have guessed it. You look nothing alike.”

“Brain? Never mind,” she said when he opened his mouth and looked ready to launch into an explanation. “Do you know where she is?”

His lips thinned, and though he tamped it down quickly, Marcus saw a flash of true anger in his golden eyes. “Yeah. They dragged her and Kelvin—my brother—off a few hours ago. Some new experiment.”

“Where?”

“Get me out of here and I’ll show you.”

With a short nod, Kirra laid her hand on the access pad and closed her eyes.

Growling deep in his throat, Jackson crossed the room in a second and stopped Kirra with a hand on her wrist.

Her eyes popped open. “What are you doing? I need—”

“He’s a Cat,” Jackson said, narrowing his eyes at the man.

A Cat? Marcus shook his head in disgust with himself. Jackson had a better sense of smell than he did, but Marcus could usually pick up on a Cat’s scent when it was mere feet away. And even if he couldn’t, the golden eyes should have been a huge clue. The bleach clogging his nose was his only excuse. He inhaled deeply and focused on sorting out the various scents. Buried underneath the cloying fear-sweat that coated the air was the distinctive smell of a Cat. “Tiger,” he said, clasping Kirra’s other arm and tugging her back from the door. Even with a heavy, locked door between them, he didn’t trust a Cat.

She threw off their hands. “If he can get me to Frankie, I don’t care if he’s a cat or a warthog.” 

“Definitely not a warthog, darlin’. Bengal tiger to my bones. The name’s Quinn.” Quinn flashed brilliant white teeth in a smile that made him seem charming and dangerous despite his ragged appearance and bare feet. Marcus tamped down the urge to rearrange those pearly whites with his fist.

“Oh, ho,” Quinn said, sniffing the air and raising his hands in a peace gesture. He looked between Marcus and Jackson. “So that’s the way it is, huh?” He tilted his head conspiratorially at Kirra. “You can almost taste the testosterone and possession coming off these two. You’re in for a wild ride.”

“Shut up,” Jackson said.

“Articulate, too,” Quinn said. “I can see why—”

Loud voices drifting from the stairwell interrupted him, and his grin disappeared. “I thought you dealt with the guards,” he said.

“Just this one and a few outside,” Kirra said.

“What kind of a rescue plan is that?” he asked. “Never mind. Hurry up and get me out of here.”

“Take me too,” a woman called from a cell at the end of the hall. “You can’t leave us here.”

Focused on the coming threat, Jackson ignored the discussion and went back to guard the entrance. “Four men. They’re in the level above. You’ve got thirty seconds.”

Kirra placed her palm on the access pad again, then paused. Other prisoners had crossed to their doors and pressed up against their windows, adding their pleas to the woman’s.

“She’s right. We can’t leave them here. We’ve got to free them all.”

Quinn shook his head. “They’ve got us stashed in every building in the compound. You’d need an army to free everyone.”

“Not an army,” Kirra murmured. “The lights are going to go out,” she warned them, and closed her eyes. Seconds later, her body shuddered, and every strand of her hair floated in the air as if an invisible hand lifted them. A faint tingle ran through Marcus’s body, from the soles of his feet to the tips of his fingers, and the hair on his own arms stood up.

Above them, lightbulbs shattered, and they were plunged into darkness. While his eyes adjusted and his night vision kicked in, the click of doors unlocking sounded from all around, and a ragged cheer went up from the inmates.

Marcus agreed with Kirra’s decision to free everyone—there really was no other choice—but he didn’t trust any of them. Some appeared almost feral, and who knew what kind of brainwashing they’d undergone. No, he didn’t trust them for a second.

“Better catch her,” Quinn warned. The Cat had slipped out of his cell and stood at his elbow. Marcus whipped his head in his direction to ask what he was talking about, but saw Kirra’s legs buckle as she reached out to the wall for support. He lunged forward and caught her under the arms.

“Kirra. Kirra,” he said, giving her a light shake. Her head lolled to the side and she was deadweight in his arms. The guards’ confused, loud voices were closer, and the narrow beam of a flashlight cut through the dark, coming from the stairwell. Jackson let the first guard take a step into the hall, then slammed the door in his face, hard. The guard went down and back, falling into his comrades.

Marcus set Kirra on the ground next to the wall and turned in a crouch, ready to defend her, but it wasn’t necessary.

A surge of freed prisoners moved past him, aiming for the remaining guards. The first two people went down under Taser fire, but the others stepped over them and took the guards down, pummeling them with fists and feet.

Quinn had made it to Jackson’s side, and they signaled it was time to move, so Marcus scooped the still unconscious Kirra back up and threw her over his shoulder, one arm clamped over her thighs to keep her secure. Together, they forged a path through the one-sided fight and worked their way up the dark staircase.

“They’ll be on the fifth floor,” Quinn said, leading the way up the next flight of stairs. As they reached the first landing, a guard holding a flashlight rushed down the stairs from above and skidded to a halt two feet in front of them. His eyes widened and he reached for the weapon strapped to his hip. Quinn took a single step forward, dodged to the side, grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and the seat of his pants, and hurled him down the stairs headfirst. Marcus pressed against the wall so the man didn’t hit him on the way down.

They made it to the fifth floor without further incident, and Jackson cracked the door to the hall open just enough to see through.

An irate roar ripped through the air.

––––––––

K
irra’s ears rang and her gut hurt. She forced her eyes open and tried to focus, but all she could see was someone’s butt. She knew that butt. She’d woken to it before. It was clothed this time, though, which was too bad.

An insistent alarm was going off, but she tuned it out the way she would an alarm clock. It was raised voices that finally broke into her fantasy of removing the offending clothing, and Kirra pressed her hands on Marcus’s lower back to lever herself up, the fog clearing from her brain. “What’s going on?” she asked as she twisted around to see.

A massive tiger slowly stalked down a hall toward them, eyes gleaming orange in the moonlight streaming in from a window. He was impressive, but the woman walking beside him, hand resting on his broad back for support, was who she cared about.

“Francesca,” she cried, scrambling out of Marcus’s arms and lunging toward her. Jackson reached out to stop her, but she dodged his grasp.

The tiger snarled, but the blond man—Quinn—from the cells snapped his fingers and said, “Cool it, Kelvin. They’re here to help,” and Francesca leaned down and whispered something to the tiger. Kelvin ignored Quinn, but flicked a large ear toward Francesca and stopped baring his teeth.

Kirra caught her sister in a hug.

“I knew it was you,” Francesca said, tightening her arms around Kirra. “As soon as the power went out, I knew.” Tears glistened in her large, dark eyes.

“Are you okay?” Kirra didn’t want to let go, but she stepped back and looked Francesca over, head to toe. “Your cast is off. Why? It’s way too early.” She timed her words between blasts of the siren.

“They removed it,” Francesca said. “It got in the way of their tests.”

“Bastards.”

Marcus laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I hate to interrupt the family reunion, but we’ve got to go. Nice to meet you, by the way,” he said to Francesca. “I’m Marcus, and that scowling lug by the door is Jackson.”

“I’m ready,” Francesca said. “Lead the way.”

“You can’t walk,” Kirra said, and glanced at Marcus.

He picked up on her cue right away. “Let me help,” he said. “I’ve been getting in a lot of practice carrying beautiful women lately. Getting quite good at it.”

The tiger, whom Kirra had almost forgotten in the excitement, bared its teeth again and wedged its body between Francesca and Marcus.

Francesca huffed a sigh and gave a slight eye roll. “He’s a bit overprotective. Kelvin and Quinn have been looking out for me since I got here. Kind of like big brothers.”

In her peripheral vision, Kirra saw Quinn wince at the word “brothers,” but when he looked at her sister, he was wearing a devil-may-care grin. “You’re the first person in the four years we’ve been here that could hold up your end of the conversation. Of course we watched out for you.” Uncaring of his fingers, he shoved his brother’s muzzle to the side and swept Francesca into his arms, cradling her. Her long blonde hair trailed over his arm, and her face flushed a deep pink.

Rubbing her stomach with one hand, Kirra elbowed Marcus. “Why couldn’t you carry me like that? I’m going to have bruises for a week.”

They moved back toward the stairwell, Kirra keeping pace with Francesca and Quinn. “Were you two alone up here?”

“No, there was a doctor and a guard in the observation room, but as soon as the power went out and the door to the lab unlocked, Kelvin tackled the guard and I hit the doctor with his desk. He dropped like a rock.” A satisfied smile spread across her sister’s face.

Jackson overheard the last bit and glanced at her, his brows furrowed.

“She’s telekinetic, remember?” Kirra said. 

They headed down the stairs, Jackson and the tiger leading the way, Francesca and Quinn in the middle, and Kirra and Marcus bringing up the rear. Emergency lights kicked in—they must have had a backup generator shielded from electrical interference. Not surprising considering the kind of facility it was and the type of talents they studied—so she didn’t have to rely on the others to guide her.

Jackson turned and said something, but his voice was lost in the sound of the siren, which was louder in the stairwell. Two armed guards appeared below them, on the next landing, and fired their guns. Jackson lunged to the side, placing his body between the guards and Francesca, and his body jolted once, then twice. Red stained the right sleeve of his shirt, and Kirra watched in shock as he fell against the wall and clutched his left side.

“Jackson!” she yelled, and tried to push past Quinn to get to him. Marcus caught her around the waist and twisted so she was behind him. Kirra looked around him, trying to process everything.

In a single leap, the tiger cleared the last steps and landed on one of the guards, tearing with teeth and claws. The second guard looked on, his face a mask of dawning horror. He raised his gun in a shaking hand and steadied it with the other, lining up a point-blank shot.

The gun flew out of his tight grip and smacked him in the forehead. As he slapped a hand to his head in reflex, it rose high in the air, hovered by the ceiling for a split second, then whipped down and smashed into his head. He staggered back and crumpled to the ground.

“Like a rock,” Francesca said from her perch in Quinn’s arms.

“That was you?” Marcus asked.

“She’s handy to have around,” Quinn said. “Kelvin, you can stop now. He’s not getting back up.”

The tiger bared teeth dripping blood, but backed off the guard. Kirra caught a glimpse of the man’s tattered remains and quickly averted her eyes, nausea swelling. Jackson groaned, and the sick feeling in her gut disappeared. She didn’t usually think of herself as vindictive, but the sight of blood soaking Jackson’s shirt in an ever-widening circle stirred fury in her. The guard had worked in a house of horrors and had shot Jackson. He’d deserved everything he’d gotten.