Wolf's Fall (22 page)

“We'll be waiting.”

She and the guards teleported Nick's men, who instantly shifted and joined the fight. She lost track of them in the mass of bodies clashing. Swords flashed; gunshots popped. In front of her, two wolves attacked and dodged by turns, slashing at the rogues, muzzles bright red.

Neither of them was a white wolf, and her heart cried out for her mate.

Nick?

Calla, hide! Stay safe!

She wasn't a fighter. But today, she had to be. If she hid like a coward, there was no way she would ever be able to face her people again. Moving swiftly, she ran, dodging combatants and searching the fallen for weapons. There! A hunter was facedown, a pistol in hand. Crouching briefly, she pried the gun from his dead hand and sprinted for a pillar some thirty yards away.
It wouldn't afford much cover, but she could get off a few good shots before—no. Best not to think of that.

A sting pierced her side, but she kept going, ignoring it. Once she had achieved cover, she observed the fight and chose her marks carefully. Tarron had taught her to shoot, and she wasn't bad at it. A short distance away, a brown wolf was fighting a rogue. A hunter was sneaking up behind the wolf, taking aim with his rifle. Calla brought up the gun and fired a round into his skull, and he dropped like a stone.

The wolf shot her a look of gratitude before finishing the rogue. She made several more kills before the hair stirred at the back of her neck. Whirling, she found herself face-to-face with a rogue, teeth yellow, fetid breath making her gag. His eyes, however, were wide and the tip of a sword was protruding from his chest. He fell, and Tarron pulled the sword from the rogue, then decapitated it for good measure.

“Thanks,” she shouted.

His face was a mask of anger. “What the fuck are you doing out here? Get to safety!”

“No! I can fight! I've killed several of the enemy already!”

Her eyes widened as she spotted a hunter rushing at Tarron from behind. Gritting her teeth, she shot the bastard between the eyes, and he fell at her brother's heels. “See?”

“Thanks,” he rasped, shaking his head. “But I don't want you here. Please, sis, go.”

“I can't. You need me.”

There wasn't time to keep arguing about it. A new surge of the enemy came at them like a solid wall, and bitter fear clogged her throat. There were more of them than before. Where were Damien and his wolves?

A hoarse shout sounded at her back, and her blood froze. She spun in time to see Tarron fall, crimson spreading across his chest.

“No!”

She tried to run to her brother, but a hand fisted in her hair from behind and slammed her face into the pillar. The world spun on its axis.

Nick! Tarron's down! Help me!

Then all went dark as she was lifted and carried away.

*   *   *

God help them all. This wasn't a fight—it was a slaughter.

Nick had shifted to his wolf form as soon as they dove into the battle. If he hadn't, he'd already be dead. His wolf was faster, more agile. Able to take more physical abuse before he went down for good.

His focus was narrowed to a razor-sharp point. Seek. Attack. Kill. Move on.

There was nothing but blood and death. The only question was who would be the next to fall.
All around him, Tarron's men lay broken on the stone floor. Many beheaded. No coming back from that.

Nick tried to keep tabs on his own team, but it was impossible to spot them all.

Aric was the first of them to fall.

Nick almost got himself beheaded as he whirled to see the red wolf lying in a dark pool of blood. His eyes were closed, and it was impossible to tell whether he was alive. Forcing himself back to the fight, he shut out the grief. The fear. Nothing could keep him breathing but rage.

And love. This was his family. The enemy was trying to take that away, but he wasn't going to let that happen. No matter how badly they were outnumbered.

Across the foyer, he saw Kalen grow still, Sorcerer's staff in one hand. Kalen's eyes closed as he concentrated on whatever spell he was going to unleash on the enemy. Nick silently urged him to hurry.

But a cruel laugh rose above the mayhem. Nick's guts twisted as he saw Jinn appear a few feet from his Sorcerer, eyes gleaming with malice and anticipation. Quickly, Nick shifted to human form.

“Kalen, look out!” he shouted. Just in time.

Kalen's eyes flew open and he assessed the new threat briefly before they engaged in a magical battle the likes of which Nick had never seen. Lightning shot through the rooms and bounced
off the rocky walls. Sparks rained down as black and white magic clashed, battled for dominance.

The two magicians were snarling at each other, teeth bared, muscles straining as they faced off. Threw spell after spell in an attempt to overthrow the other. Nick shifted back to his wolf and started toward Jinn, hoping to distract him long enough for Kalen to win the fight.

Then a pair of hunters came at Nick and he was forced to face them.

Redoubling his efforts, he fought on.

*   *   *

Calla came awake gradually, her head pounding. When she finally became aware of her surroundings, a number of things seeped into her brain.

First, she had no idea where she was, but wherever that might be, it was uncomfortably chilly. Second, she wasn't alone. Stretching, she found herself lying on her right side on the hard floor, pressed into the curve of someone's body. Wetness invaded that side, and she shivered.

Next she realized that her clothing was disheveled. She was barefoot and her jeans were torn. Since her left wrist was handcuffed to something metallic, she clutched at her shirt with her right hand. Still there, not torn.

Opening her eyes, she tried to focus her vision. Somewhere above, a dim bulb chased away the shadows of the dank room—and far above that, she heard sounds of a distant battle.

“Nick!” It all came rushing back. Tarron had fallen, and someone had hit her, knocked her out. Who was next to her? What was this place? Lifting her head, she saw a steep flight of stairs in a far corner with a metal railing running down the side. Finally, she recognized the space as an old storage area below the stronghold's living quarters.

A low, anguished moan broke the silence behind her. With sudden, startling clarity, she knew exactly who was there and braced herself. He'd been bleeding, badly injured, and was bound to be in bad shape. She maneuvered onto her stomach, then her left side. Shock and outrage left her gasping.

“Oh, Tarron, no.”

Although grateful to find him alive, how this was possible she couldn't imagine. A savage beating had left his body broken and bloodied, the purple bruising forming a multitude of fist-sized patterns all over his torso. Straining against the shackles around his wrists and ankles had cut deep gouges, exposing the bone. The wound in his chest might be from a gun or blade. She couldn't tell. But it was oozing red, his vampire healing not quite sealing off the gash. Hopefully it would close soon. While she'd been out, someone had been methodically torturing him.

Reaching out, she placed her palm on his cheek. Cold. Too icy, his skin dry rather than hot and sweaty. He struggled with each breath, the sound like the rustle of crackling leaves deep in his chest.
If someone didn't find them tonight, or she couldn't orchestrate their escape, he would surely die.

They would die anyway, if their side lost the battle.

“Tarron, can you hear me?” Carefully, she tilted his head slightly toward hers.

He stirred and opened his lids with a great deal of effort. His eyes, normally so warm and full of love and humor, were like spun glass. Drugged as well? What the hell could those bastards have in their possession that would drug a vampire? Anger fired her blood. Tarron gazed at her with the barest spark of recognition. Indeed, she wondered whether he was aware of what was happening.

“Do you know who I am?” she tried again.

His face clouded in confusion. For several seconds he stared as if trying to make sense of what she was saying. Then something flickered in his expression.

“Sis?” he rasped. Hope.

Her heart cracked. “Yes, brother. It's me, Calla,” she said softly.

His brow furrowed, then cleared again. “Calla,” he pleaded, straining. “Got to get free. Get back. . . . Help them.”

Her throat threatened to close up.

“Neither of us is going anywhere for now. Stay with me, Tarron. Do you hear? Just hang on. They're gonna find us real soon.” That, she feared, was an
outright lie. Nick, his team, and Tarron's men would be frantically scouring the stronghold looking for them soon—but only if they won the fight. If they didn't . . . Well, she tried not to think of what Ivan would do to them when he came.

And he would come; she was sure of that.

Tarron's lids fluttered closed again and his body shuddered as he let out a long sigh. He'd gone completely still, and for one panic-stricken moment, she thought he'd stopped breathing. Then there it was, the shallow rise and fall of his chest. He hadn't given up.

“That's it. Keep fighting,” she encouraged.

Gently, she caressed his cheek, stroked the sable hair falling to his shoulders. Perhaps her touch could keep him connected to this world long enough to make it out of here.

Her thoughts turned to Nick. She was numb with terror for him. Ivan could use her and Tarron to lure him into some sort of trap, even if the battle went in Nick's favor. What, if anything, could she do to thwart Ivan's plans?

“Calla.”

Tarron's soft murmur jarred her. His eyes were open again, looking at her with such intensity, she shivered.

“In my pocket,” Tarron gasped. “Take it.”

Falling silent, he let his eyes close again. She studied his jeans, but there didn't appear to be anything in his pockets. Still, she reached with her
free hand into his right front pocket. Nothing, save a ball of lint. Next, she wormed her hand down into the one on the left. The tip of her index finger bumped something and she dug deeper.

Calla's fingers closed around something oblong and smooth. Immediately, she knew what he'd wanted her to find. Drawing it out, hope flared as she perused the object. It was a small pocketknife, about three inches in length. A dot of hope began to grow inside her as she held the tool.

Securing the knife, she wedged her thumb and index finger in the groove of the main blade and pulled. The first time, the knife slipped from her grasp. The second time, the blade popped open. Now she had to decide how to position it. She settled on making a fist with the blade protruding between the two middle fingers of her right hand. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best she could do, and she silently thanked her brother.

Ivan or one of his underlings would be here before long. The small knife was her only protection and she would save it until absolutely necessary. Then what? The small blade was a one-shot proposition. Calla tucked her right hand under her body, hidden from view.

And she waited for the devil's return.

N
ick wasn't sure how long he'd fought before he realized that Calla and Tarron had disappeared.

Quickly, he dispatched the closest rogue and curled his lip in disgust. They weren't difficult to tell from the good vampires. The dirty teeth and sour breath gave them away, if the madness in their eyes didn't.

Leaping over the body, he frantically searched the living area. He fought his way into the ballroom, sad to find the once-glorious room in shambles, along with the rest of the place. Strangely, broken furniture was heaped in piles everywhere. Then the distinct stench of kerosene reached his nostrils and he knew what the bastards had planned.

They were going to set the stronghold on fire.

The flames wouldn't destroy the mountain itself, but everything and everyone trapped inside would die. He couldn't let that happen, and he still had to find his mate and brother-in-law.

“Nick!” Micah yelled, avoiding a blow that would have taken his head. “They're going to light this place up!”

Nick shifted back to his human skin as well, so he could yell back.

“I know! Get as many people as you can to find fire extinguishers, and to douse the interior with water, anything that will stop the flames!”

“On it!” Micah spun away and started shouting orders to that effect.

Maybe there was hope for the kid yet.

Not bothering to shift again, Nick worked his way through the living and dining areas. Then he began to search the corridors, and off the main living area, he found a stone staircase that descended below the earth. There was no doorway, just a wide opening and the steps. He peered around the corner, listened. There didn't seem to be any movement from below, so he took a step.

The blow from behind caught him off guard.

Propelled forward, he fell. Tumbled down the stairs until his skull slammed into the sharp edge of a step and the world went dark.

*   *   *

The pounding wouldn't stop. The relentless thrumming, the roaring in his ears. Eerie laughter meshed
painfully with the noise in his head. God, his head. He tried to reach up, only to find that his hands were tied behind his back. Tugging on the bindings didn't help.

Nick opened his eyes and attempted to focus, but it was like trying to see through crimson wax paper. Blinking helped a little, but his vision was still blurry. Was that Ivan's voice? Nick squinted and could just make him out.

The vampire was standing over Calla, laughing. The glint off the massive blade in his hand made Nick's blood run cold. Nearby was a gun Ivan had obviously laid on the floor where he thought it would be out of reach.
Think again, asshole.

Nick put all of his concentration into sitting up. Pain lanced through the back of his skull as he pushed himself up on his knees. Sickness rose and he fought it down.

“Calla, my dear, your quick tongue is one of the things I've always admired about you,” he was saying in amusement. “I'm going to enjoy that tongue, too.”

Nick's movements caught the vampire's eye. “Ah, there you are. I suppose it's time now to get on with business. I was going to send your mate's brother on his way first, but there hardly seems to be any point now, does there? He'll die soon enough, and he's not the one who wronged me anyway.”

“You sonofabitch,” Nick breathed, shaking with fury. Indeed, Tarron hadn't stirred. If not for his labored breathing, Nick would have thought he was dead. “If you've wanted to kill me for so long, why don't you just do it? Here's your opportunity, you bastard. There's no need to hurt anyone else.”

“Nick.” Calla's broken voice tore at his heart, but he didn't meet her eyes.

“
Savoring
killing you is nearly as satisfying as acting upon it will be, I think. First you will watch me kill your mate, as you did mine.”

Above them, the battle still raged. Nick felt helpless, not knowing which way the tide was turning. Anger swamped him, and he pulled on his bindings, trying to rip them with brute strength. They gave some, but Ivan's reaction was quick.

In an instant, the blade was pressed against Calla's throat. “Move one muscle, and I'll slit her lovely neck. Keep still and she'll live a bit longer.”

The vampire leaned over her. His free hand groped under her sweatshirt until he found a breast and squeezed. She gasped in pain, tears filling her eyes.

Nick's wrath bubbled up in his chest, hot and roiling. No matter what, he wouldn't sit by and let Ivan rape her. The sonofabitch would kill them anyway, so he had nothing to lose. But before he could get to his feet, he saw her right hand swing upward. Nick thought she intended to slap him
and pushed up quickly. Then her fist, clutching a small pocketknife, connected with Ivan's face and he leapt away, holding his cheek, blood pouring from between his fingers.

“Bitch!” he screamed. “Goddamn bitch!”

Nick was already closing the distance, his heart in his throat. Ivan lunged for her, thrusting his huge blade outward. Nick barreled into him, blocking the assault with his own body and knocking the vampire to the floor. Nick fell across Calla, panting, pain spreading through his side in rolling waves.

“Give me your wrists! Hurry!” she cried.

Nick sat up and held his hands toward her, his eyes never leaving his enemy. Still clutching the knife, Ivan was getting up now, murder etched on his features. A deep, ugly gash ran the length of his cheek. Calla frantically sliced off the thin nylon bindings. Keeping himself in front of her, Nick grabbed the gun from the floor and pointed it at the other man's chest. The wicked blade in Ivan's hand was covered in blood.

The vampire saw the look in Nick's eyes—the look of a man pushed completely over the edge—and seemed to realize he was carrying a knife to a gunfight.

Self-preservation took over. Ivan turned and dove toward the stairwell as Nick opened fire. The killing shot sailed over his head, slamming against the far wall. He scrambled up the stairs, bullets
pinging off the railing. None of them connected with their intended target and Nick swore violently.

“This isn't over, Westfall,” Ivan shouted. “I'll see you burn in hell!” Then he vanished.

Nick panted, burning with hatred. If he wasn't wounded, dammit, his aim would have been true.

“One of our men will catch him, surely,” Calla said in a shaky voice. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” he lied, turning to face her. “Are you all right, baby?”

She started to answer. Then she spotted the wet stain spreading on his naked side and sucked in a breath. “He stabbed you,” she moaned. “I thought it was
his
blood on the knife.”

“It's not bad, I promise. Listen, we have to get out of here. He's gonna set the place on fire. He's got broken furniture stacked up and soaked with kerosene on the main floor.”

“But we're chained up! Leave us here and go for help.”

“I'm not leaving the two of you here! Especially when he could double back or send reinforcements while I'm gone. Let me try something. I want you to stand up and hold out your wrist.”

“You're going to shoot the links?” She shook her head. “That's dangerous. Only works in the movies.”

He shook his head as he projected a message to
Ryon, their Telepath.
Ryon, I'm with Calla and Tarron and they're shackled in the basement storage area. Tell Kalen to send a spell through the stronghold to release all metal shackles or something. And I need some clothes, too.

Got it,
the wolf sent back.

A tense few moments went by, and then—

All of the shackles snapped in two with a loud
pop
. Calla jumped back involuntarily at the noise, then checked her hand, and her brother's. They were free.

“It worked!” she shouted. “Let's get out of here.”

Just then, a bundle with jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt appeared a few feet away. Nick pulled them on as he spoke to Ryon again.

We're headed up. Situation?

Grim, boss. The wolves your brother brought are helping, but we need an atom bomb. Fast. That fucking Jinn is still keeping Kalen neutralized and unable to bring out the big guns to wipe them all out.

Fuck!
Who can we call on? I don't know how to reach the other covens, and Tarron's in no shape to help me. Who's left, Ryon? Think!

A moment passed.
Kalen says to get Sariel. He's the only one who has the power to put an end to this thing.

Sariel? The Fae prince was the gentlest creature Nick had ever known. He had serious doubts about Sariel's skill as a warrior.
Blue's not a fighter.

He doesn't have to be! He just has to drop that A-bomb we need. That's all. Boss, we can't hold out much longer!

All right, send one of the vampires to get him! Do it now!

“Nick?” Calla asked, bringing his focus back to them. “What's going on?”

“We're sending someone after Sariel,” he told her. “He'll try to turn the tables in our favor.”

“I hope it works.”

“Me, too.”

Looking down at Tarron, he knew there was no point in trying to rouse him. Even if he awakened, he was too far gone to have any idea what was happening. Nick tucked the gun in his jeans.

“Come on, big guy,” he said gruffly. He bent and gathered Tarron into his arms and lifted him with a grunt. “Calla, stay behind me.”

“Want me to get his feet?”

“No. That would leave you exposed.” He started off, then hesitated. Turning back to Calla, he sent her a look filled with regret. “Baby, I'm so sorry. For everything. I—”

She put her fingers to his lips. “I love you. Nothing will ever change that.” She tilted her face to his and he brought his lips to hers.

“I love you, too, baby,” he said. “Now let's get the hell out of here.” Shifting her brother higher in his arms, he took the metal stairs, Calla on his heels. At the top, they stepped out into the dim hallway.

And smelled the acrid odor of smoke.

As he climbed the stone staircase to the main floor, Nick's chest and arms ached from the strain of her brother's weight. Compounding the problem was the knife wound in his side, which was worse than he'd led Calla to believe. Already, dizziness threatened to overtake him, but adrenaline propelled him on. As they neared the main floor, the smoke grew thicker. Almost there.

“Baby, when we get up there, I want you to stick as close to my back as you can,” he said over his shoulder.

“Do you think he's waiting for you?” she asked worriedly.

“My guess is he's still here somewhere, and he's not going to give up so easily. He's got a lot riding on the outcome,” Nick pointed out.

They ascended the final distance to the main floor and stepped through the archway. Nick was nearly knocked down by the blast of heat as he continued on into the main living area. Either Ivan or his thugs had set the piles of furniture and other items ablaze, or at least the ones Nick's men hadn't been able to douse with water, and flames were just beginning to lick up the walls and leap toward the ceiling.

He spotted a ragged hole that had been blown through the rock about fifty yards away.

“There! Let's go!” he yelled above the noise. The roaring flames and the fighting around them
obstructed any view of the other routes out of the stronghold.

He wanted to get Calla and Tarron out of here. Then he'd return to the battle.

Starting off, he felt a gentle tugging at his waist and realized Calla was hanging on to one of his belt loops. Ten yards gained, then twenty. Freedom was so close at hand he could almost feel the fresh air on his face. Then he heard the popping. At first he thought it was only noise from the fire. Then a splinter of wood exploded in front of his face.

“Get down!” Nick yelled. He dropped to his knees and laid Tarron on the floor, then grabbed Calla by the arm. He pulled her down next to her brother, then crouched over them, shielding them from the gunfire. Bullets whizzed dangerously close, ricocheting everywhere. He raised his voice above the din.

“Calla, listen to me! I'm gonna cover you. When I say go, I want you to make a run for it!”

“No! I want to stay with you and Tarron!”

“When I tell you,” Nick repeated, leaving no room for argument. “Go!” He stood, spun around, and opened fire in the direction of the shooting.

*   *   *

Though she was terrified of leaving Nick at Ivan's mercy, Calla was left with no other option but to run.

She sprinted for the ragged hole, not daring to
look back until she reached relative safety. Gaining the outside, she turned to see whether he would follow and saw Ivan on the opposite side of the room. Nick was out in the open, drawing the other man's attention away from her. It was clear from where she stood that he was firing blind through the smoke and Ivan now had him in his sights.

“Noo!” The scream tore from her lips even as the shot spat from the pistol in Ivan's hand.

The world ground to a stop. Nick's body jerked and he sank to the floor beside Tarron, arms flung out to his sides. She ran into the daylight, her only thought now to get help. Where? After gaining a few yards across the rocky ground she halted, her sides heaving.

There was no one. She clasped her arms to the sides of her head, keening her grief, tears flowing down her cheeks. Ivan was going to murder the man she loved, the man who'd risked his life to save her. To save them all.

The inferno leapt from the torn mountainside into the sky.

*   *   *

“Nick?” Someone was speaking anxiously, patting his face. Hard.

“Wake up, man. We've got to get you guys outta here. Help me!”

Nick opened his eyes, dazed. “John.”

“Can you get up? This place is about to go up
like a Roman candle and take every fucking one of us with it. Come on. You can do it!”