Wolf's Fall (12 page)

He had to find Calla, refused to think it might already be too late.

And he made a vow—if she was spared, he'd step up and grow a pair of balls. He was going to be a mate she could count on and be proud to call hers.

Or die
trying.

I
f there was a place on her body that didn't hurt, she couldn't locate it.

Calla slumped against the wall in the little box she thought of as her coffin. Weakness weighted down her limbs and her vision was blurry. She couldn't see very well anymore, but her hearing was still fine. She heard the rain pattering outside the cabin, trickling off the roof and onto the ground.
Pat, pat, pat, pat
.

It sounded a whole lot like her life ticking away its final hours and minutes.

She could also hear the bastards in the other room laughing about what else their boss had in store for her. More draining of her blood, more cuts to her body. Maybe a beating or two thrown into the mix.

“That stingy vamp better let me have a go at her
pussy before he sends her to hell,” Buzz Cut said from somewhere in the cabin.

“Think she's still nice and tight after a few centuries?” This from Rat.

“She'd better be, or I'll skin her worthless hide with my Buck Knife.”

Shivering, she huddled and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to make herself smaller. Conserve warmth. That was easier to do since they'd removed the duct tape from her wrists, though it didn't help much. It was so cold and tomblike in the dank room—or that feeling could be the blood loss.

The vampire would return soon.

There was something slightly familiar about the voice of the sick bastard hiding beneath the black clothing, but she couldn't be sure. Did it really matter whether she recognized him? Nick and her brother would figure out the vampire's identity and make him pay for what he'd done. But she might be dead by then.

As sad as she'd been the past few years, she wasn't ready to give up. And she didn't deserve to have her life taken by some megalomaniac with a twisted idea of revenge. He seemed to think her brother and his allies should know what his acts were all about. Whatever it was, the vampire was past anger—he was insane with an emotion that went much deeper than rage. She hadn't been able to pinpoint what it could be, but the cold,
methodical way he was capable of doling out his torture was frightening.

In the other room, the vampire's arrival signaled the end of Buzz Cut and Rat speculating about all the nasty things they'd do to her. Chairs scraped the floor as they apparently scrambled to attention, deferring to him.

“Fetch her to the video room again.”

That was all he said, as though he had no emotion. But she knew better. She'd heard the tension, felt a shift in the air. It was in his voice, a certain kind of excitement or anticipation. Not pleasure, no matter what he claimed. Calla's torture was a means to an end, she realized.

That made him the most dangerous enemy of all. One with a point to drive home and nothing to lose in doing it.

The vampire's two main lackeys unlocked the door and Buzz Cut grabbed her arm, dragging her out. She stumbled to keep up with his long, hurried stride.

“Damn shame,” he mumbled. “Waste not, I say. But he's calling the shots.”

That chilled her to the marrow of her bones. She was about to die, then. Tarron and Nick would be searching, but they weren't going to find her in time. This was it.

Tears pooled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She thought of her brothers, whom she loved so much. With Adrian off living his own life,
Tarron had been her rock for so long, even before their parents had been killed. He was the best man she knew, until Nick came along.

How unfair that she'd been lucky enough to find a second true mate, only to have any shot at happiness ripped from her grasp. With a start, she realized Nick would be the same—he would lose a second mate without having experienced what might have been.

That decided her. She would hold on as long as possible, for her brothers and the man she could love if given the chance.

Her entire body shook as they yanked her into the box of horrors and over to a steel table that had been brought in. She stood beside it, wishing with all her heart she could teleport. The iron collar was heavy around her neck, her death sentence.

“Take off your clothes,” said the cloaked figure.

She stared at him, processing the horrid words. “What? No.”

“I said strip.” The tone was more menacing. “You have no choice.”

Sniffing, she lifted her chin. “Do it yourself, coward. You're going to kill me anyway, so I'm not doing anything you say.”

Quicker than she could blink, his hand shot out, the silver blade flashing. Using one hand, he grabbed the front of her blouse in a fist, then used the other to slice the material. It parted like butter
and he roughly ripped the shirt from her body. Her bra was subjected to the same treatment.

Her throat burned with shame, humiliation. Unshed tears had never hurt so much, but she still refused to allow them freedom, even when her pants and panties followed suit. He was careless in his impatience, and the blade left some shallow slices on her skin. Dully, she noted that like the others, these weren't healing properly.

“Ain't she a beaut?” Rat said, then whistled between his teeth.

“Shut up,” the vampire said coldly. “Or I'll cut out your stupid tongue.”

This wasn't sexual, then. It was about exposing her shame to her family, and to the wolves who were their friends. To show that
he
was superior and wouldn't hesitate to take what he wanted from them.

What she didn't know was his motivation.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked softly. “How have we hurt you that you would do this to me? To my brother?”

“Get her on the table.”

The vampire was immobile as the hunters did his bidding, and didn't answer her question. She hadn't really believed he would, but had hoped he'd be angry enough by her asking to slip. Soon she was on her back, and the burning began.

Shoulders, arms, back, legs, calves, feet. Hot, as though she was being scalded—which was
precisely the truth. “The table is silver!” she cried, pulling against her bonds. “Let me off!”

Her skin crackled as though roasting over an open flame. She barely heard the order to start the video feed. Then the blade flashed, the figure in black standing over her. The cutting began, on the soft part of her abdomen. Slices that wouldn't hurt nearly as much had the blade not been silver. The skin parted, warmth pooling on her belly, rolling down her sides. Her thighs followed.

She writhed, struggling to control the pain, to find someplace to go in her mind, away from the torture. But peace was nowhere to be found and she lost the battle for silence.

Her screams echoed off the walls. In her brain. She was nothing but blood and bone, and terror. Her body was being baked alive. Her life stolen inch by agonizing inch. Cell by cell.

Then suddenly there was a howl, a repeated crashing noise. The sound of a door bursting inward, being ripped off its hinges and banging into the wall. Snarls and shouts.

Turning her head, she blinked through sweat and blurred vision. Cursing, the vampire vanished in a swirl of black robes. The human hunters he left behind weren't so lucky.

A white wolf led the charge into the video room, and Rat was the unfortunate first target of his black rage.
Nick
. He launched himself at the man and barreled into his chest, taking him to the floor.
Rat's scream was cut short as the white wolf tore out his throat.

Calla didn't bother to look away from the carnage. The hunters were getting what they deserved, and she would die knowing justice had been served. They would catch the cloaked vampire as well. She knew it.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes, too tired to scream any longer. Finished. She couldn't even be embarrassed about being naked and bound in front of Nick's men. The pain had lessened to a throb. Shock kicking in as a false relief.

“Calla? Baby?” Nick cried hoarsely. “Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

The bonds were cut, the tension disappearing from her wrists and ankles. Strong arms lifted her, carried her out of the room. She was placed on something much softer. The sofa.

“Found me.” She tried to smile.

“I did.” A warm kiss touched her lips. “I'll always find you. Hang on for me, okay?”

“Home.”

“Yes. We're going to get you home, and you'll get well,” he said, voice breaking.

“Tried. So hard. Didn't want to leave.” It was important he know that.

“You won't. Tarron and the rest of my team are on the way right now. They're almost here, so I want you to focus on breathing.” His big hand stroked her sweat-soaked hair. “Just breathe.”

“Try.”

“You do that,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “Keep trying.”

“Don't leave me?”

“No. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Good.”

After that, a buzzing started in her ears. She could tell Nick was speaking to her more, but had no idea what he was saying. There was more activity, then Tarron's voice reaching out and demanding that she hold on.

“Bossy,” she murmured. Or thought she did.

Next she felt the brief sensation of teleporting, though that might have been her imagination. But now Tarron was yelling and she was being rushed at a dead run down a long, long corridor. She could hear boot steps clomping on stone.

Home. She was home. Didn't have to open her eyes to know it.

Hold on
. She would try. For her brothers.

For Nick.

*   *   *

The image was burned into Nick's brain.

Calla, writhing on the table. Screaming herself hoarse, covered in blood. The scent of burning flesh. He'd tasted the hunter's blood, and his team had finished off the rest. It was a poor retribution in his eyes. He wanted to capture the vampire bastard and tie him to the same table. Then rip his flesh apart piece by piece.

He would tear out his beating heart and feast on it.

Now, though, his only focus was Calla. He begged her to hang on until Tarron arrived, and he was proud of her for fighting so hard. She was stronger than any woman he'd known.

Kalen used his magic to spell clothes on Nick and the team. His talents didn't extend to healing, however, and Zan was still on strict orders not to attempt something this serious. They were forced to hold out for what help Dr. Archer could provide for her at the stronghold.

Tarron's absolute horror and rage matched Nick's as he ran through the door ahead of Nick's team.

“Calla,” he shouted, dropping to his knees beside the ragged sofa. Wasting not one second on useless words, he grabbed both his sister and Nick. “Hold on to me.”

The teleportation was usually disorienting, but this time Nick didn't notice. In seconds, they appeared in the corridor that Nick recalled led to the coven's hospital area. Tarron's landing was a bit off, but at least they were there. Nick scooped her into his arms and ran toward the infirmary's entrance.

“Viktor!” Tarron yelled. “Viktor!”

Nick burst through the double doors, and the young vampire doctor ran out to meet them. His eyes widened in alarm as he spotted Calla and noted her rapidly deteriorating condition.

“In here,” he ordered. Then he led them to what
Nick guessed was their version of an OR/trauma room. “On the table, on her side. Carefully.”

This table was padded, unlike the torture device she'd been lying on earlier. Tarron helped Nick get her situated, and stood back looking devastated. Helpless. Viktor examined the shallow cuts on her body.

“Silver blade. This was done to bleed her slowly. She also has some bruising from an apparent beating. These would be easily treated, but . . .”

Walking around the table, he sucked in a breath as he saw her backside. Nick swallowed hard, and Tarron groaned. Her poor skin was red, bubbled, and blistered, as though she'd been boiled in oil.

“This is bad,” he said quietly. “She would heal on her own if she hadn't already been so weakened. Her body won't be able to pull through this unless she feeds. Even so, she's too weak to do that on her own. She'll need to be tube fed.”

It shamed Nick to the core that he sagged with relief. He wanted to be a good mate to her and put his fears behind him, but the thought of letting her bite him still made him shiver. This, however, he could do.

“Take my blood,” he told the doctor. “I'm the best candidate you've got to heal her fast.”

“How's that?” Viktor frowned.

“Because she's my mate.” His voice was sure, and brooked no argument.

The doctor glanced at Tarron, who nodded. “It's true. All of that can be addressed later, but for now, just do what must be done to save her.”

Nick was grateful Tarron already knew he and Calla were mates.

Viktor's eyes were kind and understanding. “I'll do everything in my power, Your Highness. For now, I need to get Nick's blood. Wait outside, please, and he'll join you momentarily.”

A nurse stepped forward and gently touched Tarron's arm. Nick hadn't even noticed her presence before, he'd been so focused on Calla. Reluctance etched on his face, Tarron allowed the nurse to lead him from the room. Then Nick held out his arm.

“Take as much as you need. Take it all, if that means the difference between life and death.”

“A generous offer,” the doctor said with a knowing look. “But as you're mates, that will be unnecessary. Your blood will be much more potent with healing antibodies than anyone else's in the world. Nurse?”

Another nurse went about tying a rubber strip around Nick's arm. Then she found a good vein, slid a needle into it, and drew several large vials of blood. Nick's head swam a bit by the time she was done, though he hardly cared. He'd meant what he said. Calla was his only concern.

With Calla remaining on her side, the nurse inserted an IV and then hooked the vials to a pole by
the bed and started the flow of Nick's blood into the vein.