N. Walters: Finding Chrissten

Hank started to take note of the people on the street. Even at this time of night there was plenty of activity. A man with baggy pants and a flashy leather jacket sold drugs on the corner to a trio of young men. On the opposite side of the road two women in skirts so short they were probably illegal in some states plied their trade. By a crumbling stoop, a drunk curled up with the remains of his bottle.

“Pull over here.” Damek had the door open and was out before Michael had brought the vehicle to a complete halt. He turned back and pinned Teague and Kevin with his dark gaze as they stepped out of the van. “You two stay with the vehicles. We can’t afford to lose our transportation.” His gaze seemed to soften as he looked at Neema. “You better stay with them to keep them out of trouble.”

Hank climbed out and looked around, studying the terrain and the locals. Three tough looking dudes with tattoos and piercings on their faces started in their direction. Before Hank could do more than growl at them, Damek waved his hand and the men suddenly turned and went back the way they came.

“Weak-minded idiots,” Damek grumbled under his breath.

Hank suddenly had a new respect for the vampire. His power seemed limitless. He was damn glad Damek was on their side in this fight.

The vampire suddenly whirled around. “Women are to be protected, wolf.” He disappeared in a blur only to reappear twenty feet down the road. “Are you coming?”

While he’d been watching Damek, the rest of the pack had emptied out of both vehicles. All were ready to fight. Hank didn’t think Quinn could take another disappointment. He didn’t think he could either.

Damek pointed at a dilapidated three-story building. It had probably been a single-family dwelling at one time. Over the years it had been remodeled into apartments. Now it stood empty and boarded up.

Hank loped toward the side of the building and hurried around to the back. The rest of them could take the front. He wasn’t waiting. His heart started pumping faster when he saw a garage out back with a shiny new lock on it. He took a few precious seconds to glance inside the tiny window in the door. With his preternatural sight he could see a white van just like the one that had fled from the scene the last time they’d hunted for Chrissten.

This was it. Hank could feel it in his gut.

He raced to the house, senses flaring open. He forced himself to slow down and use stealth. No need to alert the bad guys to his presence. He ignored the secured back door and jimmied a basement window instead. The lock was old and rusty and gave easily under the steady pressure he put on it. He raised the glass slowly and listened.

All was quiet.

He grabbed the upper sill and slid his body through the small opening, landing sure-footed on the gravel floor. This part of the basement wasn’t finished and the musty stench of mildew and mold assailed his nostrils. He ignored the pungent odor and took a deep breath. The smell of garbage, urine and sweat seeped upward from the ground and outward from the wooden structure.

He heard a squeak in the floorboard above him and knew the others were swiftly moving in. If there was a rogue werewolf in the building he would have heard the noise by now. Unless he was otherwise occupied.

Hank’s lips pulled back from his teeth and a low snarl was torn from his throat. He was on the hunt. His body settled into battle mode, ready for anything. He reached out to his wolf, using every advantage at his disposal, heightening his senses.

He knew he was alone but still moved carefully over the hard-packed ground toward a doorway. He slowly turned the handle and eased the door open, cringing when it made a slight popping sound. Years of damp had warped the wood, making it stick to the frame.

A tiny sound caught his attention. A whimper. His head whipped around to the left and he noticed a door with two locks on it. Chrissten. It had to be her. The beat of his heart went from steady to a gallop in under a second as adrenaline surged through his veins.

Before he could take a step toward the locked door a large male appeared at the far end of the hallway. He was a big fucker with broad shoulders and long brown hair. His scent reached Hank, igniting a molten fury inside him. It was a scent he knew well from Chrissten’s blanket, the one he’d taken from her last prison cell. Brian. The male who’d violated Chrissten.

Hank didn’t think, didn’t pause. He attacked.

But this was no human he was fighting. This was a pureblooded werewolf, and he was more than ready to fight. Hank knew the other male wanted it. Craved it as much as Hank did.

They ran at one another, fangs bared, hands tipped in claws as they both partially shifted into their wolf form.

Hank went in low and swiped at Brian’s belly, but Brian turned at the last second and lashed out, catching Hank in the shoulder and raking away shirt and skin. The scent of blood, rich and coppery, mingled with the other pungent smells in the hallway. Hank could feel the warm liquid trickling down his arm.

He shook off the minor injury. Nothing else mattered but rescuing Chrissten. Not even his own life.

Hank allowed instinct to take over. He’d been a fighter all his life, long before he’d discovered his heritage. The other male might be a pureblood, but Hank fought mean and dirty, with no holds barred. He fought to win.

He lashed out at Brian with claw-tipped hands. The other male jumped back, hitting the wall so hard it caused little flecks of dust to rain down upon them like fine snow. Hank blinked to clear his vision. He needed to get Brian away from the door with the locks, away from Chrissten.

Hank roared his anger. No need to be quiet now. The others would have heard the beginnings of their fight. In the distance, Hank could hear the pounding of feet as the others hurried to join him.

Brian heard them coming too. He snarled, exposing brutally sharp fangs. “This isn’t over.” Warning given, Brian turned and ran. Hank started to give chase but a faint female voice stopped him.

“Is anyone there? Oh God, is there someone out there?”

Everything inside him came to a standstill. Something deep within Hank’s soul shifted and realigned before locking into place. Chrissten.

“Get away from there.” The male voice had him whirling around and instinct had him ducking. Something swooshed by his head and embedded itself into the wall behind him. A bullet. No, a tranquilizer dart. Hank’s nostrils flared at the sight of the man who had to be Dr. Phillip Morton.

He prowled toward the doctor, determined to make him pay for what he’d done. The doctor raised the tranq gun again. Before he could fire it, Damek appeared in front of him, grabbing the weapon from the human’s hands.

“Who do we have here?” The vampire’s expression was so feral that Hank almost felt sorry for the doctor. Almost. Damek shoved the doctor back into the room he’d stepped out of. The door slammed shut behind them.

Quinn barreled down the hallway, shoved Hank aside and hurried to the locked room. Claws extended, he attacked the two locks. Hank hurried to help him and quickly realized they’d probably need a crowbar to get past the locks. Within a split second his brain had sorted through his options. “Pull on the door.” He grabbed the handle and yanked on it, using the full force of his big body.

Quinn continued to beat at the locks, but in the end it was the wooden door that gave first under the strain. Hank fell back as the door flew toward him, scraping against the concrete floor as it was pulled back.

Quinn pushed past him and called his sister’s name. “Chrissten?” The raw emotion in his voice brought tears to Hank’s eyes. He blinked several times and stepped back, angling his body so he could see into the room.