N. Walters - Finding Chrissten

She almost cried out when they were freed. She extended her legs in front of her and moved her ankles to work the feeling back into her limbs. Then it was time to do her hands. This was a bit more difficult. Her claws couldn’t help her and she was forced to rely on her teeth.

She nicked herself several times, felt the hot spill of blood on her wrists. She worked faster, terrified the men might smell her blood and come to investigate. She listened as she gnawed on the ropes holding her captive. They were still talking, but more voices had joined them.

Chrissten worked faster. She had to get free. Why were they all here? Brian might want to keep her for himself, at least for a while, but that might not happen. There were five of them and only one Brian. What would happen if they decided they didn’t want to wait?

Her razor-sharp teeth cut through the final rope. She worked until the bonds fell away and then sent a silent thank you to her wolf, allowing her to recede for now. The strength was still there for her to call on if she needed it. That gave her a measure of optimism.

Her hands lay useless in her lap and she forced herself to work her fingers back and forth, opening and closing them. The sensation, when it came back, hit hard. There was no gradual awakening, but a hard blast of pain. Chrissten ignored it. She’d gotten good at that during her time in captivity.

There was no time to coddle her abused limbs. As quietly as she could, she stood, using the wall for support. The closet was cramped but empty. There was nothing she could use as a weapon.

Her legs shook and her arms quivered. But she was free of her bonds. That was something. It was a start.

She inched across the room and put her ear next to the door, blocking out the pain and concentrating on the conversation in the other room.

“Why should we wait?” She recognized William’s voice.

“Because I said so.” Brian’s reply was calm and measured, but Chrissten could hear the underlying anger in it.

“You had her for months,” another male protested.

“She’s mine.” Brian left no room for argument.

She prayed one of them would challenge Brian, prayed they would fight among themselves, kill one another and save her the trouble. But it wasn’t to be. There was some grumbling, but they backed off.

She rested her forehead against the damp wood, wrinkling her nose as the musty scent invaded her nostrils. What should she do? Should she wait or attack? Would they check on her soon?

There were too many variables. She simply didn’t know what to do. But time was running out. Whatever they were going to do they’d do soon. If she wanted to have the element of surprise on her side she’d have to do something, and soon.

She’d attack.

Her goal was to kill Brian. Problem was she’d have to open the door in her human form. Her wolf couldn’t manage a doorknob, assuming it was unlocked. And she thought it was. She hadn’t heard a click when Brian had dumped her in here. Of course, she’d been concentrating on not passing out and hadn’t been paying a lot of attention to anything else. But there was no reason for them to lock her in. She was bound and they were right outside the door. She had a sinking feeling Brian was just biding his time until he took her upstairs to his room.

Once she opened the door she’d have to attack. There could be no hesitation. She could partially shift on the fly and use her claws and fangs on Brian. If she was lucky maybe she could slit his throat and watch him bleed out before the other members of his pack killed her.

It helped to have a plan, but oh how her heart ached.

She didn’t want to die. Now that she’d tasted freedom again, she wanted so badly to live. She wanted to spend time with her family, laugh with them, fight with them and love them.

She wanted to figure out what she wanted to do with her life. There’d been little time or money in her life and she’d gotten caught up with simply surviving. She’d fallen into the trap of living to work, never thinking about the future.

But most of all, she wanted to see Hank again. She wanted time to discover what, if anything, was between them. She wanted the specter of Brian gone and her ugly past erased from her memory.

If wishes were horses…

She let the thought trail off. She hadn’t believed in fairy tales for a long time. The good guys didn’t always win and sometimes the princess had to save herself. It was time for this princess to kick some werewolf ass.

Chrissten took a deep breath and shoved all other thoughts aside. It was time to get a divorce.

She grabbed the knob on the door and turned.

Hank worked his way around down the street and around to the back of the building, keeping to the shadows. He moved quickly and silently, a deadly predator on the hunt. He avoided the few people on the streets, skirting a drug dealer making a sale and several women out trolling the streets for some action.

Every cell in his body was focused on the task at hand—free Chrissten and kill Brian and his pack. They couldn’t afford to leave even one of them alive or Chrissten and Bethany would always be at risk.

He didn’t feel sorry for the males. They’d made their choice when they’d participated in the abduction and abuse of innocent females. Hank couldn’t understand a man who would hurt a woman. It was wrong on every level. A male protected and looked after his family, his mate and those who were weaker.

His breathing was low and even as he made his way behind the wooden building. It was much like the one they’d held Chrissten in before—an older structure that had been turned into several apartments years ago but had fallen into disrepair.

He automatically filtered the sounds of the city out of his brain. He ignored the buzz of the power lines, the rumble of the traffic, the white noise that was constant. He honed his preternatural hearing until all he could hear was the building in front of him. Everything else faded away.

There were several people moving around inside. Voices.

Hank set down his bag and began to gear up. He tucked two silver-coated knives into his belt along with a 9mm semi-automatic pistol. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside. Then he kicked off his sneakers. If he had to shift he wanted to be able to do it on the fly.

He wished he had a machete so he could behead the fuckers. He could always use his claws to rip out their hearts. That worked as well as silver bullets. Werewolves were quick healers, but they weren’t immortal and needed a healthy heart to survive.

He thought long and hard about taking his rifle, but it wouldn’t be of much use in this situation. This was going to be up close and personal. He stored his gear bag behind a pile of garbage and walked gingerly to the back door, avoiding the worst of the debris that littered the ground. He was wearing only his jeans and his weapons when he opened the door and stepped into the gloomy back porch.

Raised male voices reached his ears. They were up the stairs and to the right. They were arguing about something and he had a sinking feeling he knew what it was about—Chrissten.

He pushed her out of his mind, hardened his heart and pulled a familiar layer of ice around him. He had a mission to accomplish.

Hopefully their argument would distract them from his arrival. No matter how quiet he was they should be able to hear him. Or at least smell him. They were, after all, pureblooded werewolves.

He pulled his gun and started up the stairs, keeping to the sides of the treads where they were less likely to squeak.

Hank’s hands were rock steady, his breathing slow and controlled. He knew the others were close behind him, maybe minutes away, but he couldn’t wait. He had no idea what condition Chrissten was in or if she was even still alive.