N. Walters - Finding Chrissten

He couldn’t win and he knew it. He could run and he might make it. But he wouldn’t. That wasn’t the kind of male Hank was.

Chrissten pushed to her feet. William was on the prowl, stalking toward her.

If Hank was going to die she was going to die with him. Her heart swelled and she threw back her head and howled, letting Hank know she wouldn’t abandon him.

Claws ripped from her fingertips and her jaw elongated, revealing wicked sharp teeth. There was no way she could fully change without her clothing impeding her.

This would have to do.

Brian turned to her when she howled and Hank used that distraction to send one of his knives home, stabbing Brian in the chest. Brian gasped and fell to his knees.

Chrissten didn’t know if the injury would kill him or not and didn’t care. Every molecule in her body was focused on protecting Hank. William immediately turned to Brian when he went down. The distraction was exactly what she’d needed, and Chrissten attacked.

A sudden howl made the fine hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms stand on end. It wasn’t a cry of victory from Brian or one of the other males. It was an anguished sound and it was female.

Brian’s attention was splintered for a split second and Hank took advantage. He exploded into action, driving his silver-coated dagger deep into the bastard’s heart. With their leader down the others might panic, giving Chrissten a better chance to escape.

He swiped at his eyes and staggered back several feet as Brian fell to his knees, silver dagger embedded in his chest. There was no sense of triumph in killing Chrissten’s mate, not like he’d thought there would be. Only the knowledge that he’d done what needed doing.

He stayed on his feet, but it wasn’t easy. Every muscle in his body quivered and he grew weaker with each passing second. He was leaking like a goddamn sieve and knew he wouldn’t last much longer. His only regret was he wished he’d told Chrissten that he loved her. He inhaled deeply, pulling in a much needed lungful of air. He pulled his control around him. He could do this. Had to finish it.

Hank swiped at the sweat and blood dripping down his face to clear his vision and searched the room for Chrissten. He had to find her. When he did, his heart almost stopped. She was in midair, flying straight toward a big bastard. The werewolf was ready for her, claws extended.

Hank yelled her name as the remaining werewolves made to attack him, sleek and deadly in their wolf forms.

She was going to die and he wasn’t going to be able to stop it.

The hell he wasn’t.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins and he leapt, launching himself through the air. He was going to make it. He extended his arms. Muscles protesting. Limbs aching.

He managed to snag her at the last second. He wrapped his arms around her and they fell to the floor. He did his best to cushion her fall and then rolled, covering her with his much larger body. Sharp claws sliced his back, shredding skin and exposing tissue and muscle.

He had to move, had to get Chrissten to safety. He started to move, yanking her with him, and the world around him exploded.

Chrissten shoved at the large body covering hers. One moment she’d been in midair, poised to attack William head-on. The next she was on the ground, the wind knocked out of her lungs. She tried to breathe and began to panic when she couldn’t.

Yells and screams filled the air and she shoved at the male on top of her. She had to get free. She managed to get her torso free and sucked much needed air into her lungs.

What was happening? Where was Hank?

The male still covering most of her body groaned. Her heart almost stopped. She recognized that groan.

Hank .

One part of her brain was dimly aware the others had finally arrived and were locked in combat with the three remaining werewolves. Isaiah and Joshua attacked William while the rest of them took on the others. Her father was here too, fighting side by side with Quinn.

But she was only vaguely aware of this, the bulk of her attention focused totally on Hank. She managed to get out from beneath him and cried out when she got a good look at him. His clothing and his skin were both ripped to shreds. There didn’t seem to be a part of him that wasn’t damaged. Blood covered his limbs and his face was leached of all color.

His back seemed to have taken the worst of it. And his breathing was ragged. She heard a gurgling sound and terror filled her. He couldn’t die. He couldn’t.

Chrissten yanked her top over her head and used it to try to staunch the worst of the flow. It didn’t work and was quickly soaked in blood and sweat. “Don’t you die on me,” she ordered.

His eyelids fluttered and opened. He tried to speak but couldn’t. He licked his lips and tried again. “Run.”

She could barely make out the single word but it filled her with unspeakable anguish. Even now, as his life’s blood was leaking onto the stained linoleum, his concern was for her.

“No. I’m not running. You have to protect me.” She’d use anything she could think of, even his bone-deep sense of responsibility, to keep him alive and with her.

His gaze sharpened, going from dazed to intense in a heartbeat. Hank pushed himself into a seated position, arm muscles straining under the weight of his torso and blood dripping down his back and chest. She didn’t know how he managed considering the state of his body.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Protecting you.”

He would too. She’d known it in her heart, but seeing it in action was something else all together. She became aware of the silence at the same time he did. They both looked over their shoulders to the bloodbath beyond.

Six bodies were strewn across the floor. There was the one Hank had shot to death with silver bullets and the one she’d killed with the broken table leg. Brian lay on the floor with Hank’s dagger stuck in his chest. William’s neck was twisted at an impossible angle and the two remaining wolves had silver-coated daggers protruding from their sides and necks. All six were dead. It was done.

The Haven pack surrounded them, chests heaving, muscles flexing. Several of them had serious cuts and bruises but nothing life-threatening. The only one in danger of dying was Hank.

Quinn was by her side in the blink of an eye. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. She hissed in pain when he accidentally hit the slashes on her arms and he backed away.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.” He said the words over and over. He brushed her hair away from her face, touching her scalp, her neck, her back, anywhere he could reach without hurting her. She knew he had to reassure himself she was alive. And she needed it too.

Chrissten suddenly felt nauseous and turned away, praying she wouldn’t disgrace herself by vomiting on the floor. The adrenaline dump that had allowed her to function was about to run out and she was going to crash. Hard. She’d lost a lot of blood as well. Her head, which had stopped aching during the fight, was now pounding again, reminding her she probably had a concussion.

“Chrissten? We’ve got to get you out of here. You’ll be okay.” Her brother tried to move her but she resisted.

“Hank.” He’d slumped back onto the floor and his breathing was even more labored than it had been. She was worried one of the lethal claws that had struck him had punctured a lung.

Quinn helped her to her feet. She was thankful, as she was none to steady.

“The others will get Hank.”

“No.” She pulled away, needing him to understand. She had to take care of Hank. He was her responsibility. He was hers.

Isaiah strode over and helped Hank to his feet. “We’ll take care of him, Chrissten, but we have to get out of here. We don’t know if anyone in the neighborhood called the cops. We haven’t exactly been quiet.”