Sadie Hart

by Cry Sanctuary

  Something he could use.

  The bark was rough against his arm as he rubbed the rope against it. Muscles straining, he worked his hands back and forth until his vision blurred and he hovered the edge of darkness. Just breaths away from blacking out. “Easy,” Caine murmured, trying to keep himself calm, to beat back the desperation clawing to get out.

  Ollie was out there alone, facing a monster. She needed someone at her back. Someone, even if it wasn’t him. At least let me get to a phone. Brandt would know what to do. Her pack, her partner, Sawyer.

  Once the dizziness had subsided, Caine started again, raking his hands back and forth, waiting for the rope to catch on something, to break. To give him the one chance he needed.

  ***

  A thrill slid down her spine, settling her into a smooth, effortless run. This, some ancient part of her brain whispered, was what her dog-half had been bred for. The hunt. The chase. A wolf’s heady scent filling her nose as she bore down on him, inching closer stride by stride. As fast as he was, Ollie was faster. Her long body swooped over the ground, and she worked even harder to close the distance between them.

  He darted into a thick scrub of bushes, the forest undergrowth harder to wiggle through, but Ollie managed, letting the thorns scrape through her coat. The moon’s soft rays hung like ghosts amongst the branches, faint. The canine’s added night vision allowed her to see Dean’s dark silhouette vanishing into a thick copse ahead, and Ollie charged after him.

  Her paw hit the ground before her nose swiped through the branches, a sudden chill raising the fur down her back as her hackles lifted and a growl rumbled low in her throat. She recognized the danger a moment too late. Wrenching her weight back onto her haunches, she threw herself back, trying to get clear. The Hunter slashed out with teeth, crunching down on the ruff of fur around her neck. She yelped, twisting to break free.

  Together they spun, wrestling in the dense vines and weeds surrounding the forest floor, filling in the distance between the trees. It was hard to maneuver, her long legs stumbling over odd branches. Dean circled her, bone-white teeth bared in the moonlight. He snapped at air, the movement so quick she reacted without thinking, jerking backwards. A hind paw slipped on a rock and her back legs collapsed under her.

  The split second was all he needed.

  He lunged, all teeth in the middle of a night-black face, gold eyes on hers. Her head twisted, to meet teeth with teeth. Her jaw skidded along his, only to feel the sharp nick of pain as her lip sliced open. His body slammed into her, sending her crashing to the ground. They writhed and struggled together. The Hunter searching for a kill bite, Ollie trying to get her feet under her. She rolled, belly up, and he lunged for her throat.

  Now.

  She shifted, the sudden change in bodies throwing off his aim. Her hand moved for her gun automatically, slipping the holster lock down, and she was wrenching it loose when Dean shifted back. He slammed his hand down over hers, pressing the gun back into the holster and using his weight to keep it there.

  Ollie twisted, scissoring her legs around his waist as she tried to roll them both. He was bigger, stronger. Without the advantage of surprise, he could win in close quarters. Dean twisted and his elbow rammed into her throat, pressing down. Ollie fought against the weight, thrashing, trying to breathe.

  Fear catapulted through her, and she turned wild, bucking and squirming, desperate. Dean grinned, suddenly predatory. His eyes told her he’d won, that she was going to die just like everyone else. Defeat clawed at her throat as her lungs burned, aching for air. He leaned in harder, and all Ollie could see were the victims. Rosalie’s desperate gaze before she’d fled the shack. The dead bodies left carelessly in the woods, discovered sometimes weeks later.

  Claire Rawson’s laughing smile.

  The desperate guilt that had woven her and Caine together, the desire to save a woman they’d both known was going to die. Her mouth worked, trying to drag air into her lungs, but she couldn’t. She was going to die, just like the rest. Ollie looked him in the eyes, and for the first time, saw the joy. The all-consuming triumph as he stared down at her.

  Was this the face all those victims had seen right before he’d snuffed out their lives? Would it be the last one she saw? Ollie squeezed her eyes shut. No. Instead she pictured Caine, Nana, Brandt, Star...the litany went on and on. And every single one that flashed through her mind galvanized her. They’d never let her give up. Never let her let him win.

  She opened her eyes, saw the delight in her fear. This is what he wants. He wants you scared. The world blurred around her, the shadows growing hazy. She could barely feel her hand on the gun. Her body went limp, the world blacking over. It was all he needed. Dean eased back, his hand pulling at hers over the gun, starting to draw it out.

  Take this, you son of a bitch! She jerked her hand free and with it the gun, turning it easily in her grip. Lightning fast. The Hunter recoiled, desperate to get out of the line of fire. She tilted it toward him just as he jerked, scrambling to run. Her finger squeezed over the trigger and she felt the jolt as the gun kicked in her hand.

  The Hunter, Dean Winters—the man who had killed nineteen women—staggered, trying to catch himself before he fell. Ollie dragged in a gulp of air, and this time she had both hands wrapped around the butt of the gun as she aimed. Black fur shimmered, stealing over his body as he started to shift, but not even a wolf could outrun a bullet.

  The shot split the night, leaving behind a hollow, dull echo. The wolf slumped to the ground. Ollie rolled to her side, still gasping, and fired again. This time, she aimed for the head. Exhaustion caved in around her, and Ollie sank into the dirt, staring at the dead body of the Hunter barely ten feet from her. Blood-red on black. Nineteen dead, but at least now he wouldn’t kill again.

  Ollie closed her eyes, her hands still wrapped around the gun, and simply breathed the cool, sweet air for a while.

  ***

  The rope snagged against the bark again, and Caine jerked, crying out from the pain, but finally it was loose enough for him to wedge a hand free. Pain lanced up his arm, a piercing throb that didn’t subside as he rolled, using an arm to heft himself up. He yanked the piece of rope off his other wrist and tossed it aside.

  Breathing hard, in ragged, shallow gasps Caine stared out at the forest. Dark shadows made it hard to see, and even the filmy light of the moon was scarce. There was no way he could shift, no way he could even dredge up the wolf enough to get the animal’s added night vision. Blinking, he tried to get a sense of direction. It was the same place he’d taken Ollie on their first date.

  Caine cringed. Damn, but nothing was sacred. Nothing safe. Thanks to the Hunter, his pack had known no sanctuary, no safety. Ollie, too. His throat constricted with a snarl, biting back the rage, he lugged himself to his feet, using a nearby tree for support. The bark was rough under his hands, but it kept him steady. Ollie had put her life on hold because of this bastard; they’d all lived to his monthly killing, like the story of the Pied Piper, they all had been forced to march to his tune.

  With a grunt, he staggered down the path toward Ollie’s house. He needed a phone, a gun, and a flashlight. Every slow, agonized step gnawed at him. He needed to hurry. He needed to be out there, helping her. Saving her. A laugh stuck in his throat. Since when did Ollie need saving? Trust her. She didn’t need a savior, an alpha. She needed someone at her back, trusting her to take care of business. That much he could give her. Would somehow give her.

  He breathed through the pain, focusing on one slow, painful step after the other. Finally, the shadows of the forest parted and the dim outline of her house came into view. Caine staggered up the path, tripping over a stick, and he stumbled, crying out with a snarl as he caught himself. Fuck, but that hurt. He hoped she shot the son of a bitch. Made it painful.

  A dog barked as Caine stumbled into the squad car, using the sleek metal vehicle for balance. Something glowed inside, and Caine peered through the window. Her phone. Relief floo
ded through him; he didn’t have to dig the key out of his pocket after all. Didn’t have to try and drag himself up the stairs. Someone out there was looking out for them, rooting for them.

  He fumbled with the latch and opened the door, sinking into the driver’s seat. A warm tongue stroked his face, the dog’s happy tail thumping the back seat. “Hey there,” Caine croaked, giving the dog’s muzzle a quick pat before he picked up the phone. Brandt’s name flashed again as the phone vibrated. Caine answered it.

  “Ollie where the hell are you?”

  “Brandt.” His voice came rough, thick with pain. He was so damn close to passing out, blackness lingered along his vision, a dark promise, a threat closing in. Caine closed his eyes so he couldn’t see it coming. “Get home. He’s here. He’s got her.”

  “Fuck,” the other man snarled, and he could hear the wolfhound moving. Shouting orders to the other Hounds. “Are you okay?”

  “Been shot. I don’t remember how many times. Silver.” The words were coming slower, heavy, and Caine forced himself to steady, to keep his words clear. Giving up, not an option. He could not pass out right now. They still needed him. Ollie still needed him. “She’s armed, he’s not.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that,” Brandt’s voice clipped over the phone, commanding. A car rumbled in the background, tires spinning out on asphalt. “He’s always armed—”

  “She took it from him. She’s chasing him. Ah, hell.” Caine sucked in a ragged breath, fighting to stay awake. Stars danced in his vision, white moving dots that, no matter how many times he blinked, wouldn’t fucking go away.

  A gunshot split the darkness. Then another. Fresh chills ran down his spine, and Caine jerked his head towards the woods. Brandt cursed on the other end of the line. “Was that what I think it was?”

  Caine shook his head, not caring that the other man couldn’t see him. He dropped the phone, Brandt’s screaming voice, and staggered out of the car, slamming the door before the dog could escape. His hands skimmed the dark grass, searching for the weapons the Hunter had made her leave behind. Fingertips brushed the cold metal, and he snatched the gun off the ground.

  “Ollie!” He staggered under the force of his yell. No answer.

  Caine ran for the woods, dizziness threatening his every step. He staggered more than he ran straight, crashing into trees, stumbling over the vines and shrubs littering the forest floor. Rough bark scraped at his hands as he caught himself, pain lanced up his knee as he stumbled, knocking into a stump. It drew a hiss from him as he fought to right himself. Panic roared in his head, a crashing wave as he stumbled on. Desperation driving his voice higher. “Ollie!”

  “Over here.” Her voice called out, soft in the darkness. Relief slammed through him and Caine stood there, hand on a tree, gasping. The only thing that kept him standing was the knowledge that she was still okay. “Over here,” she called again, and Caine staggered in the direction of her voice, using it as a lifeline.

  He pushed on. A prickly thorn bush tore at his arms but he shoved through the thick undergrowth, only to see a silhouette sitting next to a tree. No one else. Defeat drove him to his knees. “Did he get away?”

  Then he saw the prone body of the Hunter, stretched out over the dirt, and Caine closed his eyes, slumping forward. She’d gotten him. “Is he dead?”

  “Yeah.” Ollie’s hands found his face, gentle. Her voice was warm, soothing. She ran her hands through his hair, trailing down his face, over his neck. Her lips found his in the darkness, and then Ollie was hugging him, pressing him back against a tree. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure,” Caine whispered, his voice thick. Sluggish. He hoped he was okay.

  “Oh, God.” Her hands trailed down his chest, pressing over the wound by his right shoulder. “I’ll go call for help, you have to put pressure on this. You’re losing too much blood.”

  “Already called. Brandt. He knows.”

  “Does he know you’ve been shot?” Caine closed his eyes, the darkness stealing closer. Ollie leaned forward to kiss him again, and he felt the wet trail of tears against her cheek. That hurt. Knowing he’d made her cry. “Don’t you dare die. I will find you and kick your ass.”

  A wry smile twisted his lips then. “My, my, how bossy you are,” he teased. Slowly he lifted a hand to her face, running his fingertips down the edge of her jaw. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  But even as he said it, exhaustion dragged him under and the already dark night went black.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ollie leaned into him, keeping pressure on the wound as she struggled not to cry. Dean Winters lay dead barely five feet to her right, his still body eerie in the night forest. She kept waiting for him to twitch, to roll over and laugh. For the man to come back alive, grab his gun and shoot her. But he didn’t.

  She didn’t know how long she waited, every second feeling like hours, but finally she heard the distance call of voices. A bay of a bloodhound on the track. “Over here!”

  Boots stomped through the forest but it was a sleek, muddy-brown dog that found her first, his ears floppy as he shifted back. “Shit, Ol,” the bloodhound said and snatched his radio. “Get the medics out here now.”

  He relayed their location, before turning to the Hunter. “That him?”

  Ollie nodded, her gaze on the man running through the trees toward her. Her brother barely glanced at Dean’s dead body as he hurried to her side. The scent of silver had become so thick in the air it was burning her lungs with every breath she took. “Help Caine,” she whispered and Brandt caught her head, pressed a kiss against her temple.

  The medics appeared then, struggling to get the stretcher through, and Brandt leaned over and picked Caine up, carrying him to them. Ollie staggered after them, even as Lennox and Sawyer appeared. “I have to—”

  “Go,” Lennox said, catching her arm and giving it a soft squeeze. “We’ve got this.”

  Ollie glanced back at the body. She’d never seen this coming. Never saw herself leaving the scene before it was processed. She’d embedded herself into every piece of this case, and now she couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

  “The dog, he’s in the car in the drive.” Lennox gave her another shove. “And we have to find the Carsons. We have to...”

  Sawyer waved her off. “Go. Be with him.”

  The crime scene tape was already being rolled out, flashing lights breaking through the shadows as the pack settled into work. Her boss squeezed her arm again, a silent signal. Go. Ollie turned and ran after the medics.

  “I’m riding with him.”

  They didn’t stop her as she climbed into the ambulance after Caine. Her hand found his, she held on for dear life. Head held high, she fought not to cry. “He’s going to be okay,” she told the medic next to her, and the Latino man just nodded and smiled.

  He touched her arm. “I’m sure he will.”

  The doors slammed shut and the ambulance lurched into motion, sirens blaring. She moved aside when they pulled up, then followed the medics wheeling him out of the ambulance and towards the emergency room.

  “Ol!” Brandt shouted, and she turned to see him jogging from the Shifter Town Enforcement car parked in the lot. He caught her arm. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Her hands fisting in his shirt, she dragged herself against him, biting back a sob as her brother held her. “He’s lost so much blood.”

  “They’ll give him a transfusion. Come on. Let’s get in there.” He handed her his phone. “Call his pack. They’ll know his medical records.”

  The next several hours blurred together. Caine’s second in command had arrived, taking over the questions and paperwork. Night had bled into dawn with Caine still in surgery, so Ollie slipped outside for some fresh air, Brandt’s phone in hand just in case there was as she called Lennox. “Did you find them?”

  “Not yet. We don’t know where he’d have kept them. I have Hounds searching his house, but if he had clues, they’re not obvious ones.” />
  She leaned back against the lamppost, eyes closed against the morning sunlight. “I’m sorry.”

  She should be there with them. Helping. Should have kept him alive. Ollie closed her eyes against the guilt, doing her best to squash it. This was not her fault. None of this.

  “Don’t you dare,” Lennox said, echoing her thoughts. “That bastard deserved the bullets he got. I’d rather he end up dead than you.”

  But that might mean that two more people died. Ollie’s grip tightened over the phone as she fought off the tears, as exhaustion slowly ate away her control. No. She couldn’t think like that. They’d found the Hunter, they could find the Carsons.

  “It’s not your fault. You caught him. Ol, you can’t do everything,” Lennox said, the words probably habit for her boss by now, but this time, they weren’t necessary.

  “I know. Call me if—no, when you find them.” And for the first time, she felt confident.

  “I will,” Lennox said, voice tender. “And Ollie, you did a good job. Damn good.”

  Smiling, Ollie hung up and stared out over the hospital parking lot. The morning sun had chased away the darkness, leaving the day fresh. Crisp, clean. A squirrel darted up a tree, tail twitching angrily as a boy biked past on the sidewalk. She heard the hospital doors swish open behind her, the steady approach of boots.

  Brandt’s hand found her shoulder. “You should come inside.”

  “I needed the fresh air.”

  “They find the Carsons yet?”

  She turned to look at him. He had bags under his eyes, his face was drawn, puffy. Exhaustion was etched into every line and wrinkle on his face. “You look like hell,” she murmured, and he smiled.