The Wolf Princess: The Wolf PrincessOne Eye Open (The Pack)

by Karen Whiddon

  “Not bad.” He attempted to shift his weight, wincing at the pain. “They hit me from behind. Once again, I screwed up.”

  “Me, too.” She had no answer for him, no words to soothe the tortured self-reproach she saw in his eyes. She blamed herself enough for both of them. She had powers ordinary humans did not. Of the two of them, she should have been the most able to evade capture. Like Carson, she’d been taken by surprise.

  Even the mere thought of changing made her body resonate with need. With every heartbeat, every inhalation of breath, the desire sharpened, unbearably intense.

  But she had to make sure the drugs had worn off before she gave in to the urge. If some other way out presented itself, she would take it. She would only change as a last resort.

  “My leg—” Struggling to rise without yanking her apart, Carson pushed himself closer to the bed. Twisting, he managed to get his knee under him, propelling himself against the side of the bed. Since his hands were cuffed, he could only use them for leverage to thrust himself up.

  “Help me.” He raised his head, dark gaze meeting hers. “I can’t hold this position long—hurts like hell. When I come up this time, hold your leg still. I’ll have to use you as a sort of anchor, but I think I can make it up there.”

  Swallowing, she nodded.

  With a grunt, he pushed and twisted at the same time. Clearing the edge of the mattress, he landed with his chin squarely on her groin.

  She froze.

  “Sorry,” he said, his gaze darkening. With a neat motion, he rolled to the side. That meant she had to scoot over as far right as her handcuffed wrists would allow.

  “Thanks,” he muttered, attempting to wiggle into the space between her and the edge with minimal contact between him. But even if he lay on his side, with his left ankle chained to her right one, it wasn’t possible. With that leg underneath him, they still had to mingle ankles. He looked like a bruised human pretzel.

  “This isn’t going to work.” His words echoed her own thoughts. She looked at him, the beginnings of desire subjugated by the ever-present urge to change, and swallowed. “You’ll have to lie on my other side, partially on top of me,” she said.

  He narrowed his eyes. “It’s the only way, huh?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll try not to hurt you.” With an awkward twist and roll, he settled his weight over her, the hard length of his body pressing against hers for an instant. He jockeyed to find a comfortable spot. Her body heat increased, making her feel as though she were burning.

  “There.” He sighed. Closing his eyes, he sagged against her.

  “Carson? We’ve got to get out of here. Carson?”

  He didn’t answer. The dead weight of him told her that he was unconscious.

  She eyed the handcuff keys on the dresser. A mere twelve feet away. So close, but out of reach. Even if she extended her leg and Carson stretched out to his full length, they couldn’t reach them.

  A window sat midway along the other wall. It was reachable, though only by Carson, and only if they did some contorting.

  There had to be a way to escape. Had to be.

  But the only way she could think of involved her changing.

  Several hours later she shifted for the twentieth time. Her hands were asleep again, the painful pins-and-needles making her grit her teeth as she forced herself to do finger and wrist exercises.

  Dim light streamed in through the blinds. Dawn. Her bladder was full, though she’d only had a small sip of the lukewarm water Shorty had offered the night before.

  Carson shifted his weight with her, though this time the movement caused a perceptible change in his breathing. She took a deep breath and drank in the sight of him. With his face inches away from hers on the pillow, she longed to plant featherlight kisses on the dusky beginnings of a beard on his unshaven cheeks, but she dared not. He would awaken soon. Once he did, he would be in no small amount of pain, but at least he was alive.

  That had to count for something.

  She couldn’t watch him die. Testing her own reflexes, she felt a noticeable improvement. Even if he despised her after, she would change if she had to in order to save his life. Heck, if they didn’t let her go to the restroom soon, she would change just so she could relieve her bladder.

  From out in the other part of the house, she heard the early-morning noises of people stirring, the clang of a skillet, the sound of the pipes as water ran. At the faint aroma of brewing coffee, her mouth began to water.

  From the hall came another sound, this time the uneven thudding of a man running. Outside her closed door, two men talked in low voices that she strained to hear but could not. The back of her neck began to tingle.

  Something was up. She sensed urgency in the very air, in the faintly acrid scents of their captors’ perspiration.

  Danger. Excitement. Those emotions rolled off the men in the house, reaching her in waves.

  “Brenna?” Raising his head, Carson sounded the way he looked. “Damn. I feel like I’ve been run over by a freight train.”

  This time she couldn’t resist—she reached out and gently kissed his cracked lips. He went utterly still.

  “They worked you over.” She kept all traces of emotion out of her voice.

  “Yeah.” He laughed, though his laugh sounded more like a choked-off cough. “Hurts like hell.”

  She studied him. “Why’d you wear the jacket?”

  With a shrug, he grimaced. “It’s black, it’s warm. I didn’t intend to get captured.”

  In the hall, a man shouted. They could hear the words “Out front!” More footsteps ran past.

  Carson pushed himself to a sitting position. “What’s going on?”

  Listening intently, she shook her head. “Something. I don’t know what.”

  He glanced at his watch and swore. “What day is this?”

  She had to think. “Thursday.” Still, she strained to hear. The house seemed to be enveloped in chaos—men shouting orders and running.

  “The drug deal. If we stretch, can we reach the window?”

  She stared at him blankly. “Why? If they start shooting out there, the window won’t be safe.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Of course he didn’t. Maybe the edginess in his tone decided her, or perhaps the sudden hardness she saw in his gaze. Either way, Brenna knew what mattered to Carson above all else was his thirst for justice, for revenge.

  “I need to see outside and find out what’s going on.”

  “It’s on the west side of the house. Can you see the front from there?”

  His face full of impatience, he grimaced. “I won’t know until I try.”

  Hating her feeling of helplessness, she wanted to growl her frustration. Sometimes being a wolf was much easier.

  “If you think it’ll work, let’s try.” With a curt nod to indicate her agreement, she motioned for him to attempt to push away. He rolled, their legs still cuffed together, pushing himself to his knees. Shuffling, crawling, he made it to the edge of the bed, leaning on the windowsill for support.

  The metallic handcuffs bit into the skin of her wrists. Pain. Out of nowhere, the urge to change ripped through her. This time she found it even more difficult to push away.

  “Not yet,” she said under her breath.

  “What?” Carson shot her an impatient glance.

  “Nothing.” Gesturing at the window with her chin, she forced an impersonal smile. “You wanted to see if you could see out the window. Have at it.”

  As she spoke, she heard more shouts. She smelled a faint hint of smoke. Fire? She quelled a rising sense of panic. No wolf—or human, for that matter—could endure for too long the threat of being trapped in a fire. Every sense on the alert, she listened. But she heard no roaring or crackle of flames, nor felt any hint of the searing heat that such a blaze wrought. They had time. She prayed she was right.

  Peering out the blinds, Carson looked so long without speaking that Brenna could
n’t resist giving the leg handcuffed to his a quick jerk.

  “Patience.” He kept his attention focused on the window.

  This time a quiet growl escaped her. He didn’t appear to notice.

  “The hell with patience.” Though her hands were numb from the bite of the handcuffs, her arms were aching again. Her shoulders and neck felt as if she’d been stretched on a medieval rack. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “A black stretch limo with full biker escort just pulled up outside. Looks like Jack was right—something more than a drug deal is going to happen today.”

  More footsteps and voices out in the hall. The guard outside their door shouted good-natured greetings to the others.

  Carson spoke again. “A bunch of the gang just went outside to greet the limo.”

  “Alex?” She let her worry show in her voice.

  “He’s there. Front and center.” Carson gave her a layered look. “Has your brother been to see you since you were captured?”

  “Of course not.” Though she started off strong, her voice faltered. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “You’re certain?”

  She heard disbelief in his husky voice.

  “Of course I am.” Her sharp tone dared him to doubt. “If he knew, I wouldn’t be cuffed to a bed. And you.”

  “Are those the keys?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to see if I can get to them.”

  “There’s no way we can reach that far.” She grimaced. “This hurts enough as it is.”

  His gaze raked her stretched-out body. “If you can make it a little longer, I’d like to see what else happens out front.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “But I smell smoke and it’s getting worse. With all of them focused on that limo, this would be a good time to escape.”

  Now she had his full attention.

  He cocked his head. “Any plans?”

  The hell with it. Maybe changing now wouldn’t be such a bad idea. She gave him a measuring look. He’d already turned back toward the window.

  “I wonder if the DEA is here.”

  No sooner had he spoken than she heard a rapid staccato of sound from outside.

  She tensed. “What the—”

  “Gunshots,” Carson said. He swore. “The guys in the suits were barely out of the limo. Looks like some trigger-happy idiot jumped the gun.”

  “Alex.” Worried for her brother, her first thought was to escape the cuffs. Once she changed, they would slip right off a wolf’s slender paws. Instinctively, she began the process.

  “Brenna.” Carson’s sharp voice brought her back. Tamping down her impatience, she hastily rearranged herself internally.

  “What?” Taking deep gulps of smoke-tinged air, she looked at him. Something in the craggy lines of his face made her pulse skip a beat.

  “Alex?” she asked, her voice tight. “Please tell me Alex is okay.”

  “He’s fine.” Now he left the window and crawled over in front of her. “Stay calm.”

  Heart in her throat, she nodded.

  “The building is on fire,” he said.

  “I thought so.” Animal instinct—flight or fight—filled her. “Carson, I—” She needed to change. Now.

  “Take it easy,” he said. “Rest your arms. If we’re going to figure out a way out of this, you can’t panic.”

  Right. She couldn’t afford to panic. Especially if there were still drugs floating around in her blood. “I’m fine.” Lifting her chin, she swallowed. “I don’t like being helpless, that’s all.”

  “None of us do.” He moved his leg, rattling the set of cuffs that linked them together. “These are too tight.”

  She smiled at that. “Yeah. At least you can move your hands.” Then, sobering, she tugged at her arms, cuffed tightly to the sturdy wooden post of the bed.

  It was time. She would give him a warning first.

  “Look,” she said. “I’m going to do something now to free us. Don’t freak out on me, okay?”

  Disbelief and hope warred in his dark gaze.

  She closed her eyes and summoned her strength, ready to begin.

  Change.

  Outside, chaos sounded. There were more sharp cracks of gunfire, more shouts and running. The scent of smoke grew stronger. The air seemed to thicken, heavy and acrid. Again she fought to ignore the interruption, using all her strength to cleanse her blood, to start the change.

  Carson touched her arm, causing her to jump. She opened her eyes and glared at him.

  “What?”

  “If you’re going to do something, do it now. The fire’s getting closer.”

  “I know.” She glared at him. Her eyes stung; her throat was clogged. Each breath burned her lungs. Air—she couldn’t seem to breathe.

  Panic and instinct warred within her. Though she needed more time to check herself for drugs, she didn’t have it.

  “When they bombed the motel, we made it,” Carson reminded her. “We’ll get out somehow.”

  Somehow? They hadn’t been chained to the bed in the motel room. Well, she would soon take care of that.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped, feeling the tremors begin as her cells started to shift. She yanked again at the metal that cuffed her to the bed, a futile, final attempt to set a miracle in motion.

  But the handcuffs held.

  The smoke became a weapon, bludgeoning them. Fire lapped at the door, tendrils of flame seeking entrance, crackling, hissing.

  Change.

  Her heartbeat raced. Though the altering of her body had her swaying, still she saw the orange glow of flames, felt the heat, tasted the bitter tang of smoke. Carson’s craggy face swam before her, his eyes dark with the sickening belief that this was how it would end. He thought they would die here, like trapped animals tethered in a burning barn. With every fiber, every nerve ending in her, Brenna felt savage joy that her changing would prevent that from happening.

  Human. Wolf. Wholly in the grip of the change, she welcomed her animal nature, hastening the sudden shifting of molecules and cells. As her limbs elongated, narrowed, she felt the useless handcuffs slide from her bones, clattering to the floor.

  Ferocious fierce strength—wolf!

  By her actions, Carson, too, was freed, his handcuffs dangling from one ankle, useless. They could reach the keys now and free him. And because of her changing, he would finally know what she was, what she could become.

  She couldn’t resist, even in her lupine form, glancing once at the man she loved above all others, even though she knew if she saw horror and repulsion on his face, the pain would sear her heart as badly as a fiery death.

  Their eyes—man and wolf, Brenna and Carson—met and held. In his gaze she saw disbelief. Shock. But he reached out his hand, and she felt him thread his fingers through her furry pelt. Wonder and joy exploded in her. Hope. Yearning.

  Though doing so now was extremely dangerous, in an instant she changed back to Brenna, human woman. She stepped into her torn clothes, then unlocked the cuffs. Grabbing his outstretched hand in hers, she clutched him tightly. Then, through flame and smoke she led him outside the burning house to safety.

  * * *

  Had they given him hallucinogenic drugs? Rubbing his eyes furiously, Carson blinked through the heavy smoke as he fumbled to unlock the handcuffs from his wrists. He had to be on some sort of drug, because he could have sworn he’d just seen Brenna shimmer and somehow become a huge silver wolf. The handcuffs had slipped off, freeing them both.

  She’d been a wolf. A huge, beautiful, silver wolf. Snarling. For an instant, then… He rubbed his eyes, glancing at her again. Had to be drugs. Had to be. Because after somehow slipping the cuffs, Brenna stood right next to him, her hand clutching his. Not a wolf at all. Beautiful, yes, and courageous, but human. Brenna.

  “Did you…” he started to ask. But she held up her hand and shook her head, a slight smile playing across her full lips.

  “Not now,” she said. “We’ve got
to find Alex.”

  Alex. Though she’d seemed to know what he’d been about to ask and hadn’t denied it, she was right. Even though they both had different reasons, they needed to find her brother.

  Still…

  “I thought I saw—”

  Ignoring him, Brenna started moving, tugging him along after her. He had to hurry to catch up. Side by side they crossed to the front of the burning building. Even though the gunshots had died down, he felt a moment’s apprehension. The protective instinct so deeply ingrained in him told him they should take cover. But with Brenna striding boldly forward, the best he could do would be to hope to shield her. So he didn’t bother to conceal himself, aware that he, with the bright yellow DEA emblazoned on the back of his jacket, would be an easier target than she. At the slightest hint of gunfire, he would knock her to the ground.

  But, oblivious to the danger, she marched forward. Fiercely intent, she continued to search, ignoring the men milling around them, some of them in custody, cuffed and bleeding, ignoring, too, the others who were down for the final count. She cared only for one thing, had only one purpose, one goal. To find Alex.

  Carson grabbed a gun from a fallen guard and went after her.

  A man ran past them, head down. Two others came from the side of the burning building and tackled and cuffed him. They led the man away without paying Brenna and Carson any mind. His DEA jacket, no doubt.

  Again gunfire erupted. On the other side of the house another shoot-out was going on. Still she pressed forward.

  Things looked about over—after that first wild shot, the Feds had swooped in. Watching Brenna’s back for threats, Carson counted no less than three different agencies among the milling men of the invading army: DEA, FBI, ATF. In an odd sort of irony, his own DEA jacket was keeping him safe from his own agency, many of whom didn’t recognize him, though he knew they would drag his ass in for questions when this was all over. Should he still be standing.

  But he wasn’t focused on that right now. He had to protect Brenna from her own brother. Alex had been willing to sacrifice his own sister for greed. Carson had to be there for the woman he loved when she finally realized what kind of man her twin had become.

  The woman he loved. Once before, Alex had taken his family from him. Carson would kill him or die before he let anything happen to Brenna.