Page 62 of What a Wolf Demands

Metal scraped on metal, then a familiar voice spoke in a low murmur. “Hold on, I’ve almost got it.”

Dom.

Relief and joy exploded in her chest. He was here! He was alive!

She scrambled down the step and flew around the corner.

He whirled from the metal door that led to the cell, his eyes blazing so supernaturally bright they threw the rest of his face into shadow.

“Dom!” She rushed toward him, nearly tripping over her own feet in the dim light.

In a blur of speed, he rushed forward and seized her arms in a viselike grip.

Pain shot through her biceps. She gasped and started to struggle. “Hey!”

He dragged her against him, forcing her onto her toes. “What are you doing down here?” He spoke in a low, furious growl, his face inches from hers. The tips of his fangs showed beneath his upper lip.

She shrank back, instinct making her want to cower away from the enraged werewolf bearing down on her. “Y-You didn’t come b-back—”

“I told you to go.” He gave her a shake that rattled her teeth.

“Stop it!” She twisted her shoulders, her own anger rising.

He released her, only to grasp her jaw between both hands. “You little fool!” Something flashed in his eyes. For a second, it looked almost like fear. “I gave you an order, Lily.”

So? She put her hands on his wrists. “I couldn’t just leave you here.” Couldn’t he understand that?

But he didn’t seem to hear. In another inhuman burst of speed, he grabbed her by the arm and whirled her toward a stack of wooden pallets. “Stand back here,” he said in a low voice.

Her head spun from the unexpected movement, and she had to grab one of the pallets to brace herself. “What?”

His eyes burned into hers. “You hear anything, you run for the stairs and don’t stop running until you reach the car. Got it?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he was already gone. In the space of a blink, he was at the cell door, his dark head bent over the lock.

The groan. It hadn’t come from Dom.

Her gaze flew to the narrow opening cut into the door. About as long as an envelope, it resembled the little slots guards used to slide food and medicine to inmates in human prisons. Her pulse spiked.

Bart was in there—and Dom was trying to get him out.

He worked on the lock, his body bent nearly in half. Something flashed in his hand, and the rasp of metal on metal was loud in the basement.

Lily drifted forward, craning her neck as she struggled to see what he was doing. The only light came from two small windows high up on the wall, the glass so ancient it was as thick and green as an old soda bottle.

Dom kept at it, his shoulders bunching as he worked.

Pitching her voice low, she asked, “Where did you find a lock pick?”

He jumped. Then he glared at her over his shoulder. “Get back to the pallets,” he growled, his fangs flashing.

Her hackles went up. Okay, so he was mad she hadn’t left him behind. But that was over. Right now, they needed to—

Another groan emerged from behind the cell door, the anguished sound lifting the little hairs on the back of her neck.

“Bart?” She moved next to Dom and lay her palm against the metal.

He cursed and grabbed her elbow, trying to pull her back.

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