Page 97 of Fae Devoted
“I lost my pack,” he said, breathing hard but no longer struggling. “Who am I if not an Alpha?”
Tucker pushed their foreheads together like when they were pups sitting cross-legged in the treehouse their sire built in the backyard. They whispered every secret, every dream for the future to each other in that old clubhouse. Vows were made. Vows to lead the Grayson Pack like their father and uncle before them, claim truemates, and raise their pups together. Promises Tucker broke when he left Jeremiah to his fate. To the Fae. “I’m sorry, brother. I should have stayed. I should have—”
“No, you needed to go.” Jeremiah closed the loop, completing the old ritual. His grip a vise on Tucker’s nape, his forehead heavy. “I’m afraid I would have killed you if Daimhín ordered it and lost the tiny piece of my soul I’ve managed to retain over the years. But I’m tired of fighting. My wolf is broken. Once Charlie is free—”
“She’ll need you to keep her safe,” Tucker interrupted, his fingers digging into the embedded brand. “Until Daimhín is dead, Charlie will be in danger.”
“The king—”
“Can’t feel the burn. No one but you will know when the pureblood is closing in on the witchling. Onlyyoucan identify his magic and the people controlled by it.” Tucker was desperate to appeal to his Alpha instincts and give his brother a purpose—a reason to stay in his human skin. He didn’t want to lose Jeremiah to his wolf when he’d just found him. There were still promises left to keep. “Use the burn, Jeremiah. Use it to find Charlie now and protect her in the future.”
Give me time to persuade you to stay in my life. To want to live again.
“Yes,” Jeremiah lifted his forehead from Tucker’s, some of the bleakness leaving his eyes. “She’s my responsibility.”
“She is.”
“I made a vow.”
“And Alphas keep their vows.” Tucker squeezed and let go, stepping back. “I’ll get Jo. We’ll be right behind you.”
“I’ll see you topside, brother.” The cocky grin returned, his scar creasing with the lift of his lips. He walked backward toward the open door, gaze on Tucker. Then Jeremiah shifted and was gone, his wolf hot on the witchling’s trail.
Inhaling one last time, Tucker cemented the Director’s scent in his brain, and hurried to Jo.
He found her exactly where he left her, lovely face ashen and swollen index finger laying on the gun’s slide. Prepared to curl around the trigger and fire.
“Charlie?” Jo relaxed her arms, though her posture remained stiff.
“The Director knows we’re here,” he said, lifting her into his arms again. “He has her.”
“And Hannah?” She licked her lips and bit her cheek, the inside of her mouth probably as raw as her wrists.
He nodded. “Jeremiah’s gone after them.”
Tucker carried Jo around another set of sharp bends which led them to the elevators Samuel, Alexander, and Anand used to enter the compound’s tunnels. The sliding doors were jammed by an unconscious soldier covered in Jeremiah’s scent. Charlie’s and the Director’s trail led inside the narrow shaft, but his brother must have found another way to get above ground and left the human behind for Tucker and Jo.
Shoving the man deeper into the elevator with his foot, Tucker held the door open with his shoulders and set Jo down inside. His determined mate swayed but stayed upright as he hauled the soldier and his thumbprint to the coded panel, then tossed him into the hallway before the doors closed.
His claws were out when they reopened one level up. Ready to do whatever it took to ensure Jo’s safety. No one was hurting his she-wolf ever again.
The building was empty. Underfoot illumination formed dual pathways to the separate exits, and the low wattage bulbs hanging from wooden beams provided the only lighting. The noxious odor of bleach overrode every other scent, the atmosphere damp and humid. A centrifugal pump turned on, and Jo sucked in an audible breath, the sound a mixture of a gasp and a wheeze. The hum of the motor drew their eyes to the massive circular tank in the middle of the room.
Abby had sugar-coated her underwatertraining. The facility’s instructors used a submersion technique to increase her lung capacity and raise her tolerance level in an airless Rip. Tucker pictured an above ground swimming pool, the kind found in millions of backyards across the country. Not an industrial size, aluminum vat filled with chlorinated water.
“Jacob, there’s a lid. You don’t think…” There was horror in Jo’s voice and the tremble in her hand as it rested on her throat.
The Director’s sins were adding up.
Tucker followed the lighted tracks toward the exit at the rear of the narrow building, in the opposite direction of Charlie and his brother. He planned to leave Jo with Lydia and Rutgers in the outlying forest, then go back for Charlie and Jeremiah. Tucker didn’t want his injured mate anywhere near the Director or his soldiers.
The walkway led them past the tank, close enough to see the fist-sized dents peppering the thick casing and the mangled ladder hanging from its lip by a lone bolt.
“Oh, Samuel,” Jo breathed, lifting a swollen hand as if to touch where their Alpha expended his heartache and rage in a fit of violence. A feminine screech and therat-a-tat-tatof rapid-gunfire stopped her cold. She swiveled to the building’s entrance and the source of the scream. “Jacob, that’s Hannah.”
“Stay inside,” he called back, reaching the door in seconds. The order was more a plea than a command. If the witchling were with Hannah and in danger, nothing would keep Jo from following him outside.
Swinging the door wide, he converted on the run.
