Page 2 of Depraved
His shirt is in tatters; his back has become striped red ribbons. If it weren’t for the way my heart clenches and the plaintive whine my wolf gives off as she scurries forward, I wouldn’t even recognize Jonah. A fog immediately surrounds my mind, insulating me from all the emotions that explode as I gaze down at my mate. If it weren’t for the haze of shock, I’d probably fall right to my knees. As it is, I take up a low chant under my breath. “Shift. Shift. Please shift.”
I simultaneously wish and don’t wish I could turn him and see his face. But I can’t move him. I don’t know the extent of his injuries. His back could be broken.
I breathe in short, hard bursts as I stare down at him, my lungs aching from the amount of ash swirling inside of them right now. But I don’t even care how much or how long I’m going to hurt after this, because nothing will compare to losing Jonah. I blink, but my eyes are too dry to even form tears. They just sting painfully as I kneel beside him, carefully reaching out.
Tears fill my eyes when I gently touch his wrist, searching along the seared skin, trying not to hurt him further as I try to find a pulse.
I hold vigil on my knees, waiting. Hoping.
I don’t feel it. “Jonah. Jonah. No.” I slide my hand over a little more, desperately telling myself I did it wrong, that his skin is too swollen, injuries too intense for me to easily find the steady beat. I probably need to press harder, which I’m hesitant to do. Even holding my hand to his ruined skin has me trembling and my eyes glazing to a point that I can’t even see enough to do any good.
When I can’t clear my vision because the tears just keep forming as fast as my free hand can swipe them away, I stop trying to find a pulse, dropping my hands to my lap. It’s stupid to injure him further. Gah, I’m an idiot. Injure him further? He’s … I can’t think it again. I just close my eyes and focus on my breathing because a dizzy feeling sweeps through me.
After a few minutes on the phone, Black joins me. When his huge hand engulfs my shoulder to comfort me I shrug him off and stand up, stepping away, anger taking over. “No.” I don’t want him comforting me because that means he thinks that Jonah’s gone. While I’ve thought it, Black believing it makes it so much more real.
“Elena,” Black’s voice is too soft and sweet. And I can smell the caramel part of his scent even through the smoke, which makes me resent him.
“No!” I snap, giving him a cold shoulder and turning back to Jonah, staring harder, as if that might make the universe change its plans. Hope is the only thing I have left and I cling to it like a grubby-fingered kid clinging to a childhood blanket to ward off the darkness of night—illogically, but with so much fucking devotion.
“Little wolf,” he tries to soften me with his pet name for me, but I just move another step away.
That’s when the building gives a giant groan. I turn, and it feels like I’m watching in slow motion as the entire upper floor of the pack house topples sideways. There’s a sound like thunder, only amplified ten times over. A cloud of dirt and ash erupts from the collapse and Black’s arms come around me. I’m shoved against his chest, inhaling his scent as he uses his body to shield me. We’re engulfed in a second wave of destruction and I slowly realize that other pack members were trapped inside.
Fuck.
I latch onto Black, my fingernails scraping his skin through his shirt. I want to cry, to sob, but I can’t because I can hardly breathe. My eyelashes feel like they weigh ten pounds each as the dirt settles, creating a crust all over my skin and face. Never, in my wildest nightmares, have I imagined something like this.
I faintly hear the sounds of car wheels crunching over gravel, the squeak of brakes, the thump of car doors, and the voices of people—lots of people. The rest of the pack is arriving. I don’t know if Black called them or they were already on their way, but I can’t help but feel a rush of relief, knowing that they’re here.
That sense of relief only doubles when Black squeezes me tight and then gently pushes me away from him, whispering, “Elena, look.”
His massive hand points down at the ground and my eyes follow it to see Jonah’s wolf curled up in a fetal position.
Oh, goddess.
His fur is entirely missing in spots—angry welts showing on his skin. But he was able to shift. I can see his chest moving slightly up and down every few seconds—he’s breathing.He’s alive.I have to repeat that phrase to myself in order to believe it.He’s still alive.
I choke on the startled noise that erupts automatically from my throat. I’m not sure if it’s a laugh or a sob — because the emotion barreling through me has the force of a freight train—it’s so intense. All I know is that it makes my chest ache painfully.
I begin to lower myself to my knees—wanting to touch Jonas now that he’s not quite so delicate—but Black’s hand stops me.
“Thomas Stone is still out there; we need to stay on high alert.” His words pierce the chaos inside of me with sharp sense.
He’s right. My eyes start peering up into the trees on my left, but I don’t see anything burst out of the woods. My mind flits back to the image of the naked man writing in blood on the giant boulder. Thomas Stone did this. The second his image pops into my head, Fluffy’s tail dives between her legs. And then, my wolf disappears.
“Fluffy! Wait!” I call out after her, but she’s gone. Dammit. She’s always doing that. Disappearing when I want to shift into her, when I want to use her heightened senses or speed. That’s a problem I’ll have to deal with some other time because right now, the threat of Thomas and the massive destruction he’s caused are all that I can handle.
Thomas doesn’t appear from between the trees, even though I wish I could conjure him up as I stare. I wish I could conjure him and then unleash Black in his direction.
I have a niggling feeling that even though he set up that bomb, I’d found him behind the pack house, and it changed his plans for the explosion. I can only hope that it interfered with his plans and he doesn’t have anything else up his sleeve right now.
Intuition tells me that he might be running right now, with the handful of elites he’s managed to wrench away from the former Dark Nights pack.
Part of me wonders if Black was supposed to be caught in that bomb. But if he was, why write a message? Who was that message in blood meant for? What does T-A-K mean? Now that fear and despair aren’t choking me, questions start to form. I don’t have any good answers.
At least twenty pack members swarm around the wreckage of the pack house and head toward us. There are murmurs of concern and outrage as everyone takes in the horrific scene. I recognize a few of the elites who’ve had meetings with Black over the past couple of weeks when I’ve been working with him. They all give me respectful nods before coming to stand in a straight line in front of Black, arms at their sides, legs spread almost military-style.
“Warcraft, Poseidon, you two stay with Elena, Pluto, and Murky. Get the healers over here to check them out ASAP.”
