Page 62 of Frank's Felon
Frank shifted. Frankie and Delilah were both in horrible danger, probably Delilah more than Frankie. Whoever took Frankie could have easily killed her, but they took her for a reason, but Delilah. . . they’d kill her.
“Blade, Jace, Lou, and Hudson are ahead of you, Frank. Do whatever it takes to bring Frankie and Delilah back. Whatever it takes!”
* * *
Five sets of wolf tracks.Large prints. Males.
One smaller set. Delilah’s. Another four sets laid on top of hers. His packmates.
Rage mixed with fear fueled Frank for the first twenty miles. A deadly cocktail in any situation, but even more so as thoughts of a scared and hurt Frankie and images of what the predators could be doing to his Delilah, threatened to paralyze him. Frank had to push everything to the back of his mind and follow his wolf’s instincts or he’d fall apart and be useless to both Frankie and Delilah.
Black clouds darkened the skies. Raindrops, thick and heavy, fell to the earth, washing away everyone’s tracks as well as their scents.
When the rain ceased, there was nothing left. No tracks, no scents. Not even Blade, Jace, Lou, and Hudson’s scents were nearby, but they’d had a considerable lead on him. He prayed they had eyes on Delilah.
For three hours, Frank forged ahead, maintaining the last trajectory he had been on before the rain. He continuously scented the wind and ground for any trace of Blade, Delilah, even the fucking wolves who’d taken Frankie. Nothing.
The fear that he was going the wrong way wrapped around him like a set of tire chains, eventually forcing him to grind to a halt. Without a trail to follow, he had one last maneuver to attempt. It was a risk, but he had to take it.
Frank climbed the nearest ridge, and howled with all of his might. The howl was not an alert, but a mating call. He threw everything he had into the howl, reaching as far as he could, hoping—praying—that his Delilah would hear him and answer.
Ten minutes. Twenty. Fifty. After an hour with no reply, Frank’s wolf scenting the air one last time, seeking any hint of which direction the white wolves had gone. They had come from the south initially, and yet his instincts said to continue north. Frank prayed he hadn’t made a critical error that would cost Frankie and Delilah their lives.
As night fell, he pictured Frankie in her pink pajamas with the fat white sheep and her black cat slippers with the whiskers and pink nose. She kept asking for a cat, and he kept telling her cats weren’t the best pet for a shifter.Why?That was her favorite question.
What if he never saw her again? Takara. . . heavy with a second child and Mason. . . Hell, his friend was likely already dead. Frank couldn’t return home to Takara without Frankie.
Delilah’s sweet face appeared in his mind next. Usually the thought of her would bring a smile to his face, but now his entire body grew cold with absolute horror. Images of the claw mark down Delilah’s left side, the fear he had scented on her that day on the covered bridge, were just the beginning of what those bastards would do to her. The same five white wolves. Fuck! They’d tear her apart. Maybe they already had.
The pull to go south intensified, but the false alarms had been east and south. The white wolves had drawn them away from the north intentionally, because that’s where they were heading. There was no doubt in Frank’s mind that these were Drake’s wolves. Did that mean Hayden, Mila, Kate, and Callen were dead? Whatever the long game was for these wolves, there was no way Hayden would have approved of kidnapping, especially a child. If these wolves were operating under Drake’s orders—and that wouldn’t surprise Frank in the least—they wouldn’t return to Drake’s territory. The alpha wasn’t stupid enough to get caught in whatever was going on. The wolves had to be going north.
The rain started up again, thoroughly drenching Frank. He pushed on. He wouldn’t stop until he found them. Another chilling thought tore through him. The wolves were heading north for a reason. . . They were drawing Blade, Lou, Jace, and Hudson into bear shifter territory. The moment Damien’s shifters crossed into bear territory, the bears would slaughter them.
* * *
DELILAH
Delilah laid low to the ground, beneath a low pine branch whose needles swept the ground. Her red fur was hardly good camouflage out here, though that was far from Delilah’s biggest worry. One strong breeze and the wind would carry her scent directly to the white wolves.
There were only four in their camp, the fifth having left to patrol the area. These were the same bastards who had tried to rape her. Delilah shuddered at the memory, then thought of Frank. If nothing else, he’d taught her to believe in herself again. She could do this, though she wasn’t sure what or how just yet.
There was no place for fear in this situation. As she had expected, the rains had arrived before any of Damien’s pack had caught up to her. She hadn’t slowed down to allow his trackers to catch up to her. She couldn’t afford to lose sight of the kidnappers, not with Frankie’s life on the line.
So far, the assholes hadn’t touched the girl. Two of the wolves had carried Frankie in a sack secured by two ropes. Each wolf had held a rope in his mouth and together they’d carried Frankie the entire distance to the cave where they’d made camp. The assholes hadn’t even given a very frightened Frankie anything to drink. The poor child had been sipping rain off a leaf, but she was alive, thank God.
She hadn’t expected to escape alive the day the white wolves had attacked her. How the hell was she going to do so again? And with a child?
Delilah still had no idea how to get Frankie away from her kidnappers. Even if Delilah managed to get ahold of the her, she had no way of carrying Frankie while in wolf form. Running in human form would get them both killed. She needed more than a plan to get Frankie away; she needed to eliminate the threat.
Memory of the howl she’d heard in the distance several hours ago returned. It had called to her soul, sending strength and hope through her, but it was far away. Her wolf stirred, as if she recognized the howl. Delilah felt compelled to reply, to reach out with her soul, because that’s what it felt like—like it was Frank was reaching out to her. But it couldn’t be.
Frank had been too far, on patrol along Damien’s southern border when she had found Mason dying. Even if he had managed to follow, it would have been hours after she had left Mason to track the white wolves, and the rains had long since washed away her trail. No, Frank wasn’t coming for her. This pull toward that wolf was nothing more than wishful thinking—and desperation.
Even if the shifter who’d howled wasn’t long gone by now, the second Delilah howled in reply calling for help, she would reveal her presence and location to the white wolves.
Could she take the risk?
Frankie pulled her legs up to her chest and her sweet face was scratched and filthy. “I want to go home. I want mama.”
