Page 64 of Frank's Felon
Because Damien was willing to sacrifice to reach his goals. He had needed a way of keeping Drake busy while Damien brokered the damn deal with the U.S. Government. Damien wanted this deal because he feared the WSSO more than he feared what the government could do to them, and he had sacrificed shifters to secure the deal. First Hayden’s group. Next would be Delilah. Damien would turn her over, despite her being Tess’s sister. He’d tell her it was necessary to sacrifice one for the good of the many. Just like he had done with Frank. The reason he had left Frank to rot in that prison was because of the risk of exposure to the pack, the repercussions if a breakout left any innocent humans dead.
Frank’s wolf caught a trace of a familiar scent. Not Delilah or Frankie, but another with whom he had crossed paths before. He needed to get his mind back on the kidnappers and Frankie. Once he found his girls, then he’d figure out what to do about Damien. More than likely, Frank would have to leave his pack, never see any of them again—including his sweet Frankie, Blade, Mason, Takara, Tess, Mac. . . Hell, how was he going to leave them?
A howl ripped through the air. Delilah. He had never heard her howl before, but there was a tremor to it that called to Frank, to his wolf, one they both recognized. In addition to the plea for help, that howl spoke of desperation. His Delilah was in trouble, and she was still so far away.
Frank sank every ounce of energy into reaching her. Four legs pounded the dirt, muscles burned and threatened to cramp as he reached top speed, forty miles per hour, only slightly faster than pure wolves, a quirk of the shifter virus that had copied the wolf genome onto humans, creating wolf shifters centuries ago. A bonus, Anna had jokingly called it when she had explained some of her theories. That was another person he’d miss. The only human he had come to know and care about in all his years.
When Frank reached the cliff from where he had heard the howl, he found Delilah’s scent on the ground, all over the place. Without the wind, it was hard to say which direction she had gone or how long ago. For now, his wolf worked hard, searching for the heaviest concentration of her scent. What he found was a dead shifter, his neck snapped, and a large circular bruise over the throat. He had seen that mark once before, on a shifter trapped and killed during mid-point. There was a strong scent of another male here too. . . right beside a trail of Delilah’s blood. A trail that led to a cliff.
The footprints were the right size for Delilah and the wolf’s prints were large, those of a male. The pattern of blood alone indicated a struggle. Frank’s entire body clenched, fearing the worst as he shifted to human form and peered over the edge.
Relief flooded him. It was a white wolf below. Frank immediately shifted and followed Delilah’s blood. His female was near, and she was alive. Nothing was going to keep him from saving her and Frankie.
A few hundred feet east, her blood trail ended, but by then the wind had picked up and he caught that familiar scent of vanilla bean that was his Delilah. Another scent tickled his nose. Bubble bath and peaches. Frankie.
Then several additional smells. . . the males who had attacked Mason, the same fucking white wolves who had left their scent on Delilah the day he first met her.
When he reached the campsite, white-hot fear shot through Frank. One white wolf had his large hand wrapped around little Frankie’s throat. The shifter would snap her throat in the time it would take Frank’s wolf to lunge at him. On the other side of the campsite, Delilah held a claw against another shifter’s throat. For her to partially shift her hand and hold it, just to have use of her claws as a weapon, took extreme focus and energy. She wouldn’t be able to hold it for long, and the second she lost her hold on the shifter, she was done for.
The third shifter, the leader from that arrogant stance of his, had his arms folded over his chest as he stood there, staring at Delilah, waiting for her to fail. It had been many years since Frank had last met the shifter, but Frank recognized the leader. Nickels, a dangerous and unpredictable shifter in Drake’s pack.
“You won’t kill her,” Delilah said. “You need her.”
“Are you willing to chance it? We can always get another,” Nickels said.
“Why? You’re into raping kids now?”
He laughed. “You’ll be enough to satisfy me when we’re done here. I was hired to take the kid. Any kid actually. Just had to be from Damien Black’s pack.”
“Hired? By whom? Why?”
“My, my, you’re full of questions.”
“Give me some answers. Maybe I can make it worth your while.”
“Oh, you will.”
Frank could smell Delilah’s fear, and so could Nickels, given that grin on his face.
“I won’t resist you if you let her go.”
“Sorry, kitten. Can’t do that.”
“You think you have me already, asshole,” Delilah said, her eyes hardening with determination. “You don’t. You’re not invincible. You’re a fucking coward.”
“Awfully loose with that mouth of yours. I’ll be keeping it busy though soon enough.”
Delilah cut into her hostage’s throat with her claw, enough to make him scream out. “Tell me why you need the girl,” Delilah repeated.
“Fine. Got nothing else to do while we wait for you to unshift your hand. Which will be soon given how you’re already shaking.”
Frank’s eyes flew to Delilah’s hand. Nickels was right. She was starting to shake, not just the hand she had partially shifted but all of her. She couldn’t hold the partial shift much longer.
“We don’t care for the changes going on in our pack lately, so we decided to branch out. Got a better offer in fact. The WSSO’s paying us to break up this treaty between the three packs and the government.”
Delilah started laughing.
“You find that funny?”
