Page 78 of The Wolf's Mate

I scream and pray for it to end.

Chapter 37

Rip

The forest is ripe with Hettie’s scent. Unfortunately, it is also a labyrinth with no clear path to the finish line. I’ve been running for hours, trying to use her scent and our bond to take me to her. Except our bond is foggy at best, growing bleaker with each moment that passes. Which means she’s hurt. I can’t allow myself to think of the worse alternative.

I’m so fucking angry at myself.

If I would have just calmed down long enough to actually understand why she did it, maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation right now. Thinking about all the what-ifs will not help me, though. Hettie needs me, and who knows what Michael is doing to her? I swear I’m going to rip his fucking head off if he touches even a hair on my mate’s head.

I’ve always known the type of wolf Michael is, and yet I still underestimated him. He sank his claws into Hettie, appealing to her bleeding heart. My woman is so self-sacrificing, quick to offer herself up if it saves others. As a Luna, these are the qualities a pack wants. But as a mate? They’re fucking infuriating.

Michael’s smart. He lives in the woods but never stays in one place for too long. His pack is nomadic, constantly moving to keep my pack in the dark. That’s not to say we haven’t found them in the past. We’ve just never initiated an attack unless it was imperative. I don’t enjoy killing for the sake of killing.

Hettie is somewhere in these woods, and I’m going to find her.

I continue, following her scent. There are tracks leftover in the snow—two sets of feet and four paws. Grass is with her. That does little to quell the nerves inside me, but at least she’s not alone.

Seconds turn into minutes; minutes turn into hours. Michael expects me to come looking for her, and he’s done a hell of a job making the trail difficult to follow. But the farther I explore, the more her scent blooms around me. My mate.

Despite that, I’m getting discouraged. If I haven’t found her yet, am I not going to find her?

Just as the thought crosses my mind, a loud, ear-piercing scream rings out. A group of birds squawks before flying away.

It’s the sign my body needs to push myself faster, straining all my muscles to get to her. Because that scream came from Hettie. She’s hurt or worse. I’m coming, Dove. Just hold on a little longer, I send through our bond, hoping she hears it. It’s answered with her pain and fear.

Poorly constructed tents come into view. Several tents have large gashes on the side, doing little to protect the occupants from outside weather. A group of men huddles around a roaring bonfire, smirking and laughing at something. A few feet away from them are two more rogues, holding down an animal. I take a moment to realize it’s Grass. He’s not making their jobs any easier either, thrashing and attempting to bite them.

The screaming starts up again, and the coppery smell of blood permeates the air. Michael stands with his back to me, head ducked down and arms around a smaller frame. I notice her curves, the way her body tries to fight him off but goes slack in his arms.

He’s biting her. Biting over the mark I claimed Hettie with. Mine.

I see red.

There’s no plan or thought process. My wolf wants blood, and that’s exactly what I’m going to give him. I growl before charging full speed at Michael. The man has just enough time to pull back from Hettie. Michael’s blood-red lips are slightly parted, and his eyes are blown wide before I crash into him.

Michael and I roll to the ground, and I claw at his chest. Deep red gashes appear in an instant, welling up with blood. My wolf is blood-thirsty. He wants more. Needs more. My canines rip into his shoulder, and my mouth fills with the vile taste of his blood. I don’t think; I just rip. Hard.

Michael bellows, screaming curses at me. The next moment, he shifts. His wolf is big, but not nearly as big as my dire wolf. I have strength over him, but Michael has speed. He slips out from under me and snarls before hurling himself forward. His claws catch the side of my face, digging deep. It burns like a bitch.

Someone screams. I think it’s Hettie, but checking would be a distraction. Michael growls, wrestling me down. I use my hind legs to kick him off, and he goes flying, landing on the ground a few feet away. He desperately gasps for air.

From the corner of my eye, I see Hettie try to run for me, but the two bastards who held down Grass now have a hold on her arms. She’s bleeding badly from the bite on her neck. Her movements are sluggish, but they don’t appear to be life-threatening.

Michael is back up, teetering from side to side. Three more wolves flank him. I don’t like the odds, but I lunge anyway to make the first attack. I swipe at a black wolf who barely dodges me. Another one leaps out from behind him and jumps on me. I grunt as he collides, but then quickly bite down on the soft part of his underbelly.

The wolf yelps and falls off me. He’s down. For now.

But he was just a distraction. I realize that too late as Michael sneaks up from behind and clamps his jaw around my back foot. I howl in pain but kick back hard with my non-injured hind leg. I hear a sickening crunch, and the pressure around my foot lessens. I don’t allow myself to dwell on the fact that I’ve just become infected. Not when Hettie needs me.

Still more come. I didn’t assess the area to see how many rogues Michael has. I’m running on pure adrenaline, but fatigue is setting in. Michael snarls. More wolves flank him and, as one, they descend upon me.

I’ve always considered myself a skilled fighter. As King Alpha, I have to be. Wolves have challenged me for my spot as King Alpha, and many times I’ve had to defend my pack. However, I’m not invincible. I have limits.

And this is my limit.

Michael and four other wolves ascend upon me. Biting, tearing, scratching at any available service they can reach. I stand my ground, getting in as many bites as I can, but it’s not enough. Pain erupts in my side when a black wolf charges me and something snaps inside me. A bone? My ribs?