— Eveline —
I had been shoved in a dark room with a bunch of other people. I could hear moans of injured folks around, a few whimpers, some heavy breathing.
We were in pitch darkness, so my wolf eyes could only see vague outlines around me. I had hung on for dear life on Mads. So when someone dragged me by my feet, I dragged him along with me. Whatever was to happen to us, we would go through this together.
There was massive damage to his abdomen, and other than when I was dragging him around, I'd kept my hands on his wounds.
I was shaking. Shaking in shock, fear, anxiety. They took my phone. I have never felt so alone. And all the bodies strewn around me, scared, changed nothing.
I was holding back my tears by sheer stubbornness.
I will not die as a whimpering little girl. If I die, I'll die on my feet, with my head held high.
God, I don't want to die.
Mads breathing was irregular. I knew he was in pain. But he never complained. He only betrayed his torment, when he got injured, and the only words he ever said were either to guide and help me, or to comfort me.
I could have fought back. But Mads didn't let me.
At first I thought he either believed he had to do this on is own, or didn't think I could help. It's only when they took me that I saw the look on his face, and understood why.
I'm a woman, I'm young. They were not seeing me as a threat yet. If I shifted, they would know I was strong. If I even let my wolfish nature brush the surface, one could feel it. But as of now, it was not the case.
And either they were not interested in me, or didn't know who I was. Or for that matter, what I could be worth to them.
If they came for something else, they might let me live if I was not perceived as a threat. If they moved on to killing witnesses, I could maybe sucker punch them while they looked away.
At the moment, my greatest weapon was my apparent weakness.
I could hear Aisling's voice not far away, murmuring words of comfort to a few others, including a couple of teens.
Things were getting more quiet out there.
There hasn't been a lot of people in the packhouse, but I'm sure, a lot of pack members tried to come to their rescue.
I couldn't see Mads, and it worried me more than anything else. I wanted to see his face. I felt like he could die at any moment, but if I could only see him, it could keep him with me. It was irrational, I know. But at this moment he was all that I had. He was the closest thing to home, my family, my friends, Darren.
God, Darren. How must he have felt? I don't know what he heard, but I knew he heard enough. Enough to be worried sufficiently so I could hear it in his voice. Worried enough to rush to my brother. We were having this nice conversation, it was going well, and then all fell apart.
Would we even see each other again?
We haven't been together for more than a full two months, but it had felt like so much more. We really got along. If there was any arguments, any problems, we worked it out. We haven't even marked each other. I'd thought about it, I know he did too. But we didn't. What were we afraid of?
I didn't even tell him that I loved him.
I did.
It was obvious now.
What if I could never tell him?
I've never been in a situation like this. No one would ever try anything like this with me. Not knowing of what my brother was capable of. But I was so far away now. I was out of his reach. The protection he always gave me meant nothing here.
Didn't it?
A lot of people knew the name. The Hellhound. It carried gravitas, often times, even more than a gun. But what of now?
No one knew of me, but a few members of Ghealach. Unless someone talked, then they didn't know.
But what if they were told? What if I told them? Would it change anything?
Would they decide on killing me and hiding the body, then leave quickly is the best way to deal with me? Easier than to deal with either me or my brother? Would they use me for ransom? Or would they decide I'm not worth the trouble and kick me out of here?
That's the hardest thing, isn't it? How can anyone plan anything when there are so many variables, so many unknowns?
How could Kaden get into bloody situations all the time and come on top every time? What was he doing, or knowing, that I didn't? How could he do that so often and not be driven to insanity? He talked very little of those things, but when he did, he always dismissed it as if it was a trifle at best.
If that was being an Alpha, then I'm glad I have an older brother, and I'm not Alpha myself. I don't think I could do this. But I guess most packs don't get involved into all the troubles Blakemore did. Kaden was born for this, literally and figuratively. I could never take his place.
But isn't he on a time limit? What then? He has no heir. The logical option would probably be me. None of my sisters even worked to begin with. I'm the only one with some knowledge of management. But I knew so little. My head would explode.
I had gotten excited at the prospect of what Darren and I could do for this pack, but as Gammas, not Alpha. Though, I guessed, Darren might have a little bit more knowledge than me in that regard. Or maybe not. Wasn't that one of the issues with his father? That he was pushed aside, and not given the same chances as his brother.
He was excited about being Gamma. But as I thought about it, I doubted he'd be as excited about being Alpha. I knew how conflicted he was about his father, about the role of Alpha. Gamma gave him responsibility, without all the weight on his shoulders. Plus, he was new to this pack, would the others accept him? Would anyone accept anyone? Blakemore is not a normal pack. Is there anyone out there who could do what Kaden does?
I guess I'm tormenting myself way too much, because as things looked right now, I may never return home. Tomorrow, I might not even be alive enough to worry about anything.
The night had become eerily quiet.
Maybe there was no fight anymore. Maybe everyone else was dead.
How many people were in here with me? Could we fight back? Or at least try?
I don't want to die without trying to kick their butt. Man, they needed the most epic ass-kicking in the whole world. I would love to see it. I could imagine it in my head, my brother, father, boyfriend, my pack, and all its warriors and might, coming here to bestow upon them the mightiest smiting the earth has ever witness. Screw God and its Angels (if they even truly existed), or any other gods for that matter. Screw faeries, and demons, and vampires, and wizards and all the ghosts in the universe. None would destroy them like my pack would.
It got me smiling fiercely.
That would be my motivation. Whatever happens I know, there is not a single place in this world where they could hide forever. They will get their comeuppance.
We heard shuffling outside the door.
Someone opened it, and we got a few lights shoved in our face. There were five silhouettes barely visible. Their flashlights were messing with my night-vision.
Two of the lights looked like they were mounted on weapons. One of the silhouette was low, and held by the one in the middle. A prisoner maybe?
"You're talking now?" one voice asked. The one in the middle maybe?
Someone spat on the floor. The prisoner.
"Which is the Luna?" said the same voice.
Everyone froze, I could barely hear any breathing.
That was when one of the weapon's light landed on Aisling.
No one said anything. It rigned a silent deeper than death.
Aisling had two boys of maybe twelve and sixteen held in her arms.
The oldest moved himself in front of his mother, protectively. The other cowered on her side, holding hard to his mother.
"The oldest," said the voice. And that was all that was needed for the one with his light on Aisling to aim at whom I believed to be her eldest son, and shoot him.
In the head.
Blood sprayed everywhere, and mostly on his mother.
Everyone was under shock. But Aisling released the most blood-curdling wail I've ever heard. One so filled with pain and anguish, no banshee could match it. I also heard another pained voice. A man's. Killian. The prisoner.
The sounds were haunting. The other son whimpered, echoing his parent.
No one else dared a murmur.
At this very moment, I knew that may I live for a day or a millions days, these were sounds that were now imprinted in my memories forever. Those wails will haunt my nightmares. They reverberated in my head in a symphony or anguish and terror.
"Where is it?" said the man a little louder this time, so he could be heard over the cries of absolute pain.
As no one reacted the way he wanted, he slapped Killian. I was pretty sure he was restrained. I couldn't see the shape of his arms. Possibly held behind his back.
"Where is it?" he repeated. There was a coldness in that voice that I absolutely hated. It was colder than an Antarctic gale.
Again, he got no more than tears.
"The youngest," he said to the gunman.
I heard both parents plead, "NO!"
But before the words were said, the gun barked again, and brain matter splashed gruesomely once more. I felt warm droplets hit my face, as I watched in horror, a woman rock back and forth the corpses of her sons.
No shock was enough to stop my tears from falling anymore.
I focused all my attention on the shooter. He would be the first to go. Then the asshole in charge. Then the second gunman. If I could survive long enough, then the one at the back would be next. They were my kill list—one, two, three, four. I had to hit hard and hit fast. Harder and faster than anything I've ever attempted. This was no training. I had to go straight for kills.
I began shifting my weight ever so slightly. Getting myself slowly in position to pounce. If they couldn't see me coming, I might be able to take at least one or two down before they began fighting back.
"Where is it?" my kill Number Two said to Killian, holding him down.
I tried to ignore him, not to break my concentration.
The next one they'd shoot would probably be Aisling. The sound of the gun would distract them, and cover the sound I would make as I'd charged them. I tried to ignore the imminent murder about to happen and focus on my task at hand.
"Her," said Number Two. In an instant. Aisling face turned to rage and she pounced, but I didn't see it as I pounced at the same time.
The gunman didn't adjust his shot fast enough, and he shot her in the chest instead of the head. She continued to rush forwards, and he kept shooting. Her snarls the only other sounds, her claws and teeth sharp. He shot her as they tumbled down, until the gun sounded empty twice.
But at the same time this happened, Mads grabbed me for all that he was worth, holding me down. Stopping me from doing the same thing.
The second gunman, Number Three on my kill-list, shoved his light in the direction of Aisling and Number One. Killian was fighting back like crazy—trying to aid his wife, the last of his family—, and Number Two could barely hold on to him.
The light showed us that Aisling was down. Probably dead, and so was Number One. His throat ripped apart. They'd killed each other, their bodies one on top of the others.
Number Three, seeing this, moved his weapon's light in circles around the room a few times, nervously.
Number Two was still struggling with Killian. And the fighting got more intense.
"Hey!" he could barely scream at Number Four back in the corridor. Number Four did nothing but watch. I felt his gaze linger on me. Did he saw what I was about to do?
It's only after Number Three shot Killian a few times in the legs that the fight broke out of him. It's not the only thing that broke either. He collapsed on the floor, crying his agony, and not the physical kind.
Number Two returned to the room panting. I saw his silhouette in the doorway take a handgun out with a mounted light of his own, then moved it around the room.
Then it landed on me.
"You know something?" he asked me.
"No," I said with venom dripping in my voice.
"You were in the main house. He's protecting you." He pointed the light a little more toward Mads. "You're important. You know something," he said taking a shooting stance.
"No," croaked Mads. "She's not from this pack. Just a visitor."
"Then you're useless."
Bang!