Dark Wolf Rising (Bloodrunners) (7 page)

Switching the knife to his other hand, the werewolf squeezed his right hand into a meaty fist and swung with more speed than Eric had been expecting. The punch connected with his jaw in a hit that could have easily sent him sprawling on his ass if he hadn’t crashed into the wall, which was a pal, keeping him on his feet.

That was pathetic,
he silently growled, pissed that he’d let the guy get in a shot. If Jeremy had been there, the Runner would already be laughing his ass off, mercilessly ribbing him for being such an idiot.

Time to end this shit.

The Lycan started to smirk, obviously thinking he was going to be an easy kill, and Eric brought his right leg around, knocking the knife from his hand and nailing the bastard in the ribs with a powerful sidekick. It doubled him over, but he quickly recovered, driving his shoulders into Eric’s middle like a linebacker making a tackle, knocking the wind from his lungs. They hit the floor with a crunching thud, each grappling for the upper hand, landing punches that would have killed a human. The guy might have been bigger, but Eric was faster and more experienced—not to mention better motivated. Within seconds, he had the Lycan pinned facedown on the floor, hands trapped against the small of his back, Eric’s right arm cinched tight around the male’s throat.

“Where’s the nearest hidden exit?” he demanded. “Tell me how to find it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the Lycan wheezed, his deep voice gritty with pain. “You can’t win this. We’ll kill her before we let you keep her. That nosey little bitch needs to be put down.”

A thick, guttural animal sound vibrated in his chest, and for a moment Eric couldn’t hear anything over the furious roar of his pulse pounding in his ears. His eyes narrowed with deadly purpose as he tightened his hold on the son of a bitch beneath him.

“No one touches the woman,” he scraped out in a low, chilling voice, aware of something shifting inside him. Something feral and violent and savage that wanted the bastard’s blood—but it wasn’t his wolf. It was darker, deadlier, rising up from the depths of his being like a primordial beast surging up from the seething belly of an ancient, merciless god. His fangs burned in his gums, heavy and hot, while his claws seared beneath his fingertips, eager to draw a river of blood.

Taking a deep breath, he could scent the Lycan’s fear in the air, and knew the male had sensed the darkness building inside him. Seeing through a red haze of rage, Eric lowered his mouth to the Lycan’s ear. “No one—not a single one of you gutter-slime assholes—is
ever
going to touch her,” he said in a soft, deadly slide of words. “Because I’m willing to do whatever it takes to see that she remains unharmed.”

Then he curled his hand beneath the Lycan’s chin, jerked it around with a powerful yank, and made his warning a fact.

Chapter Five

B
linking her gritty eyes, Chelsea tried to focus her wavering gaze, but it wasn’t easy. Making it onto her hands and knees, she crawled a few steps forward, until she was able to peek around the edge of the alcove.

Holy...crap.

She blinked again, unable to believe what she was seeing. She’d been worried Eric was getting his ass kicked—but she needn’t have been. He was standing in the hallway, hands clenched at his sides and his chest heaving, powerful muscles and veins bulging beneath the golden skin on his arms, while a massive, unconscious man lay at his feet.

From the look of things, Eric had been the one kicking ass.

She smiled, relieved to see that he was okay, even though she was finding it difficult to keep her thoughts straight. One moment everything made sense with perfect clarity, and in the next, she couldn’t remember what they were doing there...or why she was finding it so difficult to concentrate.

“Eric,” she said, her voice coming out as little more than a whisper. But he heard the scratchy sound, his head instantly lifting, hooded gray gaze locking with hers. “Are you okay?”

He gave a jerky nod, then reached down and swiped up what looked like a knife from the floor. The blade was long and gleaming, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It should have scared the bejesus out of her, but Chelsea felt strangely at ease as she watched him walk toward her, that lethal knife still clutched in his hand. For all his animal-like intensity, she was confident he wouldn’t hurt her—that he’d do whatever it took to protect her.

She watched him with rapt fascination, thinking it was ridiculous, the way she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about this man from the moment she’d walked away from him. That kind of obsession wasn’t like her, and she didn’t care for it. Wasn’t comfortable with it. Didn’t know how to handle it. She was scared to think about what it meant—but she wasn’t scared of him. Yeah, her head might be spinning, but she knew her best bet of getting out of that place alive was the gorgeous hunk who’d just slipped the knife in his boot, and was now reaching down to grasp her arms, pulling her back to her feet.

She took a deep breath, loving the way he smelled as she kind of slumped against the solid length of his muscular body, her legs like noodles. She thought he might be saying something to her, but her head was spinning too quickly now to make out the words. She seemed to be floating in a warm, lackadaisical daze, her senses drowning in the feel of the man wrapping her in his arms.

It seemed so strange to think that they’d met only last night. As mad as she’d been with him, it’d been so hard to walk away from him in that parking lot. There’d been a moment there, when he’d been standing so close to her, that she’d almost thought he was going to try to kiss her. Or suggest she invite him into her hotel room. But then he hadn’t. Instead he’d gone all master and commander on her, his arrogance making her want to scream, reminding her too much of her father.

But...wait. Hadn’t he kissed her after that? She could have sworn that he did. She’d been lying in her bed, thinking about him, and then he’d been crushing her beneath his hard, powerful body, taking her mouth in a deep, drugging kiss that had nearly caused her to go up in flames.

Or had that been a dream?
she wondered, crying out as Eric suddenly shoved her back against the wall and turned to face another assailant who came out of nowhere. Damn it, she couldn’t get her mind to focus enough to figure out what was real...and what wasn’t, and cracking her head just now hadn’t helped. She clearly wasn’t thinking straight. After all, she thought she’d just seen this new opponent snap at Eric with a gleaming set of fangs.

Eric was standing with his back to her, his big hands locked around the other man’s arms as they grappled for control. Somehow managing to stay on her feet, Chelsea braced herself against the side of the alcove with one hand, and reached out to tap his shoulder with the other. “Hey, Eric.”

“Christ! Not now, Chelse.”

She licked her lips, trying to focus on the back of his head. “But I
need
to ask you a question.”

“It’ll have to wait.” His deep voice sounded a little breathless, and a whole lotta sexy. “I’m kinda busy here,” he added, finally managing to shove the guy with shaggy blond hair against the opposite wall.

“But this is important.” She frowned, unable to understand why he was being so difficult. “I just need to know if you kissed me last night...or if I dreamed it.”

His head cut sharply to the side, his expression stunned as he looked over his broad shoulder at her, and the loss of concentration cost him. Big-time. The blond immediately brought his fist around, slamming it into Eric’s nose with a sickening crunch. “Shit!” he snarled, blood pouring from his battered nose as he tore his attention away from her and back to the fight.

Wincing, she called out, “Sorry! You’re right. We should
talp...talb...TALK
about it later!”

He grunted in response, and quickly got the jerk’s front pinned against the wall, his arms twisted up at a painful angle behind his back.

“Where’s the closest escape route?” Eric demanded, doing something to the guy’s arms that made him give a bloodcurdling cry.

“Go down the hall, through the last door on the right,” he wheezed. “It’s a...a small storage closet. The latch on the left side of the shelving unit opens into a passageway. The door at the end opens into the bushes on the west side of the club.”

Having gotten what he needed, Eric grabbed a fistful of golden hair and slammed the guy’s forehead into the wall, knocking him out.

“What now?” she asked, watching the blond slump to the floor in an unconscious heap.

“Now we create a diversion.” He headed toward what looked like one of those commercial fire alarms that public buildings and businesses were required to have. A second later, he’d pulled the lever and a jarring, head-cracking siren filled the building, warning everyone to evacuate the premises.

The next thing Chelsea knew, she was hanging upside down over his shoulder, but she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there. She rubbed her head, trying to think over the painful wail of the siren. Oh, yeah, he’d finished the fight, set off the alarm, grabbed hold of her and then started running.

They were actually going to make it! He’d saved her! Chelsea knew she should say thank-you. Be nice to him. But with the way she was hanging over his shoulder, she couldn’t stop staring at his muscular backside long enough to put any words together, fairly certain that drool was collecting in the corners of her mouth.
Wow.

Sure, he was gorgeous from the front. Mouthwatering, even. But she hadn’t expected the back view of him to be just as stunning. His jeans hugged the long muscles in his powerful thighs, cupping his cute butt cheeks just right. It was the perfect view, and she wondered if his buns were as tight as they looked. She wanted to ask him, but knew he’d probably just yell at her again, seeing as how they were in the middle of an escape. And she was tired of being yelled at.

There was really only one thing to do...

With an eager grin on her lips, Chelsea reached down, determined to find out the answer for herself.

* * *

Eric Drake had had a lot of surprises in his thirty-five years, but feeling Chelsea Smart pinch his ass was definitely one of the biggest.

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted, nearly tripping over his own feet as he carried her into the storage closet. The hinged door automatically closed behind them.

“Oops. Sorry,” she mumbled, her voice too soft for a human to hear over the siren. But Eric heard her just fine. “My fingers, um, slipped.”

They’d
slipped?
Christ, he didn’t know whether to laugh or rush her to a hospital. The drug she’d been given was clearly having an overwhelming effect on her mental faculties. The woman he’d met last night would have
never
been caught pinching a man’s backside. Chewing it out, maybe—but she definitely wasn’t the type to fondle.

Considering the circumstances, he supposed he should be happy she hadn’t reached around and copped a feel of his crotch. If that happened, it wouldn’t matter how determined he was to save her. She’d probably find her sweet little ass braced against the wall and his tongue halfway down her throat, thoughts of escape replaced by calculations of how quickly he could bury himself inside her to the nearest nanosecond. Then they’d both end up dead, and he’d have no one to blame but his dick.

Which is why it’s not...going...to...happen.

Forcing himself to concentrate, Eric found the lever that opened the hidden passageway, and carried her through it, relieved the blond hadn’t jerked him around with false directions. The second they’d made their way through the exterior door and were clear of the bushes, he set her back on her feet.

“Hold on tight to me and hide your face with your hair,” he told her, securing her against his side with his arm locked tight around her waist. He’d grabbed her backpack off the floor, and kept the straps fisted in his hand as they quickly moved into the crowd of evacuated customers that was gathering in the club’s parking lot. Hoping they would blend in with the teeming chaos, Eric lowered his face to hide any lingering traces of blood from his busted nose and headed for his truck.

Twilight had given way to the deeper shadows of the night, the spring sky dark and storm-colored. He was careful to avoid the golden splotches of light shining down from the parking-lot lights, his senses on high alert as he searched for the animal scent of other Lycans. There was a group of them gathering off to their right, so he took her deeper into the crowd to their left, his pace quickening when he caught sight of his truck. Pulling his keys from his pocket with his free hand, Eric got the passenger-side door opened and lifted her into the seat.

“Get your seat belt on,” he said, setting her pack by her feet before shutting the door and making his way around the front of the truck. After climbing in, he took the knife from his boot and stashed it in the glove box, then cranked the engine. Within seconds they were pulling forward, over a small dirt lot that lay between the club’s parking lot and that of the convenience store located next door. He glanced at Chelsea, making sure she was okay.

“We made it,” she whispered, her head lolling against the headrest, eyes closed. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he muttered under his breath as he steered onto the road, heading north. Using the back of his wrist to wipe the blood trickling from his nose, Eric kept an eye on his rearview mirror, checking to make sure they weren’t being followed. Then he lifted his butt off the seat, reached into his front pocket for his phone and called Jeremy.

“What the hell took you so long?” the Runner barked, picking up on the first ring.

“What do you think? I had to go through one Whiteclaw thug and a Donovan to get her out,” he said in a low voice, watching Chelsea from the corner of his eye. She still had her eyes closed, which meant she’d hopefully fallen asleep. “The bastards gave her something that knocked her out. They had her locked in a damn room.”

“Shit. They wouldn’t have drugged her unless they’d planned on keeping her. Do you think it has to do with the sister?”

Taking the next right, so that he wouldn’t have to stay stopped at the red light, Eric said, “That would make sense. Wherever her sister is, they don’t want her found. Either someone plans on keeping her, or she’s already dead. In either case, the last thing they’ll want is some woman stirring things up, drawing attention to the situation. So far the cops have blown Chelsea off, but if Perry Smart doesn’t come back, there’s a chance that someone might start listening to her. Whatever the Donovans and Whiteclaw have going on at that club, they don’t want the cops getting involved.”

“What are you going to do with her?”

“Hell if I know. I can’t send her back home. They know her name and probably searched her wallet. By tomorrow morning, they’ll have someone staked out at her home and her work.”

“Then you need to keep her with you.”

A low sound rumbled in the back of his throat. “Not a good idea.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Eric. She’s in danger.”

“I know that, damn it.” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “It’s just...complicated.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy’s laugh was husky. “It always is.”

“Look, I’ll figure out a place where we can lay low for a while and call you with an update.”

“What? No. You’ll bring her up here.”

Shaking his head, he said, “I can’t take her into Shadow Peak, Jeremy. She’s human.” The woman had no idea that Lycans existed. Even if he weren’t being watched like a hawk, there was no way in hell he could go bringing her into a town full of werewolves.

“Not the town,” Jeremy muttered. “
Here.
Bring her to the Alley.”

Eric ran the idea through his mind, surprised that it wasn’t half bad. Unlike Shadow Peak, the Alley was at least a place where Lycans and humans lived together. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best option he had.

Still, he had to make sure that Jeremy understood what he was getting them into.

“If I head to the Alley, there’s a good chance we’ll be bringing trouble with us. The other Runners won’t like it.”

Jeremy snorted. “Bullshit. We look out for our own. Which includes you, in case you hadn’t figured that out yet.”

“And if I bring trouble?”

“Then we’ll deal with it.” He could almost hear the smile in the Runner’s voice. “You know how much I like kicking ass.”

There was no one Eric trusted more than the Runners, which meant she’d be safe. No matter how they felt about him, they would make sure Chelsea was protected. From the Donovans and the Whiteclaw. And even from himself, if it came to that. Which he really hoped it didn’t. He just needed to keep his hands off her, and everything would be okay.

“If you’re sure,” he said, “then we’re heading up.”

“Just hurry. The sooner you get here, the better.”

“You have no idea,” he muttered, ending the call.