The stillness of the yard made the growing fire that much more obvious. The morning sky was grey, thick with smoke. Flames rose and billowed, sweeping across the vast cornfield and creeping up on the house. Soon the local fire department would come or a neighbor would call this in. And Finn would run out of time.
He stiffened, planting his front feet on the earth. He stuck his chest out, his ears and eyes focusing only on the man that stood before him. His growl turned into a guttural howl, hungry for a fight. There was no mistaking his challenge.
“You have a choice to make,” Cyrus said. “Fight me and die.” His voice wavered, his gaze once more returning to the carnage Finn had left in his madness. “Or save Jessa.”
Finn’s heart throbbed to life.
“She’s there,” Cyrus said, pointing to the small shed at the edge of the yard. The roof was beginning to smoke. “It might already be too late.”
It was a trick. Where the fuck was Dante? Finn’s jaws snapped in agitation. It was a trick. Brown saw her die.
Cyrus smiled, but it was unsteady. His gaze bounced again and again to his wounded and dead. Did he know that Finn would kill him? That this was where he’d die? Is that why he was taunting Finn? “I tried to convince her your affections weren’t true. But she wouldn’t believe me. She said you belonged to her. And she belonged to you. She believed that, Finn. Her loyalty is––was,” he paused, nodding at the shed, “truly admirable. I was going to keep her until the pup was born, study what happened. I think she’s stronger than most humans, but not strong enough to live through birthing your offspring.” He shook his head again. There was a desperation to his tone. Cyrus was afraid. “Or, a fire.”
Finn wanted Cyrus to fear him. But more than that, he wanted Jessa back.
The sound of fighting was unmistakable. Dante’s whimper, the snarl and growl of wolves. Dante couldn’t help him. Finn had a choice to make.
Finn’s wolf acted. His fury and anger and rage were replaced with the slightest flicker of hope. His paws tore across the yard. He knew Cyrus had used Jessa as a ploy, a way to escape. But he would never be able to live with himself if he was wrong. If she was here. If she was alive.
Dante was with him, then, the pack on their heels.
Gentry fired his big gun then. And the Others were mowed down, or running. He didn’t look back.
He circled the building.
A woman, her short black hair bloodied, lay outside the building and blocked the door. Piles of compost surrounded the building, evidence of the packs kills—both human and animal—singed his nose. But it did the job, covering other scents.
The roof was caving in, the flame and heat building as Finn nudged the woman away and to tear at the wood with his teeth. Dante helped and, between the two of them, they ripped the door free of its hinges.
Jessa.
Her scent reached him instantly.
He peered inside, searching through the feed sacks, hay, and shadows. She lay on her side, tied to a chair, unmoving. Of course, it was a trick. Cyrus wouldn’t have given her back alive. But her heart was beating. Her pulse was strong and steady. He swallowed, letting the sound of it, the feel of it roll over him. His relief drained his lungs, soothing him and the wolf. And terrifying them.
If the fire hadn’t put her in immediate danger, he would have dropped to his knees and cried like a fucking baby. But not now. Pieces of the ceiling fell, a rain of flaming shingles and wood.
Finn shifted instantly, his wolf relinquishing control so they could get her to safety. He knelt by her, his hands gentle on her upper arm.
She screamed, the sound muffled by the gag tied around her mouth. The sound was ragged, exhausted, but she jerked free, fighting the knots that kept her tied to the heavy wooden kitchen chair. She began coughing, wheezing.
“Jessa,” his voice broke. She was battered, dried blood and bruises covering far too much exposed skin. But she wasn’t listening, she was leaning away from him, her eyes pressed tightly shut. “Jessa?” he said again, more firmly.
“Please.” She was hoarse, a fit of coughing reminding him of the precarious position they were in. “Stop.”
He tore through the ropes and gently, oh-so-carefully, held her close. The comfort of her weight, the feel of her in his arms, erased every fear. Nothing more would happen to her. He’d make sure of it. “It’s me, Jessa. It’s Finn.” He buried his nose in the hair against her temple as he carried her from the building, cradled against his chest. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jessa blinked, every breath making her throat spasm and forcing a hacking cough. It had been worse with that filthy rag shoved into her throat. Worse when she’d fallen over, unable to loosen the knotted ropes. Worse when her eyes stung and burned so much she could no longer open them. But now her mind was playing tricks on her.
“Jessa.” His voice.
His scent.
She stopped pushing against the wall of muscles that gently held her. Finn? She blinked, wiping her eyes, wincing against the chafing of her lids. The smoke and heat had singed her throat, nose, and eyes to sandpaper.
But she had to see him.