Nothing compared to that feeling. Nothing. Cyrus wanted his children for their blood. They, like her, would make him powerful. Considering how much stronger Finn’s pack was, who knew what the children’s blood would do to Cyrus.
Coldness seeped into her, bone-deep and horrible.
Hollis was breathing hard and wild-eyed and on the verge of losing it—again. And it tore at her heart.
Her wolf responded instantly. She wanted nothing more than to be alone with her mate, to give and receive comfort. But she knew the truth. Until Cyrus was dead, any comfort they’d find was fleeting.
Chapter Eighteen
Hollis was barely keeping it together. His wolf pushed to get out. As far as it was concerned, they needed to hunt down Cyrus and rip him into tiny pieces now. This minute. His body was shaking. Violence wasn’t something he approved of, but the more Ellen talked, the more he was beginning to agree with his wolf.
No matter how hard he concentrated on breathing and staying calm, his wolf rebelled. Skin tight. Aching bones. Jaw clenched. Even his eyes felt dry and swollen. His wolf was growing impatient. Everything was braced—ready. But there was nothing he could do. What the hell would happen if his wolf forced his way out? He needed to learn how to communicate with his wolf or this could end badly.
“It won’t be easy. He’s lived a long time. This—we—are merely entertainment.” The edge to Ellen’s voice told him she was struggling.
If she was struggling, he would be fucking strong, for her. She was strong and fierce and powerful, but Cyrus had kept her caged. He understood the hate she felt—it made his blood boil to think about it. It took every ounce of self-control he had to steady his heart rate, his breathing, and fight the red from his gaze.
When Finn spoke, it was hard and cold. “How long has he been alive?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “My memories only go back so far.”
“When was that?” Finn asked, his earlier reticence gone.
“Nineteen hundred and six. In the aftermath of the San Francisco earthquake.” Ellen’s voice was equally matter-of-fact.
Hollis looked at her, longing to pull her up and into his arms. He respected her show of strength but knew she’d only last so long. It had been hard for her to share with him, her mate, so this was worse. But only he could see her hands, white-knuckled and clenched, resting in her lap.
He reached for her, resting his hand on her back.
She glanced up at him, her gaze haunted—lodging a knot in his throat. His wolf growled, rearing up inside of him. Touching her was his only choice, calming him and the wolf.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and took in his pack’s reactions. Now that he had Ellen, he knew exactly what his Alpha was thinking about.. Finn was thinking of Jessa, of course he was, rigid with fear and anger. She was his mate, his world, and he had yet to turn her. He and his children would live lifetimes without her. Hollis couldn’t imagine it. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to.
Mal tugged Olivia close, burying her nose against his temple, smiling.
While Anders and Dante sat, stunned.
“Talk about taking lifelong commitment to a whole new level,” Anders quipped, easing the tension in the room.
“Anything else?” Mal asked, studying Ellen.
“I think this is more than enough for now,” Finn argued. “Mal, Olivia, head back tomorrow. Hollis, Ellen, wrap things up and head to the refuge as soon as possible.”
“Give us a few days? Saturday?” Hollis said.
“The plane will be on standby.” Finn nodded. “Once this is all over, we should all visit the vault.” He smiled. “I’m grateful for what you’ve shared, Ellen. I know it wasn’t easy.”
Ellen nodded but remained silent.
“See you soon.” Finn paused. “Sighting or not, we need to be on high alert.”
The Others’ quiet was abnormal. They moved about with a sort of reckless challenge, daring the world to intervene and taunt their beasts. For entertainment. Ellen’s simple explanation had been horrifying. And illuminating. Whatever happened between the packs would decide their future. Finn’s pack, their wolves, could not let Cyrus win.
He had a lot to learn when it came to his wolf. But imagining Cyrus’s death was something they could both enjoy. His wolf wanted to taste his blood, to split skin and bone with his teeth, to hear the man’s screams, and watch as the life drained from his eyes. It unsettled the shit out of him. And filled him with strength that made him believe he could, somehow, manage to carry out this fantasy.
His hands fisted at his sides, still grappling with all she’d been through. Avenging his mate was not a burden to his wolf, or to him. It was a necessity.
“How do you turn the thing off?” Mal asked, shielding his eyes as he stooped to turn off the projector.