He held his hands up. “I’m going to snap you in,” he said, offering her the harness.
She nodded, staring into the darkness.
More eyes.
“Dante?” she whispered. “Do you see them?”
“Aw, shit,” Dante groaned.
A howl split the night, sending her to her knees. It was impossible to breathe or see or think. Mal. Growling, snarling, whimpers. A howl cut short. Mal. She didn’t realize she’d screamed his name out loud until Dante told her he’d be fine.
She didn’t know how Dante managed to get her into the harness, or how she wound up in the helicopter, leaning out the door, waiting.
“Two more?” she asked. “Three?”
Dante stared out into the dark, his posture growing more agitated.
She held on to the handle by the door, leaning as far as she could without falling. She might be a werewolf, but something told her she wasn’t ready to follow Mal out into the fight. Even if part of her, a very big part of her, wanted to do just that.
If she concentrated she could hear him—his heart beating, the ragged gasp of his breath. Adrenaline sliced through her, kicking her own heart rate up.
It lasted too long.
And the noise—primal, feral, terrible—echoed in her brain and flooded her blood with an energy she didn’t understand. A quiver ran along her spine, making her twitch and tingle. She itched under her skin. Her joints felt tight and her brain pulsed.
Amid the howls, whimpers, and growls, she searched for some sign of Mal.
Dante’s eyes narrowed, his gaze focused on something she didn’t see. “Stay here. I will help him, but you have to stay here.”
“Don’t leave him.” Her words were hard, a hoarse demand.
He nodded then jumped from the helicopter.
“What the hell?” a voice crackled over the intercom.
A shot rang out, so loud she covered her ears. Another followed.
Dante lay, naked and human, on the ground below the helicopter.
She stared at Dante’s lifeless body, a large red patch forming on his newly bared chest. He’d been ready to shift when the bullet made impact. Now he was vulnerable and alone.
She heard a howl and saw them, wolves, circling the tree line.
Where was Mal? There was no way he could rescue Dante and protect himself from the circling pack. Mal’s howl split the night, and desperation washed over her. She had to do something.
“You need to land,” she called to the pilot.
The voice crackled, “No can do—”
“Now,” she argued. “They need help.”
“Shit, damn, ass, stupid.” The voice continued insulting the state of the world, but the helicopter was landing. It was fast, the ground rising to meet them with a jarring impact. Then the cockpit door opened and and a man came out. Outfitted in riot gear, an automatic weapon in each hand and a belt full of knives, he seemed almost excited.
He nodded, winked, and climbed through the helicopter door before she moved a muscle.
She jumped out, helping lift Dante’s unconscious form into the helicopter.
“Hurry,” the man urged. “They’re almost on us.”