Chapter 17

Elise.

“This day’s never going to end, is it?” I slumped against the rough wall, its cold surface pressing through the thin fabric of my shirt. At the other end of the dark hallway, Hunter fired shot after shot, the deafening cracks of the gun echoing like thunderclaps as two men tried to scramble through a shattered window.

“Technically, the previous day is over,” he replied, not sparing a glance as he reloaded.

“How comforting,” I snorted, my eyes darting toward the front entrance. Darius had bolted after another wolf earlier, and the empty doorway now yawned like the mouth of a beast, waiting for trouble to slither in. A flicker in my peripheral vision caught my attention—a shadow moving just beyond the jagged edges of the window, slinking toward the front door. My pulse quickened as I crouched to grab Darius’ gun, the cool steel biting into my palm as I raised it.

A man stepped into view, his weapon already trained on me. Time seemed to fracture. My finger tightened on the trigger, my breath caught in my throat. Before I could fire, a single shot rang out, and the man crumpled to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, blood pooling beneath him.

“What the—” I started, but Hunter was already beside me, snatching the gun from my hands.

“Hey! I had him!” I protested, my voice shaking with the adrenaline still coursing through me.

“You don’t need blood on your hands,” he said, his tone gruff as he shoved the weapon into the front of his jeans.

I arched an eyebrow at the gun’s precarious placement. “You know, that’s not a good idea. Unless you want to lose a foot—or something else.”

Hunter followed my gaze, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Worried I’ll lose that something else?”

Heat rose to my cheeks, and I crossed my arms, glaring at the wall instead of him. “Get over yourself. That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure it isn’t, little monster.”

“Stop calling me that,” I snapped, though the nickname had started to gnaw at me less than his infuriating smirk.

“Not a chance, little monster.” He turned away, his movements fluid and deliberate, as if he could read the shadows like a map. As he leaned out of the window, checking for signs of life among the bodies sprawled outside, a hand clamped over my mouth, yanking me backward.

Panic exploded in my chest. I thrashed instinctively, but a sharp sting in my neck stole my strength. The burn spread like wildfire, and I realized too late what it was. Wolfsbane.

A scream clawed its way up my throat, but I couldn’t make a sound. My limbs went limp, betraying me. Dead weight. My mind, however, remained cruelly aware. I saw everything.

Hunter struggled to haul himself back inside as another man grabbed him, their bodies a tangle of muscle and violence framed by the window. He glanced toward me, his eyes wide with alarm as he noticed the figure dragging me toward the door. He made a move to help, but the attacker slammed him to the floor, pinning him with brute force.

The world around me blurred, heat roaring through my veins like a furnace, my fevered body a prison. I could barely process the growing pressure behind my eyes, the sickening way my muscles refused to obey me. Every werewolf knew the bane of our existence, but this was my first taste of wolfsbane.

I’d always thought I’d escape it, that the stories were exaggerations. They weren’t.

But it wouldn’t kill me. That much I knew. Whoever had taken me didn’t want me dead—not yet, at least. The possibilities churned in my mind, each one darker than the last.

Ransom?

Leverage?

My father owed no small number of people favors, but the price on my head suddenly felt far steeper than I’d imagined.

I knew it was suspicious that the Ironclaws kept showing up. And now I had to pay the price.

Every muscle in my body screamed. I wanted to move, to fight back, but I couldn’t even lift a finger. My lungs burned with the effort of trying to suck in air, and panic coursed through me like a deadly toxin in my veins.

Hunter was no better off.

I wanted to shout at him to get his ass off the floor and do something—anything—but he was sprawled there, lifeless. A man loomed over him, smirking as he casually tossed a syringe to the ground. The empty vial rolled, glinting under the distant, flickering light.

“Get her into the van,” the man barked, his voice sharp and clipping. “Before they notice she’s gone.”

The man holding me tightened his grip, the coarse fabric of his jacket scraping against my bare arms. His sour breath ghosted across my cheek, and bile rose in my throat. I wanted to gag, to wrench my head away from the nauseating stench, but I was as helpless.

“Already on it,” he growled, his voice deep and gravelly, like stones grinding together. His arms wrapped around me with bruising force—completely unnecessary, considering I couldn’t move.

Of all the things racing through my mind at that moment, the one that stuck was how badly I wanted to tell him to invest in some mints. Good grief. Freaking wolfsbane.

“Come on, beautiful,” he sneered, dragging me toward the chaos erupting in the courtyard. His tone sent a chill skittering down my spine, leaving a bitter aftertaste of disgust. “Let me get you out of here.”

I caught fragmented glimpses of the battlefield as he pulled me along, my vision restricted by the immobilizing effects of the wolfsbane. In my peripheral, a massive silver wolf lunged and twisted, its fur flashing like quicksilver under the harsh light. Darius. Please, moon goddess, let him see me.

Or Jace—if he was still on the roof. Either of them could save me, if they bothered.

Dread pooled in my chest like molten lead, heavy and suffocating. The van loomed ahead, a hulking black beast crouched at the edge of the courtyard. My captor flung me inside without any hiccups, and I hit the hard metal floor with a thud, pain blooming in my side. The door slammed shut behind me, and the world outside was sealed away.

I willed my body to move, to fight through the burning haze of wolfsbane.

My brain screamed at my limbs to respond, but the effort was as futile as trying to catch rain in a paper towel during a storm.

I lay there, the van’s cold floor pressing against my skin, and tried to shove the rising despair back into myself. But no amount of stubbornness could drown out the gnawing fear that no one would come for me in time.