Page 26 of Blackmailing Belle (The Lost Girls #4)

Chapter 26

Running with Wolves

BELLE

A roar shakes the entire house as I make my way down the stairs, the sheer volume of it rattling the picture frames on the walls. Lucien darts past me, muttering something about checking the cars, though we both know hiding in the garage is only a temporary reprieve. Mrs. P scurries toward the kitchen, mumbling anxiously about making sure dessert is perfect, her hands trembling as she passes.

Another guttural cry tears through the mansion, raw and animalistic. Even from across the house, I feel the rage rolling off Dominic, thick and potent, filling the hallways like a dense fog. The impulse to flee seizes me, but I fight it, my heart pounding as I continue down the stairs.

I turn toward the source of the noise, tracking the path of destruction—an overturned chair, a smashed vase, splintered wood where something was thrown against the wall. I step through the chaos, finding Dominic in the dimly lit study, his chest heaving with anger, his eyes blazing green in the shadows.

"What’s wrong?" I sound steadier than I feel .

He whips around, and the intensity of his gaze nearly makes me rear back. "What’s wrong?" he repeats, with barely restrained wrath. "What’s wrong is your father. I found him in my basement. The man is completely unhinged and should be locked up."

Any fear I felt for my safety dissipates, replaced by a sharp, protective anger. "I will not put him in an institution, Dominic. He needs family, not to be cast aside like some criminal."

"He needs to be kept in a padded cell," he snaps. "The man broke into a laboratory— my laboratory. How he got in my locked basement a second time, I can’t account for it. He was in there, tampering with materials that could kill him." He gestures toward the door with a clenched fist, his entire body tense. "He’s unstable, Isabelle. I caught him mixing things, throwing ingredients together like he knew what he was doing. He nearly destroyed months’ worth of work on Thorns."

The words hit me like a slap.

"Thorns," I say slowly, realization hitting me like a freight train.

I didn’t know. I didn’t know he kept that stuff in the house.

You didn’t want to know , part of me whispers.

It’s true. I do my best to ignore my husband’s dealings.

But now everything clicks into place. Why my father broke into Dominic’s home in the first place. His mind may be scrambled, but there was always a method to his madness.

An invisible force clamps around my heart and then my throat, and I have to shut my eyes to ground myself.

"Is he okay?" I ask, trying to keep calm despite the wild surges of fear rocketing through me .

Dominic’s mouth twists in frustration. "He bolted before I could stop him, muttering nonsense. That’s twice now he’s gone into that lab and run amok. He’s uncontrollable, Isabelle. Dangerous. "

"You yelled at him, didn’t you?" I accuse. "You must have terrified him half to death."

His eyes flash. "He should be terrified. There are volatile compounds down there, hexes and curses, things I’ve worked hard to contain. If he takes the wrong one?—"

"Enough," I cut him off, turning on my heel. His rage won’t help my father, and I’m certain he’s out there somewhere, frightened and confused. "I have to find him."

"Isabelle, wait—" Dominic’s words follows me, rough and frustrated, but I don’t stop. I reach the front corridor just in time to see the door standing wide open, cold night air pouring in.

"Oh no," I whisper. When he’s scared or anxious, my father runs—and he’s had at least twenty minutes to get a head start. I slip into my boots, grab my long coat from the rack, and shrug it on. Pulling the heavy fabric tight around me, my fingers already shake with cold and dread. My shoes crunch on the snow-covered threshold as I run out into the night, calling out for him.

I take off down the steps, my heart pounding as I scan the snowy landscape for any sign of him. Fresh tracks lead through the garden and down the front path, but thick flakes are already falling, obscuring his footsteps.

Despite the heavy coat that falls to my ankles, the cold night air seeps through it and into my bones. I should have grabbed a hat. Dad went out the back gates and onto the streets. I follow the distinct tread of his boots, but it gets harder when he reaches the city sidewalk. The snow melts almost instantly as it hits the salted street, so I can barely make out which direction he's headed.

When I can no longer follow his path, I realize I don't need them anymore. I know exactly what direction he's headed, and the thought chills me more than the winter air biting at my skin.

Please fae lords, let me catch him before he gets there.

It makes me speed up until I'm in a half jog. My breath puffs in front of my face. The streets are oddly quiet for this time of night. My own beating heart thunders in my ears as sweat gathers and then chills along my skin and under my clothes. I'm not sure if I'm hot or cold anymore. All I know is pure panic.

I step onto a quiet side street. Laundromats, coffee shops, and clothes retailers have all closed for the night. I pick up my father's distinctive tracks again. I learned to buy him boots with special tread for moments like this.

"Don't do this. Please don't do this," I beg my dad, though he's not here to listen.

Despite my burning lungs and being covered in a cold sweat, I push myself to go faster. A solid, dark figure emerges from the shadows. I nearly slip and fall backward but catch myself at the last minute. A man about my age wearing all gray, hands in his pockets, advances slowly on me, forcing me to back up.

"A woman like you shouldn't be out this late."

"Please, I'm looking for my dad, he's?—"

A second figure joins him, circling behind me. He’s got a buzz cut that makes him look short and round, but the glint in his eye is just as dangerous as his companion’s. "I don’t know, Curt," he says with a grin, giving my coat a slow once over. "Maybe she’s looking for something. . .else."

A woman with scarred cheeks and an unfriendly smirk moves closer, her eyes narrowing. "Trouble, maybe. Definitely looks like trouble." Her gaze lingers on my coat. "I like that coat. Looks expensive."

Fear coils in my stomach, but I refuse to let it show. "I don’t want trouble," I say evenly. "I just need to find my dad."

I recognize the gang affiliation of the Wolves from their gray outfits almost instantly. Despite their name, these thugs are purely human.

Curt closes in on me, a mocking smile twisting his lips. "Maybe we can help you find him. . .for a price."

I take a step back, only to find the woman blocking my path. Her expression darkens as she reaches for my arm, her fingers curling around my sleeve. "Or maybe we’ll just take what we want."

"Please," I say, as calmly as I can manage. "You don't know who you are messing with."

The one called Curt laughs, a low, mocking sound. "Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be wandering around in Wolf territory alone, especially not in that coat." He reaches out, fingers brushing against the fabric of my sleeve. I jerk my arm away, but his grip tightens, holding me in place.

My heart pounds as I try to pull free, but his fingers dig painfully into my arm, and his face twists with an ugly sneer. "What’s wrong, sweetheart? Don’t you want to play with the Wolves?"

I open my mouth to explain exactly why I don't want to and why they should leave me alone when someone pushes me from behind. I slam into the ground. Snow and salt scrape then burn my bare palms.

The sting from the snow and salt is nothing compared to the sharp surge of fear as I struggle to push myself up, only to feel a boot pressing down on my shoulder, pinning me in place. Panic flares, clawing up my throat, but I bite it back, forcing myself to keep a calm facade even as they close in.

"Oh, we’re gonna have fun playing with you," one of the men sneers, his gaze glinting with a feral hunger. More shadows emerge, solidifying in a pack of Wolves.

The moment the boot lifts, I scramble away, but there’s nowhere to go, the tight circle of Wolves hemming me in on all sides. The air feels suffocating, thick with their anticipation.

"Dibs on her coat," the woman claims.

"Belle?" a voice calls, hesitant. The Wolves all snap their heads around, homing in on my father. Dad stands there, in a sweater too thin for these temperatures. His nose is bright red from the cold and his eyes are unfocused and unsure as he looks at the gang members surrounding me. He clutches the leather pouch at his side tightly. "I-I brought the Thorns. Can I come home now? Can we come home now?"

"Wait," says the short Wolf with the buzz cut, looking first at my dad and then back at me. Recognition flickers in his eyes. "Aren't they?—"

A deep, guttural growl that rips through the night, a sound so fierce and primal, it cuts like a blade. The air shifts, charged with an almost electric menace, and for a heartbeat, everything goes still.

Then, like a dark storm, Dominic bursts onto the scene.

He moves with a terrifying speed, his silhouette massive and wild, green eyes gleaming with unrestrained fury. The first man he reaches barely has time to turn before Dominic’s fist slams into his jaw with a sickening crack, sending him sprawling across the ground.

"Never touch my wife," he snarls.

A flurry of blows, arms, and kicks ensues. Dominic is ferocious and wild, but there are six of them on him. The glint of steel catches my eye before it plunges into Dominic's shoulder.

I cry out. "No, don't hurt him!" The words are stupid, useless, falling harmlessly to the ground along with the snowflakes even as Dominic cries out in pain. I slip as I try to get to my feet, but I don't have a weapon to help. I look around for a rock, tree branch, hell, anything.

Two of the Wolves go flying, hitting the side of the brick buildings with painful harrumphs.

Something sharp kisses my neck at the same time a body presses to my back. "That's enough," the woman with scarred cheeks hisses. "Back off, fucker, or I slit wifey’s throat."

The flurry freezes as everyone turns to us.

"You hurt her," Dominic says in a low threat, "and I'll rip you open from belly button to throat."

She scoffs in my ear with a hot breath that makes me cringe. "Yeah, I don't think so. But pray tell, what's a badass shifter like yourself doing here?"

There is a bit of awe as she asks.

"You don't know who I am?" Dominic says in a cold, suddenly controlled tone. "Well, little pup, I'm the Beast of Boston."

I feel rather than see her falter behind me.

"Don't hurt her," the Wolf with the buzz cut calls out, struggling to get to his feet. An angry red mark on his round face indicates the blow he's taken from my husband will turn into a nasty bruise later.

"Why not?" the female Wolf asks, though her weight shifts back and forth nervously. I wince as the blade slices my skin.

Dominic's shoulders tense. He's about to lunge .

"Because she's a Wolf," the man says. "They both are." He gestures to my father as well.

"We are not Wolves." I should keep my mouth shut, but the words shoot out of me on instinct.

Another scoff from my captor. "Don't fuck with me, Levi."

"I'm not. That's Roman's cousin," Levi says, staring me straight in the eyes.

"Don't be an idiot," the female says. "I heard she was dead."

"I assure you," I say calmly. "She isn't."