Page 20 of Bloodbane
CHAPTER TWENTY
A Shred of Hope
{ G R A Y S O N }
The cell door holds as I charge and slam my shoulder against the bars. Metal groans and dents but doesn’t give, and pain reverberates down to the still-unhealed wound at my side. Rage is a flame catching inside me. I’m not used to being powerless, but the weakness of my body is surpassed by strength of mind. Surging forward again, I batter myself against the steel three times more. The sounds of metal finally yielding under my fury breaks through Pretorius’ low laughter. The force of the barred door flying open embeds the busted deadbolt into the cabin wall.
My snarl draws my lips up, exposing my fangs. The odds of surviving this fight aren’t in my favor, but I’ll make damn sure this bastard doesn’t either.
Cold flaxen eyes flicker with apprehension as I stalk out of the cell. Pretorius’s gaze darts around the room, looking for leverage. But without the blaze of sunlight, and wrapped in flesh rather than fur, the shifter’s advantages are lost.
Expecting the lycan to flee not fight, I’m caught off guard as Pretorius—powered by bravado or stupidity—charges at me. The momentum propels me back against the cell, and my vision sparks white as my head slams against the bars. A fist connects with my jaw. I hammer a punch into the mutt’s gut in return, forcing the air from his lungs in a harsh grunt.
Finding purchase across the bars with the well-worn sole of my boot, I shove off the cell, driving Pretorius forward until his back collides with the desk, sending it skidding across the floor.
Strong legs twist around my torso, right over left, as Pretorius leverages his weight. I spin in the hold, bringing my back flush against his chest. An arm snakes around my neck, crushing against my windpipe, and the foul stench of dog, sweat, and fear turns my stomach.
What little strength remains in me is waning; only pure fury fuels me now.
Straining against the hold, I plunge my fangs deep into the thick muscle of the shifter’s bicep. With a jerk of my head, flesh shreds under my teeth, and bitter blood floods my tongue. I spit the filth from my mouth as the shifter screams and snatches his arm away. My head snaps back violently, catching Pretorius’ nose with a satisfying crunch.
Gouging my fingers into the ravaged arm, I spin the lycan, reversing our positions. I twist the arm in my hold, up and back. A sharp shoulder blade tent the shirt covering it obscenely. A howl of agony chases the loud crack of breaking bones as they splinter and slice free from their flesh and cloth prison. The arm falls away as I release my grip, and the mutt staggers forward out of my hold.
Copper flavors the air as blood flows freely, splashing onto the floor. The quiet pattering punctuates Pretorius’ harsh panting as I stare at the shards of white bone protruding grotesquely from torn muscle. A crimson pool spreads rapidly at his feet, but its glistening surface breaks as he steps backward and slips in the viscous liquid. Red streaks ride his soles as they skid out from under him, and he lands hard on the floor.
Pretorius drags himself toward the door with his good arm, the other hanging broken and useless by his side. I allow him to scramble backward, letting the mutt feel a shred of hope. But I have no intention of allowing my prey to escape again. My only regret is the mutt’s death will be swift—it’s a small mercy he doesn’t deserve.
I crush my foot down on Pretorius’ heaving chest, pinning the dog in place. But the world tilts abruptly as he kicks violently, sweeping my leg from under me, and sending me crashing to the floor. Desperation sours the air as he lunges at me, sinking his teeth into the wound on my side, gnawing and tearing the already damaged flesh. Agony screams through me and I seize fistfuls of the shifter’s hair, seeking to yank him up, to pull him away. But a high-pitched whine splits the air, and the strands in my palm break free from his scalp as Pretorius is snatched from my grasp.
There’s an insistent tugging on my arm, and with eyes still pinched shut, I vault my elbow out to shake it off.
A surprised gasp is shadowed immediately by a loud crash. My eyes fly open to find Ruby now crumpled against the desk. I struggle to my feet and stumble toward her, but a hulking newcomer gets there first. He falls to his knees and lifts Ruby’s head carefully, inspecting the damage. But as I advance, his focus shifts, and the big man pivots, shifting his weight, forming a defensive stance in front of Ruby, a storm of emotion blowing across his face.
“Stay back.” The deep, growled command isn’t a warning—it’s a threat.
Ruby swipes at her split lip and drags herself to a sitting position. She lays a hand on a muscular arm and shakes her head, wincing. “No, it’s okay. He’s okay.”
I freeze as the man’s scent finally reaches me through the fog of pain. Lycan. My mind races to coalesce the disjointed information into something that makes sense. This shifter had been the one to pull his kin from me, and even now, his posturing makes it clear it’s not fear of me, but fear for Ruby.
Movement in my peripheral vision grabs my attention, and I jerk my head toward the door in time to see the injured shifter disappearing outside. I lurch forward, groaning as excruciating pain flares in my side. I press my hand to the ravaged flesh, frowning at the black-cherry-colored blood seeping from the wound. Ignoring it, I stagger toward the door.
“Stop!”
At Ruby’s voice, I pause and twist back. My eyes travel from the gash in Ruby’s lip to the dark bruise already blooming over her cheekbone.
“I have to go after him. He almost killed you.”
“ You almost killed her,” the newcomer spits, placing large hands around Ruby’s waist and helping her to her feet.
Ruby shrugs off the hands once she’s on her feet. “I’m fine.” Placing one hand on the desk, she splays her fingers wide and locks her elbow, letting it take her weight as she pulls open the desk drawer. The revolver she retrieves trembles in her grasp. After pushing off the desk, she uses both hands to check the cylinder before straightening. “I’ve got this. You are going to stay here. Both of you.”
“No. He’s my kin. I’ve got the best chance of stopping him.”
Ruby lifts the gun. “No, you don’t, we do. You good, Coop?”
Having all but forgotten about the deputy, I turn to see Jones, now on his feet and mostly steady, clutching a shotgun, waiting by the door. His nose is swollen and bruised, and there’s blood staining his chin and soaking his coat, but his face is set in grim determination. He nods.
“You’re in no condition to hunt the bastard down, either of you,” I bark, taking another step toward the door.
“Stop.”
Ruby’s soft tone is at odds with the order, and I still once more, though I hold my position. Armed or not, I can’t let Ruby go after Pretorius, not when she has no idea what she’s going after.
“We can handle this, but I need you to stay here.”
“Evans—”
“Do this for me.” Ruby moves to stand beside the open cell door and motions inside. “Please, Grayson. I need you to trust me.”
Indecision eats at me. Pretorius hadn’t fought Jones until he was in the station, which means he had wanted to be here. He’d come with purpose, seeking revenge. I thought he’d wait for the full moon. I was wrong.
Perhaps allowing Ruby out of the station alone is the lesser of two evils: if the bastard does return, she’ll be out of harm’s way.
“Grayson?”
I turn toward the open door, searching the wind. There’s nothing more than the cold, clean scent of snow. No wolf. No fresh blood. Chances are the shifter is gone, run off to lick his wounds and wait to heal. But am I willing to risk Ruby’s life on those chances?
The dread coiling in my gut slows my progress as I move to Ruby. Every step feels as if I’m lowering a noose around her throat. At the threshold of the cell, I pause, and Ruby offers me a tight but grateful smile.
“Thank you.”
Gratitude shines from those intense, divergent eyes, and I can almost convince myself I’m doing the right thing.
Almost.