"My mate. I told you I'd get her back." She was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. Her head bounced off the wood, making her ears ring. A throbbing pain danced around her skull. She swallowed hard and struggled to focus. It was difficult with the marching band beating in her brain, the flock of butterflies in her belly and her fuzzy vision.

A tall male with dark hair and dark eyes stood over Chrissten studying her. "She's not much to look at. Hard to believe Marcus was killed because of this bitch and the one who got away."

Chrissten wanted to spit in his face but settled on tilting her chin upward. She wouldn't let them intimidate her. She had no idea who Marcus was.

"Marcus died because he was careless and took too many silver bullets. And it doesn't matter what she looks like, William." Brian laughed and slapped the man on the back. "She's strong and she's available. She can give me sons."

Chrissten went cold inside. This was Brian's second in command, the computer expert, the one who'd helped him find her.

"Where are the others?" Brian asked.

"Aaron and Beck got back ahead of you and are on watch. Gregor and Miles are on a food run." William nudged her with the tip of his boot. "What are you going to do with her?"

"Fuck her. And often." Brian's matter-of-fact tone made her blood run cold. Chrissten looked around her surroundings, searching for a knife, something sharp, anything she could use to help free herself.

"What about the rest of us?" William's question held an edge of threat to it.

Brian crossed his arms over his chest. "The rest of you will have to wait." Chrissten began to relax. She could handle Brian. She had before and she would again. "As soon as she's pregnant with my whelp, you can all have a turn with her."

Chrissten went numb inside. She wouldn't live through this. There was no way she would allow herself to be raped by all six wolves in this pack. She'd rather die, and before Brian got her pregnant.

A hot ember burned in her gut. No. She wouldn't die. She'd escape. And she'd kill Brian in the process. That was her only option. Her family was still out there in the city, vulnerable to attack. Brian wouldn't be satisfied simply having her. They'd cost him and his pack by killing the doctor and taking back Bethany.

"What about the rest of them?" William asked.

"We'll give them a few hours to stew and then we'll attack again. That bitch Bethany is still at the bar, and I'll bet there are more. You can have Bethany if we get her back," he promised the other man.

"Sounds good to me," William agreed.

Brian reached down, grabbed her by the braid and dragged her across the room. Pain exploded in her already abused head. Blackness threatened to overwhelm her and she fought it with everything she had not to lose consciousness.

The floor was hard beneath her as he pulled her into a small room. "Stay here," he ordered and shut the door behind him.

Chrissten didn't say anything. Didn't move. She couldn't. Any wrong movement and she'd pass out. Her life came down to each new single moment. Breathe in. Breathe out. Over and over again until the black edges of unconsciousness receded.

Time lost all meaning as she focused on her simple goal of pushing air in and out of her lungs. When the blackness finally retreated, she took stock of her surroundings. It wasn't an actual room she was in but a large closet. There were no windows, no way in or out other than the door she'd been dragged through. And she knew Brian or William or both were waiting on the other side.

The pain in her head made her ill, but she ignored it. She had to free herself.

It was going to hurt. No way around it. Her feet were bound and her hands were tied behind her back. The first thing she had to do was contort her body so she could push her arms around her legs and feet and move her hands to the front so she could see what she was working with.

Easier said than done.

But Chrissten wasn't about to admit defeat. Not while she still had a heartbeat.

She sat up slowly and almost passed out. The pain was overwhelming, but she gritted her teeth and held on. She was sure she had a concussion, but it would pass in time. The werewolf blood running through her veins would help her recover faster than she would if she was fully human.

"Help me," she whispered to her wolf and felt a shimmering of reassurance within her as her wolf tried to add her strength. "It's all me," she reminded herself.

She shuffled backward, moving as quietly as she could. She stopped when her back was against the wall and took a fortifying breath. Cocking her head to one side, she listened carefully. Male voices drifted in from the room beyond. Good. If they were talking they wouldn't be listening too hard for her.

Her hands and arms were almost completely numb, the circulation impaired by being tied so tightly in an awkward position. She could do this. She had to do this.

Clenching her teeth to keep from screaming, Chrissten shoved her arms under her butt and down the backs of her legs and over her feet. Sweat popped out on her brow and down her back. Her stomach protested. Her head exploded with pain.

She dropped her forehead onto her bent knees and sucked in air. She'd done it. Her hands were in front of her. Grant it, her arms were on fire, but now she had a chance to free herself.

When she'd gained control of the pain, she took stock of the situation. Her hands were swollen and slightly discolored. Not good. Her arms felt like someone had tried to yank them out of their sockets. Her head hurt, her entire body was trembling. She was sweating and her stomach threatened to revolt.

It was better than being dead.

Chrissten finally raised her head, taking her time as she did so. No need to rush things at this point and risk passing out. She rested her head against the wall behind her until she felt steadier.

Time to get to work. She worked her fingers slowly, ignoring the pins and needles that shot through them. When she had enough movement, she leaned forward and started picking at the rope around her ankles. It was a slow, arduous chore and she didn't make much headway.

Her wolf chuffed inside her and she stilled. Her head must have addled her more than she'd thought. She could use her wolf.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on a partial change. Long, sharp talons exploded from her fingertips and fangs dropped from her mouth. Very carefully, Chrissten used her claw to slice the ropes around her ankles.

She almost cried out when they were freed. She extended her legs in front of her and moved her ankles to work the feeling back into her limbs. Then it was time to do her hands. This was a bit more difficult. Her claws couldn't help her and she was forced to rely on her teeth.

She nicked herself several times, felt the hot spill of blood on her wrists. She worked faster, terrified the men might smell her blood and come to investigate. She listened as she gnawed on the ropes holding her captive. They were still talking, but more voices had joined them.

Chrissten worked faster. She had to get free. Why were they all here? Brian might want to keep her for himself, at least for a while, but that might not happen. There were five of them and only one Brian. What would happen if they decided they didn't want to wait?

Her razor-sharp teeth cut through the final rope. She worked until the bonds fell away and then sent a silent thank you to her wolf, allowing her to recede for now. The strength was still there for her to call on if she needed it. That gave her a measure of optimism.

Her hands lay useless in her lap and she forced herself to work her fingers back and forth, opening and closing them. The sensation, when it came back, hit hard. There was no gradual awakening, but a hard blast of pain. Chrissten ignored it. She'd gotten good at that during her time in captivity.

There was no time to coddle her abused limbs. As quietly as she could, she stood, using the wall for support. The closet was cramped but empty. There was nothing she could use as a weapon.

Her legs shook and her arms quivered. But she was free of her bonds. That was something. It was a start.

She inched across the room and put her ear next to the door, blocking out the pain and concentrating on the conversation in the other room.

"Why should we wait?" She recognized William's voice.

"Because I said so." Brian's reply was calm and measured, but Chrissten could hear the underlying anger in it.

"You had her for months," another male protested.

"She's mine." Brian left no room for argument.

She prayed one of them would challenge Brian, prayed they would fight among themselves, kill one another and save her the trouble. But it wasn't to be. There was some grumbling, but they backed off.

She rested her forehead against the damp wood, wrinkling her nose as the musty scent invaded her nostrils. What should she do? Should she wait or attack? Would they check on her soon?

There were too many variables. She simply didn't know what to do. But time was running out. Whatever they were going to do they'd do soon. If she wanted to have the element of surprise on her side she'd have to do something, and soon.

She'd attack.

Her goal was to kill Brian. Problem was she'd have to open the door in her human form. Her wolf couldn't manage a doorknob, assuming it was unlocked. And she thought it was. She hadn't heard a click when Brian had dumped her in here. Of course, she'd been concentrating on not passing out and hadn't been paying a lot of attention to anything else. But there was no reason for them to lock her in. She was bound and they were right outside the door. She had a sinking feeling Brian was just biding his time until he took her upstairs to his room.

Once she opened the door she'd have to attack. There could be no hesitation. She could partially shift on the fly and use her claws and fangs on Brian. If she was lucky maybe she could slit his throat and watch him bleed out before the other members of his pack killed her.

It helped to have a plan, but oh how her heart ached.

She didn't want to die. Now that she'd tasted freedom again, she wanted so badly to live. She wanted to spend time with her family, laugh with them, fight with them and love them.

She wanted to figure out what she wanted to do with her life. There'd been little time or money in her life and she'd gotten caught up with simply surviving. She'd fallen into the trap of living to work, never thinking about the future.

But most of all, she wanted to see Hank again. She wanted time to discover what, if anything, was between them. She wanted the specter of Brian gone and her ugly past erased from her memory.

If wishes were horses...

She let the thought trail off. She hadn't believed in fairy tales for a long time. The good guys didn't always win and sometimes the princess had to save herself. It was time for this princess to kick some werewolf ass.

Chrissten took a deep breath and shoved all other thoughts aside. It was time to get a divorce.

She grabbed the knob on the door and turned.

Hank worked his way around down the street and around to the back of the building, keeping to the shadows. He moved quickly and silently, a deadly predator on the hunt. He avoided the few people on the streets, skirting a drug dealer making a sale and several women out trolling the streets for some action.

Every cell in his body was focused on the task at hand-free Chrissten and kill Brian and his pack. They couldn't afford to leave even one of them alive or Chrissten and Bethany would always be at risk.

He didn't feel sorry for the males. They'd made their choice when they'd participated in the abduction and abuse of innocent females. Hank couldn't understand a man who would hurt a woman. It was wrong on every level. A male protected and looked after his family, his mate and those who were weaker.

His breathing was low and even as he made his way behind the wooden building. It was much like the one they'd held Chrissten in before-an older structure that had been turned into several apartments years ago but had fallen into disrepair.

He automatically filtered the sounds of the city out of his brain. He ignored the buzz of the power lines, the rumble of the traffic, the white noise that was constant. He honed his preternatural hearing until all he could hear was the building in front of him. Everything else faded away.

There were several people moving around inside. Voices.

Hank set down his bag and began to gear up. He tucked two silver-coated knives into his belt along with a 9mm semi-automatic pistol. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it aside. Then he kicked off his sneakers. If he had to shift he wanted to be able to do it on the fly.

He wished he had a machete so he could behead the fuckers. He could always use his claws to rip out their hearts. That worked as well as silver bullets. Werewolves were quick healers, but they weren't immortal and needed a healthy heart to survive.

He thought long and hard about taking his rifle, but it wouldn't be of much use in this situation. This was going to be up close and personal. He stored his gear bag behind a pile of garbage and walked gingerly to the back door, avoiding the worst of the debris that littered the ground. He was wearing only his jeans and his weapons when he opened the door and stepped into the gloomy back porch.

Raised male voices reached his ears. They were up the stairs and to the right. They were arguing about something and he had a sinking feeling he knew what it was about-Chrissten.

He pushed her out of his mind, hardened his heart and pulled a familiar layer of ice around him. He had a mission to accomplish.

Hopefully their argument would distract them from his arrival. No matter how quiet he was they should be able to hear him. Or at least smell him. They were, after all, pureblooded werewolves.

He pulled his gun and started up the stairs, keeping to the sides of the treads where they were less likely to squeak.

Chapter Sixteen.

Hank's hands were rock steady, his breathing slow and controlled. He knew the others were close behind him, maybe minutes away, but he couldn't wait. He had no idea what condition Chrissten was in or if she was even still alive.

No, she had to be alive. If Brian wanted to kill her he could have easily done so, but he'd kidnapped her instead. That meant he had plans for her.

Hank couldn't think about what those plans might be or he'd go mad.

There was no way to simply take a sneak and peek, which is what he would do if these men were human. But they weren't. He couldn't sneak up on them the way he could humans, not with their preternatural senses.

He held his gun in his right hand. He had to make every shot count and he had to hit a werewolf at least a half-dozen times if he hoped the silver in the bullets would incapacitate his enemy and eventually kill him. He could probably take down one, maybe two with his gun, if he was extremely lucky. Then it would be the knives and hand-to-hand combat. Finally, he would shift and fight as a wolf. Whatever it took to rescue Chrissten.

"Why should we wait?" A male voice protested. Hank stilled, barely breathing as he listened to the ongoing conversation.

"Because I said so." Hank recognized Brian's voice. He wanted to kill the fucker so badly he could taste it. He'd hurt Chrissten and he would pay for that with his life.

"You had her for months," another male protested. Hank didn't like where this conversation was going. Some of the men were trying to psych themselves up to challenge the alpha of their small pack.

"She's mine." Brian's reply brought a low growl up from deep in Hank's chest, and he was forced to swallow it back. Restraint. He needed to keep his emotions in check and maintain control over himself.

He eased around the corner and took a quick glance at the room. It used to be the kitchen and probably a dining room. But the wall separating the two had been taken down, making one enormous area. A lower bank of cabinets ran along the wall with the sink. The upper ones were missing. The refrigerator and stove were gone, leaving only an empty space. A pile of debris was mounded in the far corner of the room as though someone had tried to clear away the main area.

A rickety table was situated in the center of the room. There were several empty pizza boxes and some empty beer cans scattered on and around it. Two men sat at the table. Hank recognized the largest one as Brian.

Four more ranged around the room, leaning against walls and counters. Damek had said there were six of them. That meant they were all here.

But where was Chrissten? Out of the corner of his eyes he caught movement. The knob of a closet door, probably to an old pantry cupboard, twisted ever so slightly.

Shit. He took a deep breath and scented her immediately. It was Chrissten and she was going to try to escape. He couldn't let her step out into the fighting. She might get hit by a bullet or used as a hostage by one of the wolves.

There was no time to wait. No time to plan his attack.

He swung into action. His gun tracked around the room as he fired. Silver bullets struck several of the males. One went down, but the rest reacted with speed and cunning, rolling to the floor and diving out of sight. The table was tipped up and used as a temporary blind so they could move.

His clip emptied, he tossed the gun aside, drew his knives and attacked.

Chrissten was just about to throw open the door when gunfire erupted in the other room. She automatically ducked down, making herself small as the world outside exploded. She heard several males grunt and the sweet, metallic scent of blood reached her. She eased the door open a crack. Blood tracked down the walls in several places. Howls of anger filled the air. Two of the males shifted. Another had extended his claws and was digging a bullet out of his injured flesh.

Her senses were overloaded with sensation, but layering all of it was a scent she'd come to know so well. Hank. He'd come for her.

She ripped open the door in time to see him toss aside his gun, draw two wicked knives and attack Brian. She glanced around hoping to see the others and was horrified when she realized he was alone.

Then there was no time left to think or wonder. William saw her standing in the doorway and sprang toward her, partially shifting on the fly. She dove to the floor and rolled away, ignoring the loud protests of her already injured body. William hit the wall with a solid thud, but not before his claws ripped down her arm. She hissed with pain. But anger shut out most of the agony spiking through her.

She needed a weapon and she was running out of time.