Fangs of Anarchy-Forbidden Alpha (Part 5) Revelation: A Werewolf Vampire Shifter Romance Page 2

  Liam’s expression went grim. “They’re out of their minds right now with worry, but I spoke with them before I left, and they didn’t offer anything that would help at this point. Nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary. Though, they did mention Sarah’d been spending a lot of time holed up in her room with Hadley. More than I guess is normal for the two of them?”

  Irish nodded, knowing the kind of worry they must be experiencing. “So this is what we know. Hadley saw someone grab Sarah and drag her into a car, right? We’re sure that’s what she saw?”

  Liam leaned back against his bike. “We’re sure. She was bloody well hysterical. But that’s all we know. However, I don’t think it’s all you know, brother. What makes you think Sarah’s here in the Zone?”

  Here it came. “Claire.”

  “Montgomery? The werewolf who runs the library?” Mondo asked in disbelief, his blue eyes confused, his shock of red hair mussed from the wind.

  Irish gazed at them all, daring them to give him an ounce of shit. “Yes.”

  But Liam shook his head, his lips turning into a thin line. “I damn well told you to stay the fuck out of her pack business, didn’t I? How does your werewolf girlfriend fit into this?”

  Irish stomped the urge to come to blows with Liam, clenching his jaw, forcing himself to keep his rising temper and frustration in check. Instead, he told them what Claire had told him about Angus Sweeten, showed them the texts he’d shared with Mathias, leaving out the bit about Claire killing Gannon. He wasn’t ready for that kind of grief yet.

  But he didn’t have to tell Liam anything. His brother was smart, and he put two and two together far too quickly when he was done scrolling Irish’s phone. He glared at his brother. “She did it, didn’t she? I’d bet my damn bike she caught Gannon in the middle of this shit with this guy Sweeten, threatened to tell someone, and somehow managed to kill him before he killed her. Why else would she be looking for this guy? She needs proof that Gannon was up to no good to bring to council and clear her of a murder charge. Am I right?”

  Irish neither confirmed nor denied. He’d lose his head before he’d give her up—even to Liam.

  Liam made a face. “So you didn’t come to the Zone to find who’s making the synthetic blood, did you? You’re here because of her. Because she was here, snooping around, looking for this sick fuck Sweeten, and you were looking to protect her from the Zone’s boogeyman when you damn well should have been back in Rock Cove tending to clan business, not pack business!”

  Irish rolled his head on his neck, staving off the impulse to hurl Liam across the room. “If what Claire heard is really happening, then isn’t it clan business, too, brother? Aren’t we responsible for our extended clan’s children? If not for Claire, we wouldn’t have a goddamn clue where to begin to look for Sarah. Doesn’t it make sense that in light of the fact that Gannon was selling kids and now one of ours is missing, this guy Sweeten’s somehow involved?” he growled.

  “You don’t know that Sarah’s even here, Irish! But you do know your girlfriend is. Jesus, you’re going to get us all damn well killed!” Liam bellowed.

  The tension grew thick between the brothers, signaling the rest of the crew it was time to intervene. “So how’s this helping us right now, boys?” Stone asked, clapping a hand on each man’s shoulder. “You two fighting isn’t going to help find Sarah. One of ours has been taken. I don’t know about you, but that makes me want to hear the crunch of bones, hold a beating heart in my hand before I crush it between my fingers and eat it! If this is all we have to start, it beats nothing. Now shut your whiny traps, put aside your sibling differences over the book lady, and let’s make a plan of attack!”

  Liam was the first to back off, his nostrils still flaring. “Stone’s right. If this is all we have to work with, we have to at least explore the idea that what Claire found out while she was here is possible. It’s our only lead.”

  Irish’s cell phone vibrated against his chest, turning his haze of ire into a puff of smoke. He pulled it out of his pocket, scrolling until he found a text from Bleaker and read it as his teeth ground together—and his rage ratcheted up another notch.

  911! Hadley’s missing now, too!

  Chapter Nineteen

  Claire took a deep breath, battling nausea, fighting the thick haze her head was steeped in from the wolfsbane. She rolled her shoulder against her face again, forcing the blindfold around her eyes upward another quarter inch. She’d been at it for what felt like hours, since the man and his bloodthirsty goons had left the room.

  When the air around her had quieted, she’d heard a soft mewling, a whimper and then a hiss, a strange crackling as though someone were sticking a hot dog into a campfire only to pull it out so it wouldn’t burn.

  Another whimper—another moan.

  Sarah. Maybe it was Sarah?

  The thought made her work tenaciously to get the blindfold off. Maybe there was something in the room she could use to free herself if she could just see.

  Twisting her neck again, she rolled the side of her head over her shoulder, the hot sear of agonizing pain from the crack on her head making her bite her raw lips to keep from crying out.

  If this was what it felt like to be human, feeling this kind of ragged, searing pain, she wanted no part of it. She’d take paranormal any time, thank you very much.

  The moment she began to find success pushing the blindfold upward was the moment it would flop back down, it was so soaked in her sweat.

  A stirring from a far corner made her stop all movement and listen hard.

  Again, there was that hiss, only now it was more like butter hitting a hot frying pan.

  Her hearing was growing weaker by the second, but still, she knew she’d heard something move.

  Claire decided to take a chance. “Sarah?” She hissed the whisper. “Is that you, honey? Answer me, please!”

  “It’s burning, Miss Claire. It burns so…” A small voice hitched then gurgled. “So, so much.”

  Burns? Oh, Jesus. No. Please, no. If that hissing was what she thought it was…it was unthinkable that anyone could torture a child this way.

  Focus, Claire. Don’t think about it. Get out of this. Find a way out.

  Tears welled in Claire’s eyes, tears for Sarah, even as her limbs trembled with relief so sharp, she sagged against the chains that held her.

  Oh, thank God she was still alive. Thank God. “Okay, listen to me, Sarah, listen closely. I know it hurts, honey. I know, but focus on me. Focus on my voice. Listen,” she soothed. “Irish is coming. I know he’s coming, and when he comes, he’ll take you home. I promise you. Now tell me where you are. Can you see me?”

  There was more movement then Sarah rasped, “Yesss.”

  She bit back a cry of joy, yet kept her voice calm. “What do you see, Sarah? Tell me everything. Look around you. Where are we? Did you see where they took you when they kidnapped you from Rock Cove?”

  Sarah moaned again, stirring and shifting, something scraping against the floor. “I don’t know. They blindfolded me. But I see you, Miss Claire. I…see you,” her words came in harsh bits of obvious effort.

  “Good. That’s good, Sarah,” Claire encouraged, still trying to lift the blindfold from her eyes. “Where are we? What does it look like in here?”

  “Like a…”

  When her voice trailed off, the harsh rasp of it fading into the darkness, Claire panicked.

  Struggling against the chains binding her, arms aching and weak, she pleaded, “Sarah! Answer me—you must stay on task. Focus on my voice, not the pain. I need you to help me so I can help you. Please, honey.”

  “It’s like a warehouse. Big. A lot of room. High up because I can see…the sky. You’re on a wall. Way across the room.” Sarah offered a choppy response riddled with clear pain.

  They must be in the building she’d found before Irish got to her. It was at least forty stories high, meaning if they somehow got loose, they could technically jump out the window.<
br />
  Claire wrestled a scream of frustrated anguish when she almost had the blindfold up and over her head, only for it to fall right back over her eyes again. Pulling deep breaths into her lungs, she reserved her energy. “Did you see who brought you here, Sarah? Tell me what he looks like.”

  Sarah whimpered, hissing her discomfort. “Red eyes,” she spat, the pain clearly beginning to carve a hole in her focus. “Only saw him for a minute. Red eyes. Really red.”

  Anger, white and hot, spurred Claire on. With her last ounce of will, sweat pouring in cold droplets to her chest, she clenched her teeth, twisted her neck one final time and met her head with the cap of her shoulder. Lifting her trembling arm as far as it would go without ripping it out of its socket, she shoved the blindfold upward.

  It clung to the top of her head while she gasped for breath, letting her head fall forward, her muscles burning as though she’d been dipped in lava. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light.

  To finally see the big picture, the horror before her, and understand what the infernal hissing sound was.

  It was the horror of a young girl, seated on the floor, her wrists chained to the wall on either side of her, crosses hung in an outline of her upper body, allowing no room for movement.

  As a pitcher of water on a pulley dripped one slow drop of deadly holy water at a time on her head.

  Bile rose again as surely as it had a million times before, since she’d found herself imprisoned against this wall. It took every ounce of will she had to keep it down, to keep Sarah from seeing her fear. Her absolute terror.

  The sight of sweet Sarah, who’d come so often to the library to study or listen to the stories she read to the town’s children, crumpled and weak with slashes of fiery red burns ripping across her face and neck was almost more than she could bear.

  She’d had no success so far, but the only thing Claire could think to do to keep from losing her mind—with her last bit of energy before she passed out—was scream.

  Silently.

  In her mind.

  For Irish.

  * * *

  With the Fangs close behind, Irish and Liam approached the building where Angus Sweeten allegedly lived, from the very alleyway he’d found Claire in.

  Mathias said rumor had it Claire was right—this was where Sweeten helmed his empire, and according to Mathias, it was indeed an empire.

  Angus had been trafficking young paranormals for years, long before the government takeover, kidnapping them from their families and selling them to the highest bidders at illegal auctions where humans paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to purchase them and keep them like some kind of exotic animals.

  Before the government takeover, if anyone ever came close to catching Sweeten, and there’d been one or two brave souls, he’d fed on their fear of discovery. With maniacal glee, he’d encouraged frightened parents to go to the authorities.

  Loathing had ripped through him when he’d read the last text he’d received from Mathias, loathing and the need to find Sweeten and rid the world forever of his depraved sickness.

  Liam pounded him on the shoulder, his eyes blazing a fiery determination. “Don’t give in, brother. I know you’re worried Sweeten might have Hadley now, too, but don’t give in to your rage. Stay clear. We need to be strong and move as one.”

  Strong. How the fuck were they going to kill a demon? Vampires and werewolves he knew—he understood their weaknesses—but a demon? He hadn’t run across a demon in at least a hundred years.

  Irish clenched his fist. “Mathias says the men who roll with Sweeten are a mix of vampire and werewolf, but Angus is a demon. His men not only outnumber us by at least ten to one, but got any ideas about how we’re going to take out a demon? Because he has to die, Liam. I’ll see to it he’s sent straight the fuck back to hell!” Irish seethed, another roar of fuming rage welling up inside his head, sloshing all his common sense around.

  Stone came up from behind, stepping between Irish and Liam. “Maybe we don’t? Maybe we get the kid and Claire, find out if he has Hadley somewhere, too, and we get the fuck out. Go back home and get the council involved.”

  His eyes almost rolled to the back of his head. “While Sweeten gets away and sets up his twisted trafficking business somewhere else? He steals children, Stone! Children, for Christ’s sake. How many more people are involved in this? Gannon was just a small piece of the puzzle. Who else is helping him collect young girls? Why have we never heard of this until now? If we take Sweeten out, we eliminate the distributor.”

  Stone held up his hands in surrender and backed away. “This is why you’re the boss, Irish. You don’t think I want that motherfucker to go free, do you? But I can tell you for sure, I want Sarah alive more than I want Sweeten dead.”

  He ran a hand over his jaw in frustration. Stone was right. The greater-good bullshit and all. “That’s fair. Are we armed well enough? Because you know we have to take their heads off, right?”

  Everyone patted their legs, where Irish knew sharp steel blades were tucked closely to their calves just below the knee. There weren’t many in the crew who hadn’t killed in their hundreds of years on earth, but it had been a long time since they’d fought wars.

  But there was no choice. A child was at stake, maybe two. And his woman.

  Not a chance in hell he was leaving his woman.

  With a nod, he looked to his crew. “Okay, we go in, we see if this is where this fucknut Sweeten is keeping Claire and Sarah, find out if he has Hadley. If we find them, we get them and get out. Got that?” he asked.

  There was shuffling and the nods of heads in varying degrees of height. Satisfied, he turned his nose to the stench of the cold breeze one more time, sniffing, praying he’d smell Claire or Sarah.

  That was when he heard it.

  It was weak, it was thin, but it was Claire, calling for him in his head.

  Irish…

  If he could breath, he’d let out a gush of relieved air from his lungs. If his limbs still trembled, he was sure his knees would be weak from hearing her voice. Her sweet, interfering, independent, stupidly reckless voice.

  He grabbed Liam’s arm to stop his advance toward the fire escape. He put a finger to his lips and pointed to his head, holding his other hand up to stop the crew and their movement.

  Irish!

  There was terror in Claire’s voice—a terror so real, it almost brought him to his knees. Closing his eyes, he called to her. Where are you, Librarian? Tell me what you see.

  Not…not sure where.

  We’re in the alleyway I found you in. Mathias says this is where Sweeten runs his operation. Does it smell the same as the alleyway?

  Silence. A silence that felt like an eternity. Shit, shit, shit.

  Can’t smell…right now.

  Can’t smell? Why couldn’t she smell? What the hell was going on?

  Powerless. Sarah with me…help.

  Sarah. Thank Christ Sarah was with her.

  Listen to me, Claire. Save your strength. I’m coming. I’ll take out whatever’s in my path, but know I’m coming for you both. Just tell me one thing, honey, is anyone else in the room with you?

  Her voice was vague, floaty and soft in his head, but it was clear. No.

  Turning to Liam, he clenched his teeth. “Hadley’s not with them.”

  Liam’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Nope. She sure isn’t. Know why she isn’t?”

  He pointed skyward to a window up above the fire escape—where two long, coltish legs dangled before disappearing inside the window.

  “Because she’s up there.”

  Irish peered upward and clenched his teeth hard to keep from calling out her name to stop her. “How the fuck did she get up there?” he hissed.

  Liam ran his hand over his jaw and glared at his brother. “Um, you were the one to teach her to fly, weren’t you? As I recall, you said, ‘You never know when something like that could come in handy, Hadley.’”

  Guilty. Th
ose had been his exact words.

  Shit. She’d come to help her friend, and that was valiant. She and Sarah had been best friends for as long as he could remember.

  But the real question was, how had she known where to find Sarah in order to help her?

  If grounded for life was hell on a human, just wait until Hadley found out what that meant for an immortal.

  Chapter Twenty

  The moment Irish’s voice fled from her head was the moment Claire finally came face to face with Angus Sweeten.

  He paused at the doorway, his looming shadow elongating across the painted concrete floor, creating a ghoulish image, sinister in its black length. Holding up a serrated knife, he ran his fingertips over it, the silver glinting in the light from the hallway.

  Thankfully, Sarah had found peace in unconsciousness, her head falling to her shoulder as the water continued a wicked, sizzling drip directly onto her. Each drop made Claire’s heart bleed, but Irish was coming, and Angus surely wouldn’t risk killing a valuable product.

  It was Claire he wanted dead—so she wouldn’t talk.

  If that happened before Irish got here, so be it. At least he wasn’t torturing Sarah any further.

  Angus crossed the room in long strides, his legs thin, his body lanky. His red eyes, eyes full of hatred, scanned her from head to toe. The long pause, the effects of the wolfsbane, her fear for Sarah began to ride her very last nerve.

  She wanted to lash out, spew foul word after word at his depravity. Yet she knew, the longer she kept him talking, the better their chances were of Irish finding them before he killed her.

  “You know what I like best about you, E’Claire?” he asked into the silence, his voice soft and low.

  She lifted her chin, made herself look into his soulless red eyes, searched his clear-skinned face. “Gosh, I hope it’s my sunshiny personality,” she offered, her throat dry, her voice now but a cracking croak.

  He chuckled, his full pink lips splitting apart in a grin. Bracketing her head by placing his elbows on either side of it, the knife still in his hand, he clucked his tongue and leaned in until their noses touched. “I like that you’re such a plucky-ducky. Just look at how resourceful you are.” He snapped the blindfold from her head with such force, the back of her skull smashed against the wall.