Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
GARRETT
After three days of searching, my wolf finally catches that delectable scent. Lilac… Angelina. I know it’s her, even though it’s different from before. More enticing, more… evocative. That alone makes no sense… unless my wolf is starting to go feral.
The scent of an unmated female can mess with a male, especially one whose wolf borders on going feral.
And yet these past few days, weaving our way north of Colorado and crossing into Wyoming, have been rather peaceful. No biting, growling, or bitter disdain from my wolf. It’s almost as if he approves of me again.
The distant sound of a truck catches our attention. A truck up here in the middle of the Medicine Bow Mountains is no accident, especially when we’re nowhere near a fire access road. The location, the presence of a truck, scream WSSO to me.
Without delay, my wolf cuts across knee-high snow until we spot a truck below on a road that shouldn’t be there. Every time the wind whips through the trees, it carries Angelina’s scent to me, stronger the closer I get to those trucks.
For three miles, my wolf runs along higher ground, parallel to the truck, before he finds a path down.
We lose sight of the truck for a half hour, but its engine roars like a hungry mountain lion, guiding us through the woods.
In minutes, we find ourselves smack up against a chain link fence with a sign that sends sheer terror through me.
World Shifter Suppression Organization Facility #23.
The implication that there are at least twenty-two other facilities like this one screws with my mind. Worst of all, no one knows it’s here, but me. I should have brought backup, if only to ensure one shifter makes it out alive to report in to Damien.
My wolf nips at me, to refocus me on the reason we’re here. Angelina.
Not hampered by roads, we overshot the truck. The elevation and winding terrain slowed the humans’ progress, which means I can still intercept the truck before it reaches the facility. Once that truck enters the facility, the chances of my getting Angelina away from the humans drops ten-fold.
My wolf races in a direct line to where we hear the truck’s engine. I’m estimating four miles still, which improves our odds. Attacking too close to the facility practically guarantees being surrounded by dozens of humans.
The wind picks up, carrying Angelina’s scent more clearly now, as well as those of several male shifters. More than one shifter relying on me… What the fuck am I doing?
One not-so-subtle nip from my wolf warns me to stop distracting him with my indecision. I let him take the lead, for now, partly because there’s nothing more dangerous than doubting oneself on a mission. He takes off at top speed, as if more than our lives depends on his speed and stealth.
Within minutes we spot the truck through the trees.
What I thought was one truck is a convoy of two ten-foot-long cargo trucks, the type humans use to move furniture.
Both trucks are struggling to climb a particularly steep hill.
Rear wheels spinning, losing traction in the snow, the truck slips sideways.
The humans have no appreciation of the mountains, let alone winter.
The second truck slides to a halt at the base of the hill while the first truck inches its way up. It looks like it’s going to make it, until the rear end fishtails and the truck slides backward several feet, losing all the ground it gained.
The driver’s attempting a serpentine climb now, zigzagging to reduce the grade, but the fresh snow provides no traction. That works to my advantage, giving me time to move closer and scout out the placement of the humans and shifters, find a way to free the hostages.
Each truck’s cab is partitioned from the cargo area, which improves my chance of rescuing the shifters without being seen.
But if there’s a window inside that partition and the guards are paying attention, this operation will quickly shift from search and rescue to tactical withdrawal.
And the humans will hunt me with everything they have.
They can’t afford for me to return with the location of facility #23.
I catch the scent of four shifters and five humans in the first truck, but I can’t make out how many humans are in the last truck, where Angelina is. Her scent is impossible to miss, as is her fear woven through it. But the humans have practically no scent.
My wolf nearly whimpers until I shut him down. A single sound can give us away. Marla never took that seriously. Damn her! Why did she take off like that without telling anyone… without telling me?
A nip from my wolf refocuses me. Distractions are as deadly as sounds. I guess we’re each struggling.
Damien was right to hold me back. But he was wrong to assume Angelina worked for the WSSO.
Then again, I don’t have any proof of her innocence. Only questions.
Why can’t I smell the humans? I see two humans in the cab of her truck but I can’t see who or what is in the cargo hold. Her scent is the only one I detect, which makes no fucking sense.
I slink low and get close enough to finally pick up the humans’ scents. Two up front. None in back with Angelina.
Why leave her unguarded?
I circle around the back to the large roll-up style door. It’s not padlocked. More evidence that they don’t see her as a flight risk.
She’s working for them.
Hayden’s in my head again, even when he’s not here.
I push his suspicions out of my mind before they become mine. There’s an explanation yet. I just don’t see it.
The first truck’s halfway up the embankment.
Once they clear the top, they’ll have an easy few miles to the facility.
Fear, as dark as night, strikes me like a punch to the gut, and my wolf rages with the need to reach Angelina.
If I go after the shifters in the first truck, the second truck will see me, and I won’t be able to free any of them.
Angelina, my wolf growls, as if there is no debate.
We rescue her, I decide, then she’ll help us free the others. Either way, we don’t have the luxury of time to debate. That first truck is nearly up the hill.
I shift to human form and crouch low, hoping the humans up front can’t see me as I slowly push up the roll-door only a foot, enough to peer inside.
It’s light inside, which means there’s a glass partition for the guards.
From this angle, all I can see are crates.
Angelina’s scent says she’s here, but I don’t see her.
Carefully, I wedge my body under the roll door, slide through while holding the door up, then ease it back down. No noise, no sudden shift of weight to the truck. I’m in. And it’s fucking cold in here without any clothing on or my wolf’s fur to warm me. I don’t plan to be here long, though.
My eyes shoot first to the glass partition. I see the backs of two humans in the ten-inch-high, two-foot-wide window. Visual only, no access, and they haven’t spotted me.
I want to call out to Angelina, but I don’t dare. I stay low as I move past the crates. Boxes marked S41Spray and Masks. Those are questions for later.
When I make it to the front of the cargo hold, there’s nothing there except more crates chained down to bolts in the floor. Her scent is so strong, she has to be here.
My stomach sinks as I hone in on her scent. She’s inside one of the crates.
“Angelina,” I whisper, hoping she’s conscious and can tell me which one.
Movement in the far corner of the truck catches my eye.
The heavy tarp that’s draped over several crates is moving.
When I peel away the tarp, I’m sickened by what I see.
Angelina, naked, in a fucking dog crate that’s too small for a dog, even.
Her torso’s bent in half, one arm trapped behind her and her head facing away from me.
The hand that’s in front of her struggles to pull the tarp.
She can’t even see that I’ve removed the backside of the tarp.
“I’m here. Gonna get you out.”
“You won’t leave me?” Her voice trembles with a half-cry she bites back. A deep swallow follows, then her voice evens out, still strained, but with more control. “They’ll catch you.”
I’d love to tell her evading capture is a specialty of mine, but right now my brain is firing in a million directions.
How to get her out without alerting the guards.
How long before they start up the hill.
What happens if I can’t get her out of this fucking dog crate…
I run my hands over every inch of the metal crates.
It’s solid steel, with a tumbler built into the door, and bars only at the top, not even the sides.
No weaknesses I can exploit. My eyes venture in, trying to avoid seeing her bruised, crumpled form so I may focus on the crate’s construction.
If I let my eyes drift to her, I’ll lose it, and then I’ll be useless. I have to get her out of here.
The truck starts up again. The first one must have cleared the top of the hill. We have to get out of here. Now.
“I don’t suppose you know the combination,” I say. Nothing’s worse than a panicked victim.
“232.”
I don’t bother asking her how she knows. My fingers fly over the mechanism. It clicks and the door opens. I reach in and carefully pull her out.
As I’m lifting her, I see the burns on her back and hips.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen these marks.
Burns from a cattle prod. Her wolf hasn’t healed them, which means she’s struggling to keep Angelina alive.
The amount of energy just to warm Angelina in this freezer of a truck would be enough to drain the strongest of shifters.
When her arms circle my neck, I can get my arms under her legs and lift her the rest of the way clear of the crate. Her skin is ice-cold. She needs to warm up, fast.
“Shift,” I order as I set her on her feet