Chapter 29
The Guardians tore through the demons, cutting a path for the Warriors.
They were doing a fucking amazing job because Sloan hadn’t seen a single demon yet.
As he ran, he glanced at Daniel. Either the demons felt the Demon Slayer’s presence and scattered, or the Guardians were wiping them out before they reached the Warriors.
Either way, Sloan didn’t give a fuck. All he wanted was Becky.
The building came into view through the trees, lightning flashing all around them as rain poured down hard. Thunder cracked overhead just as what sounded like a gunshot echoed through the night.
Sloan’s blood turned to ice.
Before anyone could say a word, the back door flew open and Becky came running out, slipping in the wet grass as she headed straight for the tree line, a gun clutched in one hand.
Men rushed from the shadows behind her, shouting, searching, closing in, but Sloan was already moving faster.
The world around him narrowed to one thing and one thing only.
His mate.
Becky looked back, fear on her face as she pushed herself harder toward the trees. Sloan saw the exact second she turned forward again, but it was too late. She slammed into him hard, her scream ripping through the storm as his arms closed around her.
For one second, the rage inside Sloan went silent.
Then he had her.
He fucking had her.
Her body was shaking, the gun still clutched in her hand, her eyes wild as she looked up at him. Sloan didn’t ask if she was okay. He could smell the blood, see the mark on her face, feel the fear rolling off her, and every deadly thing inside him came alive all over again.
His eyes shot over her head. Men were coming through the rain, spreading out from the house, searching the yard, heading straight for them.
Sloan moved fast, pulling Becky behind the thick trunk of a tree as Duncan hit his side with both swords already drawn. “Guard her.”
Duncan didn’t ask a single question. “With my life.”
That was all Sloan needed to hear.
He pressed Becky back against the tree, his hand going to her face for half a second.
Not enough time. It would never be enough time to make sure she was okay.
But it was all he had. His eyes locked on hers, letting her see him, letting her know he was there, and she was safe, then he stepped away before the first bastard could get close enough to make her a target again.
The vampire rushing him never saw death coming.
Sloan met him halfway, driving him away from Becky, farther into the rain and mud. The bastard swung, but Sloan caught his arm and snapped it backward before burying his fist in the vampire’s chest. He ripped the heart free without slowing down, dropped the body, and kept moving.
Every step he took pulled them farther from her.
Every kill bought her space and that was the only thing that mattered.
More came from the shadows, and Sloan let them see him. Let them focus on him. Let them think the rage in his eyes meant he had lost control, when the truth made him far more dangerous.
He had never been more in control in his life.
Duncan stayed between Becky and the fight, blades moving in clean, deadly arcs when anyone got too close.
Rafe came in from Sloan’s right, cutting off two vampires trying to flank wide.
Jared and Sid hit the next line hard, driving them back toward the house.
The Dark Guardians tore through the trees beyond them, keeping the demons from breaking through, while Daniel’s presence pressed against the night like a warning nothing evil could ignore.
Then the back door opened.
The half-breed stepped out into the storm.
Sloan felt the change in the air before he even saw the bastard’s face. The others felt it too because the fight shifted, Warriors moving without being told, widening the space, clearing the path.
Good.
Sloan wanted nothing between him and the son of a bitch who had dared lay a hand on Becky.
The half-breed’s mismatched eyes locked on Sloan, then slid past him toward the tree where Becky stood protected by Duncan.
Wrong fucking move.
Sloan’s fangs lengthened, his voice carrying through the rain for every bastard there to hear. “Look at her again, and I’ll take your eyes before I take your head.”
“She killed my fucking brother!” Darius bellowed, pointing toward Becky.
Sloan’s eyes never left him. “Good. One less piece of shit I have to deal with.” Even though Sloan said those words, he felt overwhelming sorrow that Becky had to take a man’s life. She never should have been put in that position, and it pissed him the fuck off.
The words cut through the rain, cold and final.
Darius’s face twisted with rage as he started forward, but Sloan moved into his path before he made it two steps.
Around them, the fighting had faded into the distance.
A scream from the woods. The clash of steel.
A demon’s roar cut short. Sloan didn’t look.
He didn’t have to. His Warriors had done what they were born to do.
The Guardians had done the same. This battle was over in their favor, but there was one more battle to be won, and Sloan would not fail.
Duncan stood between Becky and any threats, swords in hand, with Rafe close enough to stop anyone stupid enough to move toward her.
Warriors and Guardians spread out through the rain, battered, bloody, and silent, their eyes locked on Sloan and Darius.
No one stepped in because they knew. This was Sloan’s battle.
“She is carrying my child!” Darius bellowed pointing toward Becky. “It is my right to have her.”
“You have no rights concerning my mate,” Sloan’s voice was calm and to the point.
Darius let out a guttural scream as he lunged first, fast and wild, rage making him sloppy. Sloan sidestepped and drove his fist into the half-breed’s ribs as he passed. Bone cracked beneath his knuckles, and Darius hit the mud hard, rolling once before coming back to his feet with a snarl.
“That the best you’ve got?” Sloan asked, his voice carrying through the rain. “No wonder you needed demons and doctors to do your dirty work.”
Darius roared and came at him again. This time Sloan met him head-on, blocking the first hit, taking a shallow cut across his shoulder from the second, then grabbing Darius by the throat and driving him backward through the mud.
The half-breed swung hard, catching Sloan across the jaw, but Sloan barely moved.
He smiled through the blood in his mouth and slammed his forehead into Darius’s face.
The crack of bone carried through the storm.
Darius stumbled back, blood pouring from his nose, his mismatched eyes burning with hate. “You think you won?”
“I know I did.” Sloan stalked toward him, slow and deadly. “You lost the second you touched what belongs to me.”
Darius wiped blood from his mouth, then glanced toward Becky. “The child—”
Sloan hit him before he finished the sentence.
The blow sent Darius sideways, but Sloan caught him by the front of his shirt and yanked him back, hitting him again. “Don’t look at her.” Another hit. “Don’t speak to her.” Another hit that snapped Darius’s head back. “Don’t think of her.” The last hit sent him back a few steps as Sloan let go.
Darius snarled, claws ripping across Sloan’s forearm as he twisted free.
The pain was sharp, but Sloan ignored it, moving with him, forcing him farther from Becky with every step.
Darius was strong. Stronger than a half-breed should have been, and Sloan could feel something dark riding under his skin, something that didn’t belong in this realm.
Demon power which explained the unusually long claws.
The evilness rolled off him in sick waves, making the rain hiss where it hit the mud around his boots.
“That what they gave you?” Sloan’s lip curled with anger and hate. “A little demon power to make you feel like a man. You could have warned me about that, Daniel.”
“Didn’t see the need.” Daniel called out with a smirk. “Didn’t help him any. He’s still a pussy.”
Darius’s face changed, the rage turning into something uglier. Sloan wanted him angry.
Darius charged, faster this time, claws aimed for Sloan’s throat.
Sloan caught his wrist, twisted hard, and kicked his knee out from under him.
Darius dropped, but before he hit the ground, Sloan grabbed him by the hair and drove his face into his knee.
The half-breed’s body went loose for half a second, and Sloan used it, slamming him into the mud hard enough to shake the ground beneath them.
Darius rolled, coughing blood, but still fought to get up. Sloan let him.
“You sent men after a woman and her son.” Sloan circled him, rain running down his face, his fangs fully lengthened now. “You hid behind demons. You hid behind a doctor. You hid behind a plan that isn’t even yours.”
Darius spit blood into the mud. “You don’t know shit.”
“I know you needed Becky because you couldn’t create anything on your own.” Sloan’s eyes narrowed. “You needed her body and my blood because without it, you had nothing. And you will die with nothing you son of a bitch.”
Darius snapped.
He came at Sloan with everything he had, and for a few brutal seconds, they went toe to toe in the rain.
Fists hit flesh. Claws tore through skin.
Mud sprayed beneath their boots as they traded blows hard enough to make the Warriors watching shift with the need to join in.
Sloan took a hit to the ribs, another to the side of his face, then blocked the next and answered with one of his own, driving his fist into Darius’s stomach so hard the half-breed folded.
Sloan grabbed him by the back of the neck and threw him across the ground.
Darius slid through the mud and crashed into a tree, the trunk cracking behind him.
He pushed himself up, slower this time.
Sloan stalked toward him with no wasted movement and no mercy in his black glare.
For the first time, real fear flickered in Darius’s eyes, and Sloan saw it. So did every Warrior and Guardian standing in the rain.
Sloan smiled, but there was nothing human in it. “There it is. You finally figured out how this ends. How you end.”
Darius bared his bloody teeth and lunged one last time.
Sloan glanced at Charger as he spun and grasped the dagger in one fluid motion, plunging it into Darius’s still-beating half-breed heart. The surprised look on Darius’s face just before he dropped dead didn’t come close to being enough, but his concern was Becky, not this piece of shit.
Stepping over him, he ripped off what was left of his shirt and wiped what blood the rain didn’t rinse away then tossed it. His eyes never leaving Becky who stood still clutching the gun to her chest. Her eyes wide as she stared at him.
“She wouldn’t let anyone take the gun,” Rafe whispered, as he approached.
Sloan walked up to Becky, his eyes taking in every mark, every bruise, every place someone had put their hands on her.
Touching her battered face, he forced himself to stay calm, then slowly took the gun from her and tucked it into his jeans.
It broke something inside him that she only felt safe giving it up to him.
Gently, he picked her up, cradling her against him as he began to walk away from the nightmare she had just lived.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered over the rain and wind.
“I never doubted you would come for me,” she said, and the absolute certainty in her shaky words hit him harder than any blow Darius had landed.
For a second, his vision blurred. He could have lost her.
Could have lost their child. The thought slammed into him with a force he hadn’t been ready for, because somewhere between finding out the truth and holding Becky in his arms, the impossible had become real. The baby was his.
He spotted the SUV as soon as they exited the woods. The door flew open, and Frankie jumped out, running toward them.
“Mom!” Frankie yelled as he slipped and slid through the mud.
Becky struggled to get down, and Sloan let her, but he stepped in front of Frankie before he reached her. “Careful,” he warned, his voice still rough. “Until Slade checks her out, I don’t know where she’s hurt.”
Frankie stopped instantly, his face pale as his eyes moved over his mother.
Then he nodded, and Sloan stepped back, watching as mother and son reached for each other.
Becky wrapped her arms around Frankie, and Frankie held on to her like he was never letting go.
The reunion hit Sloan hard enough that he had to look away.
Steve stood a few feet away, staring at them with a sad look on his face, which somehow made it worse. Sloan cleared his throat and forced himself back into leader mode.
“Steve, find Slade and tell him to get back to the compound. We’ve got wounded. Then find Duncan and tell him he’s lead. I’m sure he already knows, but make sure.”
Steve didn’t move. He just kept staring at Becky and Frankie.
“Now,” Sloan snapped.
Steve blinked, then pointed at himself. “Right. Sorry.” He looked once more at Becky and Frankie, his expression softer than Sloan was used to seeing. “Gets ya in the feels, don’t it?”
Sloan shot him a look.
Steve held up both hands. “Going.”
Sloan watched him go, giving mother and son a moment even as every protective instinct in him stayed locked on Becky. When Frankie finally stepped back, his eyes went to Sloan.
For a second, neither of them said anything.
Then Frankie walked over, mud covering his shoes, rain dripping from his hair, and held out his hand. “Thank you,” he said, his voice thick.
Sloan looked down at Frankie’s hand, then took it. The lump that formed in his throat pissed him off almost as much as it humbled him. He could only nod as he shook Frankie’s hand, because there wasn’t a damn thing he could say that would come close to what this moment meant.
Becky reached for him, and Sloan didn’t hesitate. He picked her up again, holding her close as they walked toward the SUV. Frankie stayed beside them, one hand on his mother’s arm like he needed to keep touching her to believe she was really there.
Sloan understood that better than anyone.
As he reached the SUV, Steve’s words came back to him, and despite the blood, rain, and death behind them, Sloan almost shook his head.
Fucking Steve was right.
This shit did get you in the feels.