Chapter Ten
Willow
Willow came to slowly. She’d made the mistake of standing up to Derek when he’d taunted her about Logan and she’d received a blow to the side of the head that had knocked her out.
Again. The room spun and she wondered if she had a concussion.
Her limbs were stiff from the awkward position she’d slumped into.
Her wrists ached where the zip ties dug into her skin, the coarse plastic biting every time she moved.
Cold stone pressed against her spine. The air was stale and sour, laced with mildew and something metallic—her blood, maybe? It was hard to tell.
Her vision swam as she blinked into the dim light filtering through a small, grimy window high on the wall.
For a moment, disorientation rooted her in place.
Then everything came back in a rush. The forest. The clearing.
Brant’s voice. The hands on her. The flash of pain before the dark swallowed her.
Then waking up here to find Derek looming over her.
She shouldn’t have argued with him, but she was done playing the victim. No more.
They had brought her to one of the old pack buildings. She recognized the rough-hewn stone walls and iron-barred door. She had delivered herbs here once, long ago, when it had been a storage shed. Now it was little more than a prison.
A footstep echoed just beyond the door. She went still.
The lock scraped and the door swung open, and in stepped Derek. Again. What did he want with her this time? Had he come to taunt her again?
His broad frame filled the doorway and he was grinning as he stared down at her, smug, and cruel. His dark eyes glittered with mockery as he strode across the room, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Well,” he said softly, “look who’s awake again.”
Willow stayed silent.
He crouched down in front of her, close enough that she could see the flecks of gray in his beard, and the bloodstain on his collar. “You thought you could play traitor, did you, Omega? You pathetic little thing.”
But she knew his game now and she refused to play it. He was trying to get a rise out of her, but it wouldn’t work. God, but she hated him.
“Not going to cry for me?” Derek mocked. “Beg, maybe?”
Willow raised her chin. Slowly and deliberately. Her swollen eye burned as she met his gaze for the first time. Her voice cracked but held.
“You’re nothing,” she whispered. “You’ve always been nothing, and soon, you’ll be dust.”
His hand moved fast. The slap landed hard across her face, jerking her head to the side.
Pain spread through her cheek like fire, but she didn’t drop her gaze.
She didn’t cower. She didn’t make a sound.
She simply turned her face back toward him, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, and stared.
She would not break.
Not this time.
Brant chose that moment to walk into the room, and the second he caught sight of Willow, a wide grin stretched across his lips. Willow glared at him. The wolf opened his mouth to say something, but Willow got in there before him.
“You know Brant, I used to wonder why you were such a mean son of a bitch, but then I realized it’s because you’re a coward. Hiding behind Derek like a child hides behind his mother’s skirts.”
Brant’s jaw tightened. “You little b—”
“You’re gutless,” Willow spat. “That’s why you hit women. Because you know you’d crumble if you ever went toe to toe with someone big enough to hit you back.”
Derek chuckled. “Are you going to let her speak to you like that?”
Brant’s hand twitched, and she could see it coming for her before he even lifted it. She braced herself for the impact, but before he could strike her, gunfire cracked through the air outside.
Brant and Derek froze. So did Willow. What was happening out there?
“They’re here,” Derek snapped.
Willow blinked. Who was here? Surely, it couldn’t be… No, she didn’t even dare to hope.
As more of Derek’s enforcers piled into the room, Derek began barking orders at them.
Willow curled her fingers into fists and closed her eyes.
In her mind’s eye, she pictured Logan at the front of that charge—wild, and furious, and completely unstoppable, charging through Derek’s enforcers like a human battering ram.
His eyes glowing gold, his mouth set with purpose.
The image was so vivid, so real, that she could almost believe it.
Derek turned from the window with a snarl, his dark eyes burning with rage and calculation. The distant gunfire was growing closer and more controlled. These weren’t panicked shots fired from the trees. They sounded tactical. Precise.
Whoever had come wasn’t just attacking. They were coming for something. Or someone. Derek’s gaze landed on Willow and she saw the moment he worked it out. Before she could brace herself, he was on her, grabbing the front of her shirt in a rough fist and yanking her to her feet.
She stumbled as he dragged her toward the hallway, her shoulder slamming into the doorframe on the way out. Pain radiated down her arm, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of crying out.
Behind them, Brant barked more orders, rallying the remaining enforcers.
Derek pulled her into the wide, open hall that used to serve as the main gathering room for the pack.
Dust and disuse hung heavy in the air, but the space still echoed with the ghosts of wolves long gone.
He shoved her forward, then positioned himself just behind, one arm wrapped tight around her waist, and a knife pointed at her throat.
She gasped, twisting in his grip, but he held her fast. Then the door at the far end of the hall exploded inward. Wood splintered, and hinges screamed. And Logan stepped through it, his face dark as night.
His eyes glowed like fire, his chest rising with barely contained fury. Mud streaked his coat, and blood dotted his jaw. Blood that didn’t appear to be his.
He looked like death come to collect.
And his gaze…that fierce, golden gaze was locked on hers not like she was the most important person in the world, but like she was the only person in the world. Then his eyes flicked to Derek’s face over her shoulder.
“Let. Her. Go,” he ground out.
The room stilled, for just one breath.
Then all hell broke loose.