14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Taylor
“L iam,” I gasp, dropping to my knees beside him. “We have to go. Can you stand?”
A grunt is his only answer as he struggles to push upright. I wedge my shoulder under his arm, taking as much of his weight as I can. Together, we stagger toward the open cell door.
I pause just long enough to shove the door shut, leaving Rowan inside. The sound of iron clanging echoes in the enclosed space, lending me a sense of bleak satisfaction. Let him get a taste of his own medicine.
Liam leans heavily against me as we stumble down the corridor, each step an exercise in agony. He trembles as he weaves unsteady on his feet. His skin is fever-hot against me. His head bobs, as though it’s too hard to stay awake.
“Just a little bit further. You can do it,” I say.
I pray he can stay conscious. A desperate mantra circles through my head. If he can’t I don’t know what I’ll do because he’s too big to pick up and carry.
We emerge from the corridor into the larger room, and bile surges up my throat when my eyes lock onto the iron chair bolted to the center of the floor, metal arms and seat stained red. Blood— Liam's blood— is splattered across the arms, pooled on the stone beneath.
White-hot rage sears through me, so intense it holds me captive. In that moment, I want nothing more than to watch this whole place burn to ash with Rowan trapped inside. To make him suffer a fraction of the torment he's inflicted. We don't have that kind of time. We need to put as much distance between us and this nightmare as possible.
“Taylor,” Liam rasps, his voice a thready whisper. “The door...”
I nod, half-carrying him across the room. Desperation lends me strength and I wrench it open with a low cry.
Sunlight spills across the threshold, blinding after the gloom of our prison. I gulp in huge lungfuls of crisp, clean air, tears pricking the corners of my eyes.
We've made it outside. But we're not safe yet.
Liam sags against me, his breaths coming in short, sharp pants. “I need...to shift,” he grits out, sweat beading his brow. “Faster...”
I help lower him to the ground, my heart clenching as I take in the extent of his injuries. Goddess, I don't know if he has the strength to shift. If his broken body can take any more strain.
What choice do we have?
“After I shift, get on my back,” he says. I only nod because I don’t want to make him carry me. Not in his state, but I know even injured, he will be faster than my two feet.
I watch, tears streaming down my face, as Liam's form begins to ripple and change. The process is slower than before, more painful. Bones crack and reform, agonized whimpers tearing from his throat. It seems to take an eternity before the massive gray wolf is standing before me.
But something...something is wrong.
Liam's eyes hold no humanity. For a moment, I'm not sure he even recognizes me. A chill skitters down my spine as I stare into the face of a wild animal, feral and dangerous. Then he shakes his great head, a low whine escaping his muzzle. He drops to his belly, his meaning clear.
I scramble onto his back, my fingers sinking into his matted fur. The scent of blood and fear is cloying, but beneath it all, I catch a hint of cedarwood. A scent that belongs to my mate alone.
Liam's powerful body surges beneath me, his muscles bunching and coiling with each lunge. His raw power thrums through him, the extraordinary strength of his wolf. He bolts across the clearing and launches into the trees, leaving the nightmare of the cabin behind. His paws drum against the earth, a staccato beat that echoes through the forest. I don’t understand where he’s drawing his energy from but each stride is ground-eating, propelling us forward at breathtaking speed.
I flatten against his broad back, my fingers sinking deep into his thick fur. The coarse hairs are matted with blood and sweat, but I don't care. I press my face into his coat, breathing in his scent. Tears stream down my cheeks, soaking into his pelt.
My heart pounds in my throat. Every second, I expect to hear Rowan's furious shout behind us. To feel the crackle of his malevolent power as he drags us back into the hell we've only just escaped, but there's only the rhythmic thud of Liam's paws against the ground, the ragged sawing of his lungs as he pushes `beyond all limits. The trees blur past us, a smear of green and brown and golden sunlight.
Time loses all meaning as we race through the forest. The sun traces its arc across the sky, shadows lengthening and stretching as the hours slip past. Liam maintains his punishing pace, his body a machine of sinew and muscle and iron will.
But even he has limits.
As the sun begins its descent toward the horizon, painting the world in shades of orange and red, Liam's steps falter. His stride shortens, his pace slowing incrementally. Each breath is a raspy wheeze, his sides heaving like a bellows. Sweat darkens his fur, frothing on his muzzle. Tremors wrack his frame as exhaustion takes its toll.
“Liam, stop,” I plead, my voice cracking. “You need to rest.”
He still pushes onward, his body trembling with the effort. It's not until we reach a small stream that he finally stops. He walks to a smooth black stone and knocks it over before he collapses, his legs giving out.
I tumble from Liam's back. Every muscle screams in protest, my body pushed far beyond its limits. I drag myself forward, and crawl to the edge of the stream on hands and knees. The water is crystal clear, dancing and burbling over moss-covered stones. I plunge my cupped hands into the icy flow, the cold shocking against my overheated skin.
Greedily, I bring the water to my cracked lips, letting it trickle down my parched throat. It's the sweetest thing I've ever tasted, a soothing balm to the desert that is my mouth. And…why isn't Liam drinking with me?
I sit up and see Liam crumpled on the bank, his massive form unnaturally still. His eyes are closed, his tongue lolling from his mouth.
Oh God, no. Please, no.
I scrabble to his side, heedless of the rocks that bite into my palms. “Liam! Please! Wake up.”
With shaking hands, I cup water from the stream, letting it pool in the hollow of my palms. I hold them to his muzzle, letting the cool liquid trickle over his mouth. He doesn’t move. Seconds tick by, each one an eternity. He's so still, so silent. Dread claws at my insides, and my breathing becomes short, sharp pants. Then, by some miracle, his throat bobs. Once. Twice. His pink tongue darts out as he licks water from my palms.
Relief crashes over me, so intense it makes the world spin. Tears stream down my cheeks unchecked as I offer him more water, cupping my hands again and again until he’s more awake.
With a groan he staggers to his feet. His legs shake, barely holding his weight as he sways. His form shifts. His fur recedes, revealing smooth, blood-streaked skin. Bones crack and realign, and then Liam kneels before me, naked and vulnerable, his body a roadmap of pain.
A sob hitches in my throat as I lurch forward, throwing myself into his arms. I cling to him with every ounce of my strength, molding my body to his as through it will help take his pain away.
“You saved me,” I rasp against the fever-hot skin of his neck, my tears mingling with the sweat and grime coating his flesh. “Thank you. Thank you.”
He shudders in my embrace, a low, wounded sound rumbling up from his chest. “Need...to get back...to Willowbrook,” he slurs, the words thick and clumsy on his tongue.
He tries to stand, his muscles coiling with the effort but his legs betray him, folding beneath his weight. He crashes to the ground, his eyes rolling in his head.
“Liam!” His name is a ragged scream as I clutch at him, my fingers scrabbling over his shoulders, his face. Panic claws at my throat, black spots dancing across my vision. I shake him, hard, desperate to rouse him. But he's limp in my arms, his head lolling bonelessly on his neck.
Gathering him to my chest, I rock back and forth, my tears dripping into his matted hair. The heat of his skin sears my own as a fever rages through him.
Something is wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.
He needs help. I need to go get it for him, but I can't leave him alone, not like this. I stroke his cheek, begging, pleading for him to wake up, but his eyes remain closed, the blue veins stark against his bloodless skin.
The sun dips below the horizon, stealing the warmth from the air. Darkness presses in, thick and menacing. The night comes alive with a symphony of chirps and rustles, each one making my heart stutter with fear. I cling to Liam, my face buried in the sweat-soaked crook of his neck. Shivers rack his frame, his muscles twitching and spasming.
“Please,” I whisper, the word a broken prayer. Beseeching my golden angel to take pity on me again. “Please don't take him from me. I can't...I can't lose him. Not now. Not like this.”
A twig snaps in the underbrush. My heart slams against my ribs. Every instinct screams danger, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. Easing Liam to the ground, I stagger to my feet. My legs tremble but I plant myself firmly between my fallen mate and the threat lurking in the darkness. My fingers close around a branch, the wood rough and solid in my grip. It's not much of a weapon, but it's all I have.
I don't know if I can win this fight but I will make Rowan work for every inch. I will make him bleed for every moment of agony he's inflicted, every scream he's torn from our throats.
The bushes rustle and the leaves part. My heart lodges in my throat, my pulse a deafening roar in my ears. I raise the branch, ready to swing with every ounce of strength left in my body.
But it's not Rowan who steps into the moonlight.
It's a wolf. A huge russet wolf with a white star on his forehead and white-tipped paws. A choked sob escapes my lips, the branch tumbling from my numb fingers. I watch, scarcely daring to breathe, as the wolf shifts and then Mitch stands before me, his face a mask of concern. Another shape detaches from the shadows, a gray speckled wolf with a luxurious white ruff. He shifts and Zane stands there a moment later.
Relief hits with a blow that drives me to my knees. I crawl back to Liam, gathering him into my arms. The last of my composure shatters, my words dissolving into helpless, hiccupping sobs.
“Help him. Please. He won't wake up. I don't know what Rowan did to him, but it's bad. It's so bad,” I rasp.
“It’s okay. We’re here now. We’ve got you,” Mitch says.
Mitch and Zane crouch beside us, their faces grim. A glance passes between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. “We need to get Elara to see to him,” Mitch says, his voice tight with worry. His gaze finds mine, softening with understanding. “Thankfully, our cruiser isn’t far. Zane will carry you.”
I want to protest, to insist that I’ll walk, but my body betrays me, my limbs trembling with penetrating exhaustion. The adrenaline that's kept me going is fading fast, leaving me hollowed out and aching. I won’t slow them up. Liam needs our help as fast as he can get it.
Mitch lifts Liam in his arms with a gentleness that belies his strength and positions him over his shoulder as Zane slides his arms beneath my knees and my shoulders. He lifts me effortlessly, pulling me securely against his chest. He doesn’t smell right, but the warmth of his body seeps into my chilled skin, chasing away the cold that's settled in my marrow.
“We’ve been looking for you everywhere. Most of the pack is. Cindi alerted us when you didn’t return from your hike,” Zane says.
“How long have we been missing?” I ask.
“You don’t know?” Zane asks.
I shake my head. “We were in a cell. No windows. Nothing to gauge time.”
Zane’s mouth turns down and his hands shake where they hold me. “It’s been five days, Taylor. We’ve been looking for you for five days.”