Dark Wolf Rising

One of the servers finally approached his table, carrying an empty tray. She had an edgy, worried look about her, and a quick glance at the name tag pinned over her right breast had Eric leaning forward in his seat. His nostrils flared as he caught a faint trace of Chelsea’s scent lingering on the girl.

“Maggie?” he said, before she could ask him what he wanted to drink. Her eyes went a little wide at the urgency in his voice, and he tried to dredge up what was hopefully a reassuring smile. “I’m not going to hassle you. I’m just hoping you can give me some information about a friend of mine. Her name is Chelsea. You spoke to her yesterday, about her sister.”

The instant he mentioned Chelsea’s name, the girl’s face went white. “Please,” she whispered, starting to tremble. “I can’t—they’ll hurt me if I let her go. I wanted to, but they—”

“Shh. It’s okay,” he told her, making sure to keep his expression easy, since he was the one facing the room. But his pulse was rushing like a goddamn freight train. “Lean down toward me a little, like you’re flirting. That’s it,” he murmured, hoping like hell he could get her to cooperate. “All I need to know is where she’s at. Can you tell me where they’ve got her?”

Though she looked terrified, she managed to place one shaking hand on his shoulder, understanding the need to put on an act for anyone who might be watching them. “She’s in a room in the back of the club. If you go to the men’s restroom, there’s a door at the end of the hallway, on the right. Go through it, into another hallway, and then use the first door on the left. That’s where you’ll find her.” Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I don’t know what it was, but Curtis and the others gave her something that knocked her out. I tried to wake her up, but she isn’t moving.”

Hearing that she’d been drugged made him want to howl with fury, but Eric forced a laid-back grin to stay on his face as he pressed her for more details. “Are any of the doors locked? Or alarmed?”

She shook her head a little. “No. I don’t think so. But they’ve got a bolt on the room she’s in. It’s on the outside, so you’ll be able to open it.”

It was nearly impossible not to stand up and demand to know where he could find the bastards who had drugged her, then locked her in a room, so he could rip their fucking throats out, but he managed to choke it back. Barely. “What about the back exit?”

“It’s guarded like the front one. But I’ve heard that there are other ways to get out of the building.”

“You mean like a hidden exit?”

Maggie nodded. “I don’t know how many, but I’ve heard some of the other girls talking about them. I guess the owners use them when they want to get out without anyone seeing. But I don’t know where they are.”

“That’s okay. You’ve helped me a lot,” he said, determined not to lose control, even though he was seething inside at the thought of Chelsea being at the mercy of Curtis Donovan and his buddies. He’d never had much contact with Curtis, but he’d heard the twenty-something Lycan was a troublemaker. Whatever they had planned for her, it wasn’t good.

“I’m going to get her out of here, Maggie. But whatever happens, don’t tell anyone that we talked about her. As far as they need to know, if you’re asked, all I’ve been doing is hitting on you. If you sense any trouble, get the hell out of here. In fact, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave this place and never come back.”

Pulling her lower lip through her teeth, she said, “Yeah. I’m beginning to figure that out. No amount of money is worth this kind of crap.”

“That’s right. Now grab that half-empty bottle of beer on the table behind you, then throw it in my face and tell me to get lost.”

She blinked down at him. “What?”

“Just do it. And act really pissed. If anyone asks, tell them I said something ugly to you.”

Comprehension dawned. “Oh, I get it.”

Tension coiled through his muscles with cold, dark purpose, his body burning with an icy rage. “Do it now, Maggie. I need to find her.”

“Okay. But tell her that I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for her.” She took a deep breath, grabbed the bottle and flung the warm beer at him, then stormed away from the table, just like he’d told her to do.

Eric wiped the beer off his face as he moved to his feet, then plastered on a cocky smirk for the group of Lycans sitting at the table to his right. “Guess she wasn’t interested,” he said to the males. They laughed, raising their beer bottles at him as he walked by, heading for the doorway marked Restrooms. He scanned the club as he made his way toward the door, looking for Curtis, but didn’t see him in the growing crowd. As soon as he went through the doorway, he caught a subtle trace of Chelsea’s scent. The farther he went down the hall, the stronger that trace became. Quietly opening the last door in the hallway on the right, he gave a quick sniff, relying on his heightened sense of smell to tell him if he was alone. He doubted Curtis Donovan had left the club, and he wasn’t in the main room, which meant the Lycan was either upstairs or somewhere back here. And Eric had little doubt the bastard would be armed. The smart thing to do would be to turn and get the hell out of there, but it didn’t matter. He was willing to pay whatever price it took to get Chelsea to safety. It might not make him smart, but at least he’d still be able to face himself in the mirror if they managed to escape in one piece.

Slipping into the hallway, he reached for the bolt on the door to the first room on his left. His teeth ground together as he slid the bolt free, his heart hammering to a deep, violent rhythm. He tried the brass handle, turning it easily, and the door opened, a desk lamp on the far side of the room illuminating what seemed to be some kind of office. He immediately caught sight of Chelsea lying on a short leather sofa against the back wall. She was curled on her side, facing him, her long hair falling over her face. She looked so small and helpless, and it was all he could do to choke back a bloodthirsty snarl.

Rushing across the room, Eric dropped to his knees beside the sofa and took hold of her wrist, checking her pulse. It was slow, but steady, her skin chilled to the touch.

“What the hell have they done to you?” he grated, pushing her hair back from her face with an unsteady hand. He instantly noticed the purplish bruising under her left eye, and a primitive fury unlike anything he’d ever known caught fire beneath his skin. One that made him want to hunt down whoever was responsible for the injury and take them apart with his bare hands.

She was out cold and the door to the room hadn’t even been locked. Any drunken asshole wandering the hallways could have stumbled across her and done anything they wanted. The bastards had struck her and left her completely defenseless—but then, they didn’t care if anything happened to her. The only upside to the situation was that Curtis had no reason to think anyone would be coming after her, which would work to their advantage. If Eric could manage to get her out of the club without drawing any attention, he might actually start thinking that his luck was changing.

Pulling her into a sitting position, he propped her against the back of the sofa. “Chelsea, I need you to wake up.” Her head lolled to the side, and he gave her a little shake. “Come on and open those blue eyes for me. Right now.”

She made her first sound, a sleepy, muted little groan that reminded him of a child, and he shook her again. “Now, Chelsea. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Elric?” she whispered, and the word sounded slurred, no doubt an effect of the drug she’d been given. Her eyelids fluttered, and then slowly started to open, as if she had to pry them apart with sheer force of will. “How…How’d you flind me?”

“Chelsea, honey, look at me.” He had to force himself not to grip her too tightly. “Are you hurt? Do you feel ill?” he asked, worried about how the drug might be affecting her.

“Um…one of them hit me, but I’m oklay,” she whispered, blinking up at him with the biggest pair of sky-blue eyes he’d ever seen. They were so clear and bright, shimmering with a thin veil of tears, though she wasn’t crying. At least not yet. “Will you get me out of here?”

“I’m working on it, but we can’t just walk out the way I came in.” He pushed her hair back from her flushed face again, trying to gauge just how high she was flying. Her pupils were fully dilated, but she seemed to be finding it easier to focus on him. She even managed a little smile.

“Sure we can,” she said, “if you help me walk. I’m a little dizzy, but no one will notice me.”

He shook his head. “Chelse, you’re not thinking straight. You can’t just walk out through the front of the club. It’s packed with people.”

She tried to sit up a little straighter, that stubborn determination he’d witnessed the night before sparking in her gaze. “Trust me, Eric. It’ll be oklay. Guys don’t ever notice girls like me.”

He stared…hard, unable to believe what she’d said. Not notice her? Was she blind? Either the drugs she’d been given were doing the thinking for her, or she truly had no idea just how…Eric struggled for the right word to describe her. How beautiful she was? Enticing? Sexy? Unique? Damn it, she was all of those things and more, the heady combination no doubt catching the attention of every man she came into contact with. If they didn’t act on it, it was probably only because of that leave-me-the-hell-alone vibe she projected so well. But it didn’t mean she hadn’t been noticed…from the top of her glossy hair down to what were no doubt some adorable little toes.

Whether she believed him or not, Eric knew that whoever had helped Curtis Donovan put her in here would notice her the instant she stepped foot inside the club’s main room. Hell, they wouldn’t even have to set eyes on her, because there was no way that sweet, lush scent pulsing from her skin would go unrecognized by a Lycan. The second they caught a whiff of it, of her, the two of them would be made, and who knew how many he might have to face down while trying to protect her? No matter how good he was at kicking ass, the odds of fighting their way to safety weren’t in their favor.

Scraping his fingers through his hair, Eric shot her a dark look from under his brows. “You know, when I said you weren’t an idiot last night, I was wrong. Coming here again has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. What did you do? March right through the front door, demanding to know what happened to your sister?”

Her eyes went wide. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”

“Mad doesn’t even begin to cover it. Christ, Chelsea. Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Her lashes glittered with tears, then she blinked, and the salty moisture slipped over her cheeks.

“You should be,” he grunted, swiping at one of the glistening tears with his thumb. He hated how badly he wanted to comfort her, when what she really needed was to have some sense scared into her. “You should have listened to me last night.”

She sniffed, swiping at the tears herself. “I know. It was stlupid.”

Eric exhaled a ragged breath. This was getting them nowhere, except making him want to kiss that sullen pout off her lips, and that was something they definitely didn’t have time for. They’d already wasted too much damn time as it was. “Come on,” he said, hauling her up into his arms. “We need to get out of here.”

She clutched at his shoulders and gasped. “Why are you carrying me?”

With the soft, warm weight of her in his arms, his voice came out rougher than he’d expected. “Because you’ll fall flat on your face if I don’t.”

“Oh. You’re, um, probably right,” she admitted with a wince, clutching at her forehead like someone with a raging hangover. “But you dlon’t need to scream at me.”

Despite the grim circumstances, Eric felt his lips curl with a wry grin as he headed toward the door. “I’m not screaming, honey. Your ears just aren’t working right.”

“No kidding,” she grumbled, still holding her head. He noticed that the drug seemed to be affecting her in waves—one moment her speech would be relatively clear, the next she was slurring her words again—but he didn’t know what it meant. Was she getting better, or worse?

“Wait!” she suddenly cried out, trying to look over his shoulder. “I need my backpack. They took it out of my bus.”

Turning around, Eric scanned the room, then spotted the pack on the floor at the right side of the sofa. He headed over and leaned down, letting her scoop it off the floor. “Thanks,” she murmured, clutching the pack between their chests.