“Fucking awesome.” He rolled to his feet and almost vomited. His head throbbed to the beats of a thousand tiny drums. He put his hands on his knees and breathed slowly. Then he got to his feet. “I was going to get more candles. You didn’t get the electricity on?”
“I got knocked out in the shed. The generator’s busted.”
“Where’s Roxie?” asked Lara. Her insistent tone pricked the hairs on his nape.
The men looked at each other.
“Goddamn it. We left her!”
The front doors burst open. A drenched Elsa carried a big satchel into the house and hurried toward the stairs.
“Jack! Grant!” she said. “You’re okay. How’s Roxie?”
Jack’s heart tha-thumped and sweat pearled his brow. Without another word, he hauled ass up the stairs and grabbed at the door handle. It wouldn’t budge.
“Roxie!”
Grant pushed him aside and kicked at the locked door. It flew open, splintering, no match for the werewolf’s strength.
They rushed inside.
The shadowy creature that smelled like sewage hovered near the French doors. It turned as they burst inside, hissing and rushing toward them. The thing that had once been Crawl easily batted them aside.
The werewolves climbed to their feet, both growling as their inner beasts took over.
“Where’s Roxie?” demanded Jack. He snapped at the darker.
“Dead,” it cried gleefully.
Elsa pinned the thing to the floor. It screamed, trying to escape, but Elsa wasn’t about to let the darker go. Lara pulled items out of the bags.
“Grant,” puffed Elsa. “I need your help. Jack, go to the balcony. That’s the only place she could’ve gone.”
Grant joined Elsa’s efforts to hold onto the creature.
“Roxie!” Jack ran to the open French doors. What had that monster tried to do to their wife? Had she escaped? Or was she … oh, no. Now! He leaned over the balcony. “Roxie!”
The storm’s frenzy had dissipated. The rain fell softly now, and the velvet black of the sky peeked through the gray clouds. He looked everywhere, around the balcony, above him, at all angles of the roof, and finally, at the sandy ground three stories below. Tears pricked his eyes. “Roxie!”
“Jack?”
Her voice came from the right. He leaned as far as he could over the railing, and saw her hands grasping the rain gutter that ran under the balcony and along this section of roof. “Hang on, baby! Just hang on!”
“I’m already doing that. Any other swell advice?”
He choked on the laughter. She sounded scared, but strong. Yes, she was strong, his Roxie. He clambered over the railing, his feet sliding on the tiles. “Shit!”
“Be careful!”
“Yes, dear.” He crouched low, slowly stretching onto his belly. He inched toward the gutter, sweating and cursing, until his hands grabbed hers. “Thank God. Are you okay?”
“Almost.”
He slid his arms down on hers, offering his strength, until he reached her armpits and pulled her up. She grabbed onto his arms and struggled upward, grateful when her knees hit the roof. She slowly turned and sat, watching as Jack rolled over and did the same.
“Did it hurt you?”
She cuddled into his side. “It pushed me over the railing, but I grabbed the rain gutter.”
His heart nearly beat out of his chest. He’d almost lost her. Relief made him giddy.
“Where’s Grant?”
“He’s helping Elsa oust that bastard.” They crawled to the balcony and climbed over, reaching the French doors. Grant met them there, hugging them both.
The creature screeched. The Earth Pack triad turned and watched Elsa and Lara blow blue smoke at Crawl and chant in an ancient language. The darker writhed and shrieked…then it burst into a shower of red and black sparks, and disappeared.
“It’s over now,” said Grant.
“You’re safe,” added Jack.
Roxie held onto her mates, soaking in their warmth, their love.
“Well,” said Elsa, “I expect one of those little girls to be named after me.”
“And me, too,” said Lara.
Roxie let go of Jack and Grant, and turned to stare at Elsa. “One of my little girls?” She flattened her hand against her stomach. “Twins?”
Elsa chuckled. “No, honey.” She grinned widely. “Triplets.”
* * *
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About the Author
Michele Bardsley is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of paranormal romance. When she’s not writing sexy tales of otherworldly love, she watches “Supernatural,” consumes chocolate, crochets hats, reads on her Kindle, and spends time with her husband and their fur babies.
www.michelebardsley.com
Kate Kent - Taming the Alphas: Complete Edition
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