Wolf's Fall (Alpha Pack 6)

Nick opened his eyes, dazed. “John.”

“Can you get up? This place is about to go up like a Roman candle and take every fucking one of us with it. Come on. You can do it!”

“The bullet hit my leg.” John helped him sit up. “Think I can make it, though.”

“What happened to your side?” The big man pointed.

“Ivan stabbed me with that big fucking knife.” Nick grabbed his friend’s arm. “Wait. Get Tarron the hell out of here. He’s worse off than me. I’ll cover you.”

The boiling heat was now nearly unbearable. The fight had moved to the fringes and people were scattered.

Nick propped himself on his elbows, ready. “Get him out, now!”

“Hang on,” John said grimly. “I’ll be right back, okay?” He lifted Tarron into his arms with a grunt, whirled, and took off in as close to a dead run as he could manage.

Nick returned the volley of gunfire, buying John precious seconds. Throwing a look over his shoulder, he almost collapsed with relief to see the man disappear through the hole. He raised his head and caught a glimpse of Ivan sliding along the wall, much closer now.

The vampire was circling around, closing in on him. Nick raised his arm, sighted him, and pulled the trigger. The only response was a metallic clink. Empty.

“Shit,” he gritted through his teeth. He heaved the useless object away, wiping blood and sweat from his eyes. His brain screamed at him to shift into his wolf. To fight.

It had to be now. Nick pushed up only to find himself shoved roughly to the floor again. Ivan was standing over him, smirking in triumph, one foot braced on his chest. With the ceiling high above his head consumed by writhing flame, he was struck by how very much the vampire resembled Satan.

“This is how it ends, wolf,” Ivan said with a sneer. He brandished the big knife. “It’s almost a shame to end our dance, but my mate deserves your blood. Are you ready to die?”

“I’m not afraid to die, Ivan. But I think you should go first!” He grabbed his enemy by the ankle and yanked with all his strength. The other man, caught unprepared, lost his balance and fell onto his back.

Agony seared through his side and leg, but Nick ignored it as he rolled and pushed himself up. Bracing his weight on his good knee, he launched himself at Ivan as the knife swung up. Nick landed on top of him, grabbing his wrist and twisting the blade away from his own body. Locked together, they fought for control of the weapon, nose to nose, staring each other down. Malice gleamed in the depths of Ivan’s eyes.

Nick strained, his muscles bunching, the cords of his neck standing out. Though fueled by hatred, Ivan’s physical strength was no match for his. Breath coming in short puffs, Nick began to feel the tide turn in his favor. The other man realized it, too, and snarled in rage. With one last, great effort, Nick wrung the dagger from Ivan’s grasp and lunged.

The blade sank deep into Ivan’s belly and the vampire’s eyes flew wide in disbelief. Nick gave the handle another shove inward, then up, sending it all the way to the hilt. Ivan’s hands fell at his sides, an odd gurgling sound coming from his lips.

Pushing himself up, Nick stood, keeping most of his weight on his good leg. He stared down at Ivan impassively, and felt nothing but relief.

“End it,” the vampire gurgled. “I want to join my mate.”

For a second there, Nick almost believed the vampire felt remorse. “My pleasure. Burn in hell together.”

Faster than he ever had, Nick dropped to his knees and shifted. He lunged for Ivan’s throat—and ripped it out.

Even though the vampire was dead, Nick savaged the body until there was no hope he could revive. The bastard had touched his mate, terrified her. Had almost killed Tarron and had killed many others.

At last he was done, but the devil hadn’t yet reaped his due. To Nick, the final scene unfolded in slow motion, as if underwater. No sound, no sense of time.

Calla ran back into the inferno, screaming Nick’s name. John was on her heels, reaching for her.

Across the room, Jax fell at last. Then Ryon, and Micah. They didn’t move again.

Rogues and hunters started laughing, celebrating. In wolf form, Nick ran for Calla, ignoring his healing injuries. The battle was all but lost, but he would save his mate. Or die trying.

Then a loud clap of thunder shook the mountain. Pebbles were dislodged from the walls, and people lost their footing. Nick reached Calla and pushed her behind him, backing her toward the escape route—and then stopped to stare in awe at the sight before them all.

Sariel.

The Fae prince was hovering above the now-halted battle, looking down upon their enemies, his face etched with a smoldering rage Nick had never seen before. His hair cascading around him like a jeweled blue waterfall. Matching wings were spread to a great width, easily keeping him aloft above the carnage.

A hunter raised his rifle, prepared to take a shot.