Wanted.

Chapter Ten.

"NO, she's mine," I repeated myself. This good-for-nothing stranger shows up in Sketch's house, grabs her in the hallway, and then suddenly proclaims he is her mate? I don't think so.

Sketch looks dumbfounded. Her curly red hair hangs limply down her back and her black shorts show off her mile long pale legs. Her mouth is forming words, but no sound is coming out.

"And who are you?" The boy on the couch asks.

"I'm Rye. Eve's boyfriend," I stress. He gapes stupidly at me. "Her mate."

Out of my side vision I catch Sketch slowly shaking her head. "I-I..." she stutters before dashing out of the room. I move to follow her, but the stranger stops me.

"Just let her go; she doesn't need to see me kick your sorry butt," He threatens. I roll my eyes. Werewolf or not, he's honestly no match for my Hunter strength.

"Look, I'm not one for fighting," I start. "But for Eve, I can make an exception." I glare at him.

He says nothing; only shooting pointless daggers in my direction.

"I didn't catch your name?" I growl at him.

"Lance Phellan," he says proudly. "Son of Beta-wolf Matias Phellan."

I roll my eyes. "Well, looky here, papa's boy, Eve and I have been together for three years, and you, sir, are not just going to come in and ruin it. I love Eve, and would do anything in the world for her. Therefore, if getting rid of you is necessary, that I will do."

Pretty boy was just about to open his big mouth when an ear-splitting scream erupted from upstairs. I was up the stairs in a blink of an eye, while Lance was still fumbling around.

"Eve? Eve!" I screamed.

No answer.

"Eve!" My voice ripped from my chest. I spun around and dashed into her room.

Eve was lying on the floor, a deep gash across her rib cage. "Oh my gosh..." I dropped to my knees in next to my unconscious girlfriend.

Lance pounded into the room. "By the Moon..."

I turned to him; he looked a little green in the face. "You idiot! Help me get her to the bathroom!" I yelled harshly at him. Blood was slowly pooling onto the plush white carpet of the Richardson's home.

Lance shook his head and charged out of the room; a large hand clamped over his nose and mouth. I groaned.

I gently lifted Sketch and carried her quickly to the bathroom. I set her carefully into her huge bathtub and tore off her tank top, gasping at the deep wound in her side.

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Pain. Red colors of pain swirled in my mind. I was drifting in and out of conciousness, and the pain was excuriating. I gasped for air, and every intake was like a knife in my side.

"Eve, baby, it's okay." I heard a distant voice slip into my brain. "Sketch, you're going to be okay. I'm here."

The voice got closer and closer. I blinked and felt my face stretch aganist the dry tears molded onto its features. My vision was blurry and I continued to blink.

"Lance, shut up," I heard the voice growl. "She's waking. Eve, babe?"

"Rye?" I whispered, every breath hurting. "What happened?"

"I don't know. Do you remember anything?" Rye cooed softly.

"A man. In my room," I muttered, drifting off again.