Strays

Chapter 42

Chapter Forty-Two

Her scent saturated the room.

It was like waving a red flag at a bull: his head pounded and his fist tightened around the phone until the metal began to bend and twist beneath his fingers, crumbling at the edges. He tried to concentrate on the tinny voice at the other end of the line but all he could think was, That bitch. That bitch. That lying bitch.

Rage burned like fire in his veins. He could almost hear her like she was standing right in front of him, her voice twisted in a cruel mockery of fear and misery, ever the consummate liar. "I can't go back to him, I can't, I can't, Michael, please don't make me..."

But every last word was punctuated by the photograph sitting in his inbox, the picture burned into the back of his eyelids. The image of her arms around him, of his arms around her.

"... new portal appeared in Hackney thirty minutes ago. Fifty or sixty soldiers currently amassed in a warehouse... Potential new portal appearing in –"

He pinched his nose and tried to concentrate on the call. To piece together the intel and work out some kind of strategy. He'd known he'd have to move on Ash's pack sooner or later – the tentative ceasefire between the four London packs could only hold for so long before one pack decided to get cocky – but even his worst case scenarios hadn't involved an entire second army.

A second enemy.

"I can't go back to him, I can't, I can't..."

He twisted on his heel and slammed his fist into the wall without thinking. Drywall and plaster exploded around him. Pain shot through his knuckles the smell of blood infused the air, the scent of it almost strong enough to drown out the weight of her, but she was still there.

Still fucking everywhere.

"Michael?"

He could barely hear Paul's shout over the rushing noise in his ears. Over the sound of her begging him not to make her go back and the grim note in Sebastien's voice as he warned, "Your love for her will only get you killed."

"Have Arran put eyes on the second portal," he ordered, ignoring concerned thread in Paul's voice. "Stay with this one yourself. Keep me updated."

"Got it, boss."

He hit the end call button and shoved the damn thing in the back of his jeans before he broke it completely. A fresh wave of fury rose inside him as he glanced down at his injured knuckles. The skin had already begun to scab over, the scent of fresh blood easing, and he almost wanted to rip open the scars again. To sink his nails into the wounds and make them bigger, bloodier, more painful.

Anything to distract from her.

Grunting, he grabbed his jacket from the floor and made for the doorway. A sense of urgency stole through him as he hurried down the hallway. He'd been preparing for this for months – hell, he'd been training for this kind of situation for most of his life – but now that it was actually happening, that he was really on the cusp of war, he couldn't suppress the flicker of panic that made his heart beat faster.

He had so much riding on this. So many lives depending on him for protection. So many children.

And when he thought about having to face off with Sebastien's soldiers at the same time...

He burst out onto the fire escape and took the stairs three at a time. Kellan had locked down the bar the night before and evacuated the guest rooms, and the place was empty when he walked inside. The use of the bar as a neutral zone was one of the few legacies that survived Fat Jerry's beheading during the territorial battles but the promise of safety only extended to the alphas; any one of the guests, lycan or otherwise, could easily find themselves on the wrong end of a weapon with little or no provocation.