Chapter 151. The Hunt V
Chapter 151: 151. The Hunt V
Maisie
Fangs sank into my shoulder, trying to rip off my entire arm. I screamed wildly, twisting and lashing out with my claws.
The Lycan bayed painfully and I slammed my fist up into its muzzle, sending it sprawling, and tried to clamber to my feet, only to have another sets of claws pinning me down.
A broken sob tore from my throat as a hot, rancid breath burned against my neck as a jaw hovered over my throat, widening to devour me.
"No! No!"
The ginger Lycan was gone the next second as a red blur collided with it, tearing it off me with a furious roar, and they rolled down the ridge, attacking each other in a flash of teeth and claws.
Another Lycan lunged at me, but before it could get to me, another blur intercepted it. A silver one streaked in paint.
I sobbed, silently cursing myself for ever mistaking Tessa’s and Jericho’s Lycan, so consumed by terror I forgot just how large Jericho was. How terrifying.
He moved like he had a personal score to settle, grabbing the attacker by the neck mid-leap and he flung him into the nearest tree with bone-shattering force. The trunk exploded on impact, the wood splintering like the Lycan’s spine. Audibly. The Lycan went limp.
He took a stand in front of me and roared so loud, I closed my ears with a soft cry, the call for utter dominance in the air forcing my shoulders to curve inwards.
The horde of Lycans faltered, then snarled, but they backed away slowly, sizing up Jericho, and I saw them think about taking him on, all at once. More than half of them cowed, and the other half were otherwise discouraged when Mercer emerged from the edge of the ridge with a feline expression, blood that didn’t belong to him dripping from his muzzle.
They took flight through the trees and silence fell, the only sounds in the air the distant, retreating howls and my ragged breathing.
Mercer prowled towards me in a menacing manner, and he shifted without breaking his vicious stride.
He dropped to his knee in front of me, running his hands down my neck, my face, my arms, my torso, smearing the blood down my skin like he was searching for the wound.
"It’s healing," I said, voice hoarse, but he didn’t seem to hear me, eyes wide and crazed as he continued to scan my body frantically.
He blinked at the closing wound on my shoulder, chest heaving. And then, his green eyes lit up with murder. "What in the ever-loving fuck possessed you to run into the forest alone?! Do you never do as you’re fucking told?! You could’ve died! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
The yell cracked something open inside me.
The terror I had felt when I thought they could’ve been hurt. The weight of the entire evening. The dying girl that could very well be my half-sister, meeting my biological mother under such circumstances... the last couple of fucked in days I’ve had...
It all crashed over me at once.
A sob escaped me, then another, until I was hiccuping ugly.
Jericho startled. "Don’t cry, malyshka."
"I—I’m sorry," I choked out, curling in on myself. "I just wanted to—" hiccup "—I heard them talking about the Exiles and—and I thought you were in danger—I wanted to warn you—I d-didn’t mean to—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—"
Tears streamed down my face, mixing with blood and dirt. I couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop the terrified sounds coming out of me as I told him everything.
About getting lured. About Tessa shoving me off the ridge. About the dying girl. About the huge Lycan and how I felt she might have been Margaret Hunt. About Bastian and how I ended up being pursued.
Mercer’s expression fractured, going from livid to slack to enraged, and when I was done, they were both trembling with rage.
"I’m going to snap her delicate little neck and make a fucking necklace out of her bones," Mercer snarled. "And then, I’m going to have a conversation with my mother. The reason we were so far from the Hunt in the first place was because she had us stand watch tonight, on fucking patrol, while she was busy trying to get you—fuck!"
I flinched.
The rage melted away in an instant, replaced by something soft and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his chest.
He tucked my head underneath his chin as I shivered, cradling me like I was something precious to him and fragile. "I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry." His arms tightened around me. "If something had happened to you... fuck, Maisie. I’m sorry."
The tears wouldn’t stop flowing. It was like his soothing words and his hands stroking down my back apologetically only made the dam spill harder.
I buried my face in his neck, still hiccuping sobs, fingers clutching desperately at his shoulders. "I thought I wouldn’t reach you in time... I thought—"
Fingers ran through my tangled tresses and I let him lift me, wrapping my legs around his naked skin, and he didn’t seem to mind at all that I was caked in blood and dirt.
His hands trembled on my skin. "Shh. You’re okay, May." He repeated those words over and over, more to himself than me as he pressed soft, fervent kisses along my cheeks, my nose, my neck.
My sobs slowed as I shut my eyes and wrapped my arms around his neck, and let myself breathe in his scent.
"Get her safe first. We’ll handle Tessa later," Jericho said to Mercer.
"You’re sure you can hold up the front?" Mercer asked. "We don’t know for sure how much of the perimeter has been compromised—"
"Between Soren and Quinn, I’m sure they’re having a field trip in hell." Jericho paused. "Plus, you’re no use to us limping around like that."
I felt Mercer tense, but he gave a jerky nod.
Jericho gave me a one over, and his amber eyes softened around the edges. He dragged his fingers through my hair and kissed my brow, speaking something roughly in Russian.
"What does that mean?" I asked softly, voice hoarse.
A small smile. "You are going to be the death of us, malyshka."
And then he shifted, bounding down the opposite direction in a blur of silver, and he was gone.
Mercer’s arm tightened around me and his breath brushed my ear, "Hold on."