“Finish him!” Lindsay yelled, but Mercer just stood there, his gaze moving between Lindsay and Cruikshank and Drew who was sitting up now and slowly, dazedly pulling himself to his feet.
As Drew rose, Cruikshank began to thrash more strongly in Lindsay’s grip.
“Mercer!” Lindsay screamed, but Mercer was training his sword on Drew again, no use to Lindsay. With an almighty effort, Lindsay swung the twisting, squirming creature in his arms around and slammed him into the desk. Taking hold of his bald head again, Lindsay smashed it down hard on the wood. Cruikshank grunted, blood-flecked spittle spraying the open pages of a ledger, then began to struggle, hands pawing the desk in search of something, anything.
“Mercer, help me!” Lindsay yelled, lifting Cruikshank’s head again, but Cruikshank twisted in his grip and his arm came up. Lindsay braced for a punch to the side of his head, but the cold, heavy object that smashed into his temple was not a fist.
He fell to the floor as though into water, sliding down but feeling no impact, bright lights sparking in his vision, his head ringing like a tuning fork. Distantly, he heard Drew call his name, and his wolf whined at his mate’s distress, urging Lindsay up.
Somehow, slowly, he managed to force his eyes open, even as his ears still rang.
The first thing he saw was Cruikshank, slumped on his back on the desk, his head turned towards Lindsay. His bulging eyes stared glassily, unseeingly. And then Lindsay saw that his throat had been sliced open and that his blood was everywhere, a great pool of it covering the desk and dripping slackly to the floor.
As the high whining in his head began to dissipate, he discerned voices, crashing—distant, as though he was underwater. Blinking hard he forced himself to his feet, steadying himself on the desk, heedless of Cruikshank’s blood.
Drew and Mercer were locked together, wrestling over the sword that glinted between them.
Lindsay staggered towards them. Drew was a strong man, but Mercer was a wolf. There was only one way this could end.
“What are you?” Drew exclaimed as, with a roar, Mercer finally wrested the sword from him and sent him reeling back.
“Your executioner,” Mercer hissed... and thrust the blade between his ribs.
Drew blinked, glancing down as Mercer yanked the sword from his guts with a snarl. He seemed more astonished than anything else.
Lindsay’s howl was a terrible, inhuman thing. At the sound, Drew looked over at him. His mouth opened as though to speak, but nothing came out, and then his legs gave out and he fell, clutching his stomach.
Lindsay ran to Drew’s side, pulling his hands aside, a pained whine escaping him at the sight of the growing bloodstain darkening the pale grey waistcoat. His wolf pressed frantically at the edges of his skin, needing to be free, but the collar was too strong. He turned his head to Mercer.
“Take the collar off,” he begged. “Please. I have to save him.”
“Do you think I’m a fool?” Mercer replied.
“I promise to come with you,” Lindsay babbled. “Please—you gave me your oath he would go free.”
“My oath ceased to mean anything when he went for my sword.”
Lindsay roared, surging to his feet and rushing Mercer. Despite the collar, he felt the power of his wolf in his blood, urging him up. Not enough to shift, not enough to overpower Mercer, but enough to attack him.
“I’ll kill you!” he screamed as he punched and tore and kicked at the other man.
“Fucking cur!” Mercer grunted, smashing his elbow into Lindsay’s face and swiping his feet out from under him.
Lindsay landed hard but pain was nothing to him, not now that his mate lay injured, dying. He staggered back to his feet and lunged at Mercer again. “Not going with you now,” he gritted out. “You’ll have to kill me.”
That was when he saw the first flicker of fear in Mercer’s eyes. If Mercer failed to return with Lindsay, Duncan would make him pay for his failure. And pay, and pay.
Mercer held the sword defensively between them but now Lindsay’s plan had changed, and when he lunged this time, he grabbed the weapon by the blade and pulled it towards himself. If he died in his human form before Mercer could get the collar off him, Duncan would never be able to have him again. And if Mercer did take the collar off him, Drew might still have a chance.
Lindsay wrenched at the sword, distantly amazed by his own actions. He could do this—he could die, by his own hand. His wolf’s instinct to survive was not as absolute as he’d always believed.
For Drew, he could die.
With a final surge of desperate strength, Lindsay yanked the blade under his chin, the sharp point scraping the tender skin there.
“No!” Mercer screamed and tried to tear the sword out of Lindsay’s grasp. The blade sliced Lindsay’s fingers and palms and his blood ran down the glinting metal, making his grip slippery. It was now or never.
“Lindsay,don’t—”
