They could kill him.
The alternative flashed before Malachi’s eyes. Ignoring their bait, retreating for strategy while the rogues moved in closer, brought human weapons closer—close enough to kill. In an instant Malachi saw every life for which he was responsible. April, his beloved mate. The pack he served and loved, the friends of his heart, his only family in the world. Wolves, mates, and pups. The pups—human weapons brought near the precious pups— Malachi’s body burned ever hotter with fighting rage. The wolf within him was screaming, roaring, repeating the same words again and again.
Protect my pack. Protect my pack. Protect my pack.
He would survive and stop them. Or he would last long enough to stop them. One way or another, they would not harm his pack.
Malachi loped forward, and the yipping of the rogues turned to bloodthirsty howling. The chilling sound did nothing against the scalding rage that propelled Malachi toward them. But when he was a few hundred yards away, they broke off their howling and began panting and whining instead.
“Peak wolf!” one of them screamed. “Their alpha’s a seventeen—!”
“Now!” came a roar.
The air cracked and parted around the volley aimed at him. He didn’t slow down. He protected his mate and his pack.
Fifteen
Thehousewastoostill. Where was Rhett? April’s heart pounded, and her throat seemed to be closing. Some wild terror compelled her to find Flannery. The kitten had hidden herself between the back of the couch and the pillow Malachi slept on. She mewled when April picked her up.
“It’s okay, sweetie. We’re going next door until—until Malachi makes it safe again to be here.”
The front door slammed open, and she yelped.
“April, come here now.”
She froze in place. Rhett sounded dangerous. Furious. Ready to hurt someone.
“April! Now!”
Yes. Move. She shuffled toward the door and, halfway there, froze again as he charged full-speed toward her. Barreling strides, rage in his face— She wouldn’t be able to stop him. In the space of a single heartbeat her breath shortened; her vision grew fuzzy; she clutched Flannery to her chest so tightly the kitten squealed and bit her.
And she was screaming. “No, no, no, no!”
“April.” Rhett backed up one step.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Shh, easy. I won’t hurt you.”
“Don’t touch me!”
“I have to get you to safety. Malachi sent me to take you to my house, to the safe room.”
She fought to hear him through the roaring in her ears. She fought to think. “Malachi?”
“The rogues are here. Malachi’s out fighting them, and I’m his closest backup, so I need to get back out there. I need to take you to my house now.”
“O-okay.” The flood of terror still rushed through her body, but she took a step toward the door, toward him.
“We don’t have time for you to run. I need to carry you. It’ll be twice as fast, and Malachi needs me back out there.”
“C-carry?” No.
“Please. May I please carry you?”
No. But for Malachi. Her thoughts cleared just enough to see it—the six-against-one fight that must be happening this minute. “Go ahead. And—and, Rhett, if I panic, just keep going, okay? I’ll be okay, but I might not seem like it for a minute when you pick me up.”
He nodded, came closer, but then he paused a final time. “All right, I’m going to lift you cradle-style, and then I’m going to run. It’s going to be fast. You might feel a little sick.”
