Lola (Completed)

40 Shot Heard 'Round the Ballroom

Lola

This fancy gown is going in the garbage as soon as I can rip it off. I swear the thing wants me to trip and kill myself. I thought I would love this stupid piece of crap when I tried it on, but after just an hour in it I'm done.

I have to hike it up past my knees in order to keep up with Bastian. His blood-soaked hand is clenched onto mine, tugging me through the crowd of wolves streaming from one brutal scene to the next.

As we race back into the ballroom I try to steady my breathing. Follow Alpha Ryker and Mackenzie. That's my goal, to follow my alpha couple and banish some of this terror that strums through my veins.

I fought off Nicolai. It felt good. Not as good as watching that evil light die in his eyes, but close. He was right there, touching me, his hand on my elbow, his breath washing over my face. Oh, goddess, he was right there.

I stumble again in remembered panic. My legs are stiff and my knees are shaking. My wolf isn't helping my coordination. She poured every ounce of herself into fighting off Nicolai for, what, a minute? Less? Now she is crouched low with trembling hindquarters, alert and triumphant that one of her worst tormentors is gone.

"Shh, pussy," Bastian rumbles. His wolf is protective, a natural soothing presence for my terrified she-wolf.

Nicolai is dead.

It's astonishing how arrogant that Gamma is... was. Male wolves can often act completely medieval, but not with a Marked she-wolf from another pack. He came right for me. I barely had to do anything but breath and glance in his direction. What a nutcase. A complete psycho.

Is it just me? Am I an asshole magnet?

Bastian's fingers tighten on mine a fraction of a second before the crack echoes in my ears.

Holy goddess. That was... Was that a gunshot?

"Bast?" I grab his arm, trying to prevent him from moving forward. Guns means humans. Humans, here, means nothing good. Are the police here? Maybe the F.B.I.? We've had too many people disappear over the last month. That fire in the packhouse has been investigated by so many different authorities it's mind-boggling.

Alpha Ryker told us some of the investigators are wolves. He seems confident that the cover-up is solid.

"Lola, breath, pussy," Bastian murmurs to me grimly.

I spot our alpha pair again at the same time as Bastian starts moving again. "Careful," he snaps. He shoves a wolf out of way. The unknown male lets loose a growl, then turns ashen and bows his head as he sees who's rushing past him.

It's not until we're next to Alpha Ryker and Mackenzie that I realize that, oddly, we're not... in the middle of the action. It's so strange that I feel a totally inappropriate bubble of laughter well up in my belly. I fight it back. This is not the time to give into hysteria.

"This fucking sucks," Alpha Ryker growls out.

I turn to see what he is glaring at and the laughter dies in my throat. What emerges is a strangled choking noise.

A body lies on the floor. On his back, an expensive-looking tuxedo is marred only by the cheap shoes with worn soles. Dark hair and pale skin, glassy, light brown eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. One small, round hole leaking blood in his forehead. A dark pool of blood is spreading out from under his head.

Alpha Val's been shot. That explains why Alpha Ryker looks like someone spit in his cereal.

Adrenaline is leaving my body. I can feel it going, going, fading away and leaving behind it a ruby-clad, shaking mess of a female. The nightmare of Nicolai is over. Alpha Val is dead. DarkFur is effectively crippled and in just moments.