Moving Forward

There Will Be Blood (38)

Quiet. Too quiet. When Max's eyes opened, he was still in his house. Nobody else. Just Max.

Kyle was gone. Finn was missing. Where was everyone else?

Back at the mansion. Where he'd told them to wait.

Because he'd been so sure that he could keep Kyle safe and get Finn back.

Now Kyle was dead. Lara had killed him. Stabbed him and taken Finn. All because Gillespie had told her to.

It was light outside.

Snarling as he got to his feet, Max didn't feel anything. No pain. He didn't know if he had cuts or bruises, or even if anything was broken.

Cold is the absence of heat, he thought to himself as a chill settled in his bones. But he wasn't cold. Fury lit up inside him. A burning rage. 

This kept him focused. Kyle was dead and Max only had one objective:

Kill Gillespie.

The house was a tip, but Max paid it no attention. He stripped off his clothes, discarding them in the mess, and crouching down to all fours, paying no mind to the debris under his palms and knees.

Ah. Pain. He felt it now. The way his muscles stretched, feeling like they were about to snap like an elastic band. His skin pulling and contracting, making way for his other body. Bones cracked, grating against one another as they formed into new shapes.

Max screamed. Five minutes of his body tearing itself apart and making itself new and whole again. Five minutes of agony in exchange for power. Five minutes of his world ending, ripping away, shredding to pieces, taking his human body and forcing it into another. And when it was over, his screaming had becoming roaring. 

Tail swishing, he stood on all four legs, feeling both dead and alive. A new clarity in his mind.

Gillespie was at the mansion.

Of course he was. There was no trail - no scent to track with whatever trick Lara had pulled on the brainwashed wolves - but they'd be there. In fight between packs, wolves don't stop at killing the alpha. They kill the opposition; they kill the elderly, the weak, the pups, the mothers - they kill anyone who fights or can't get away.

Max knew this.

Claws scraping against the wood floor, Max leapt from his house and ran. Ran as fast as he could without wearing himself out. He needed energy to fight. Kyle was already dead. And he trusted that his men and his family could hold out until he arrived. So Max ran, staying on the forest floor. Trees weren't his friend right now. He just needed a direct path to the mansion.

Stopping at the border of the mansion grounds, Max slowed and circled. There was no one outside. No sound came from inside the mansion, and no scent drifted on the breeze, even downwind. That wasn't a good sign. He felt a growl rumble through his chest before he forced it back.

Jaguars are ambush predators. They hunt in silence.

I always was my mother's son. Max let the thought go, like a leaf on a breeze of hot air. Blown away by his anger.

Circling to the back of the mansion, Max let the sun be his ally, drifting through the shadows like they were made for him and, once in the house, he retracted his claws. He couldn't have them clacking on the marble, announcing his presence to every fucker inside that might decide he was better off dead.

There were scents in here. Not Lara's and certainly not Gillespie's... but Blake and Team Panther... Amelia and Carter...

Carter...

Carter was Alpha. Carter had been made Alpha after Anderson died. 

Gillespie had killed Anderson thinking that Kyle would be the next Alpha. And now Kyle was dead because Gillespie thought he was Alpha. Max felt his muzzle pull up into a silent snarl. If Gillespie had only done a little more research, Kyle would still be alive right now. Sure, maybe it was cruel to think that it should've been Carter, but Max didn't care. Couldn't care. Kyle had been his mate and now he was gone and Max was going to goddamn kill the snake that had ripped his mate from him.

Following the scents led Max up to Carter's office. Just as he was about to push the door open, a sense of foreboding halted his next step. Its source wasn't clear, but Max knew where he felt it. The sense didn't come from his gut. It ignored the rest of his body and went straight to his head, where it could mess with his decision making. 

He didn't like that. Lara had messed with Max's head enough, and now it was time to put her out of commission.

Inside the office, Lara leant against the opposite wall, looking directly at Max as he strolled inside. Gillespie, however, was sat on the desk, completely disregarding Max's presence as he stared at Carter, who'd fallen to his knees with a stricken expression.

"Kyle..." he whispered.

"I'm afraid so," Gillespie said. He no longer had the twang that he shared with Lara, instead slipping back into that unidentifiable accent that he'd had when Max first met him.

A sway slipped over Max, lapping at his skin like a gentle wave, and he snarled. Lara was done fucking with his head. He knew what her influence felt like and he was done letting her play around with his emotions, his thoughts, as if all the horrid things he kept inside his head weren't already his. Suggesting that he should turn and run wasn't necessary. Max'd already had that idea and kicked it aside. 

Now she looked worried.

But he wasn't here for her. Not yet. Weak willed as she was, it hadn't been her idea to bleed Kyle like a stuck pig.

It was Gillespie's. 

And now, Gillespie was going to die.

Max crouched. Thigh muscles bunching. His tail kept him balanced. And with a roar, Max launched himself at Gillespie, claws out and teeth bared.

In the seconds before Max's maw closed around this throat, Gillespie actually looked surprised, the word 'no' on his lips, the desire to live going unheard. There was a crunch as Max crushed his spine and trachea in one go. Blood spurted. 

Max let go. 

He snarled at Gillespie's body.

"He couldn't even fight back!" Lara screamed, cried, rushed forward to the body of her brother. "You killed him and he couldn't even fight back!"

Ah. Had she not done the same? Taken Kyle's life when he was under her influence, when he couldn't even move under his own power. 

Max had no sympathy for her. Not anymore. She'd killed his mate, and he'd killed her brother and it was almost fair but now he just felt... empty. Lara couldn't die just yet - not before they'd found everyone - but Max didn't even feel the urge to do so anymore. He wanted to curl up and wish the world away...

Not until they'd found everyone. Not until they'd retrieved Blake and Panther and Amelia and Finn...

He had to keep moving.

Max had to keep moving.

If he stopped... Max knew - if he stopped, he wouldn't be able to get back up again.