War of Hearts(25)

As the room darkened and cool air blew across his skin, Conall sat back on his heels and instinctively rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck. There was no pain and no inflammation. It was as good as new. Standing, he felt relief to realize he was stronger than before Thea had broken his fucking neck. He strode into the bathroom and turned to look at his back in the mirror above the sink. There were three tiny scars because the bullets had been silver, but otherwise the wounds had completely healed.

He walked back into the bedroom and pulled his last clean pair of jeans and shirt out of the rucksack. As Conall dressed he tried to make sense of what had happened that day. He assumed it was still the same day or the motel owner would have shown up to kick him out.

Thea had saved his life.

Instead of leaving him to die in that car park, she’d saved him.

And then she’d broken his neck, knowing it wouldn’t kill him, but that it would give her a head start.

He felt out her scent and knew instinctively, as always, which direction to take to find her.

Instead Conall slumped on the bed.

The wolf in him wanted to hunt her, to pin her and force her to show her belly in submission and admittance of wrongdoing. Another alpha might want to force her submission in other ways that made Conall’s skin crawl. Like the werewolf Thea said had tried to rape her.

And where she’d learned that breaking his neck wouldn’t kill him.

Warring between his anger and confusion, Conall glared at the blank wall, trying to make sense of this information.

Why had she not left him to die?

Was it a manipulation? So that if he found her again, he’d show mercy, or worse, be lulled into a false sense that maybe Thea Quinn wasn’t the villain Ashforth had made her out to be?

But no. She’d admitted to ripping that wolf’s heart out. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but she said it like it wasn’t the first time she’d done it. And they both knew her victims weren’t always psychopathic rapist werewolves, but innocent people.

She was manipulating Conall.

On the off chance that his tracking ability proved to be real, she’d saved his life to soften him.

Well, it would not soften him. Not only did he need to find the murderous brat, he had to find her before whoever sent those humans after them, found her.

Someone else knew the value of Thea, which meant Conall was now hunter and bodyguard. He huffed at himself as he stood. Some fucking bodyguard. He’d never been so caught unawares as he had been these last twenty-four hours. But now he was more prepared.

(A) There was someone after Thea and they knew Conall was a wolf, so he’d avoid bullets from now on.

(B) Thea Quinn was the fastest fucking supernatural he’d ever come up against.

Conall gathered his stuff into his rucksack and as he grabbed the first aid kit, he discovered the syringes were missing. Not that it mattered. Drugging her was too risky. They were useful in bringing her to heel and Conall no longer cared about causing her pain, but they weakened the connection. She probably thought she’d gotten one over on him, taking the damn things.

Things got slightly more difficult when he discovered she’d taken all his cash. Thankfully, she’d left his credit cards. The car was missing and with it his phone. However, he had his passport and her fake one in the rucksack.

After sniffing around outside the almost-deserted motel, Conall found a locked door that led to cleaning products. Keeping his head low in case there were any cameras, he broke in, grabbed what he needed, and cleaned the bathroom floor of his blood. Once he’d wiped down the room, he returned the cleaning products and went to the motel room reception.

It was closed.

Conall posted the room key through the door and began to walk toward the motorway. He’d been out of it when Thea drove them here so he could only hope there was more than a motel around.

His relief came soon when he discovered the petrol station. Walking inside, Conall could feel the tension of the man behind the counter as he took in Conall’s size and countenance. He was an older man, tall, and well built. But no matter how congenial Conall was, humans seemed to sense they were no longer the top of the food chain when he was around.

“Pay phone?”

The man frowned in confusion.

Fucking great.

Conall held his thumb and pinky to his mouth. “Pay. Phone.”

His brow cleared. “No.”

“Do you have one I could borrow?”

Another frown.

Fuck.

He mimed some more, feeling like an arse, but the man cottoned on and pulled his phone out of his pocket and gestured to Conall. Grateful, Conall thanked him and took the phone. He didn’t know Ashforth’s number, but he knew James’s.

His beta didn’t pick up.

Conall was just about to throw the stranger’s phone at a wall in disgruntled impatience when the phone rang again. It wasn’t James’s number, but it was the UK country code. “Conall,” he answered abruptly.

“What happened to your phone?” Ashforth asked.

That man’s voice was beginning to goddamn grate. Conall moved away from the cashier. “Why is James not answering his?”

“I told you I want to be in control of this, Conall. I can’t have you communicating with your beta behind my back. James agreed to the confiscation.”

Outrage rose from his gut, but Conall stifled it. Now was not the time. “My sister is okay?”