Bo Novikov sat up straight in the driver’s side seat. He could smell the full-humans who’d taken her from him, and rage at the audacity of what they’d done moved through him, his lip curling back over fangs that were three times larger than any lion or bear bred after the prehistoric era. Shoving the driver’s side door open, he stepped out and immediately focused on the van taillights he could see ahead in the darkness. Blayne was in that van. He stepped forward, ready to take off after her when it hit him in the back. He felt it like little shocks he’d feel after sliding through a thick carpet and touching a metal door handle. The feeling annoyed but that was about it.

He turned toward the two males who stood behind him, their van parked lengthwise across the quiet street in case Bo had tried to back his truck up to get away. But he hadn’t even known they were there. He’d been so involved with her . . .

He couldn’t worry about that now. About how unobservant he’d been. How stupid. Not if he wanted to get her back.

Reaching behind him, he caught hold of the probes attached to his back and ripped them off.

“Jesus Christ,” the younger full-human sputtered, stumbling back, the taser falling from his hand. The older one was going for his sidearm. With no time to fight these two, Bo grabbed hold of his truck’s back door and ripped it off at the hinges.

The older male had his gun raised and pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed into Bo’s shoulder, but all it really managed to do was piss him off even more.

Roaring, his mane growing as the rage coursed through him potent and uncontrollable, he threw the door. It hit the one holding the gun, part of his head taken off in the process. The younger one screamed and ran, not even trying to get back into his van and drive away. He just ran, never once looking back.

With Blayne his only thought, Bo turned and shot off after the other van. Unable to see the taillights anymore, he took a chance and cut through the park that this road swerved around, praying he got there fast enough. Praying they hadn’t made it to the expressway. He hadn’t bothered with his truck because it limited what he could do. And he was fast enough to keep up with most cars or vans.

As he powered around trees and over benches, Bo caught sight of fast-moving headlights farther ahead. He snarled, his speed increasing as he thought about Blayne alone in that van.

They had her. They had Blayne.

Those who had taken her were chatting comfortably. They’d done this before. So much so, they were busy discussing basketball tickets and plans they had for next weekend. And while they chatted, whatever medication they’d given Blayne to knock her out was pouring out of her pores like sweat. She felt cold, her thick sweater doing little to keep her warm, the liquid soaking into the material. Her teeth began to chatter, but she clenched her jaw tight and held on.

Someone leaned in close. A full-human. They were all full-human.

“Jesus. She’s sweating like a pig.”

“In this cold?” a female asked.

“Chain her up,” a gruff voice from the front of the van ordered.

“But, sir—”

“Do it.”

The male sighed, and Blayne felt hands grip her wrists, the cold touch of metal against her skin. She took in a breath, steeling herself for what she had to do next. And that’s when the van bucked.

“Jesus Christ!”

“What the hell—”

Blayne heard a roar from overhead and she almost smiled.

Bo.

He’d come for her.

“We should have killed him,” the female voice whispered to someone else.

“He’s on the roof,” someone else said, his words nearly muted from the sound of metal being torn apart by claws.

“Kill him,” the gruff voice ordered. “Kill him now.”

Blayne opened her eyes and took a quick look around. It was a young male who sat beside her, his attention focused on the van ceiling. She looked him over once and saw the blade he had strapped to his leg. Military issue.

“And lock her up!” the gruff voice snapped. The young male pulled his gaze away from the ceiling and back to Blayne.

She smiled at him. He blinked, startled, and quickly tried to grab her wrists. She yanked them away and slapped him across the face. His head jerked to the side, and Blayne reached down and grabbed hold of his blade.

As she slid it free from its holster, she kept in mind what her father had always told her. “Do something, Blayne. Even if it’s wrong, do something.”

And that’s just what she did.

Bo swiped his claws against the roof again, tearing at it to get inside. He could hear screaming now and, roaring in rage, sure they were hurting Blayne, killing Blayne, he shoved metal aside to get inside to her. To save her. But the shock of what he saw when he looked inside that van caught him off guard; that split second of confusion costing him dearly because the vehicle swerved wildly again, spinning in a circle and tossing him off.

Bo’s body flipped through the air until he hit the ground hard, his right forearm shattering from the impact while his body continued to flip again, his ribs banging against unfortunately placed rocks. He rolled a few feet more, finally slowing to a stop that left him in excruciating pain and unable to breathe very well.

Bo stared up at the trees over his head. Everything was silent now, and he knew that the van had crashed while he’d flipped across the park ground. To be honest, he wanted to stay right where he was. He wanted to lie here and try to find a way to breathe without that unfortunate whistling sound. He wanted to die here staring up at the trees and hoping that heaven really was an ice-covered pond where all the best hockey players met daily for a new game.