Marco, standing on the opposite side of the van, growled. That spelled one thing to Ash—Marco wasn't growling low; this was an angry growl from one werewolf to another.
"Shut up or you'll die," the other werewolf snapped at Marco. This would-be kidnapper was shorter and shakier than the one with short hair.
"Don't hurt them, Hicks," Jackson had his hands up, pleading with the shorter male. Ashe had seconds, perhaps. His gaze was locked on Hicks' gun, which was pointed at Marco. He could try to get Marco on the other side of the van and then attempt to pick up Jackson, or he could grab both werewolf assailants at once, since they were very close together.
Marco, I'm getting them. I'll take them back to Winkler's kitchen. Have somebody meet me there, Ashe sent. He then went to mist and lifted both Hicks and his shorthaired partner before racing toward Winkler's home.
Chapter 8
"What the?" Jackson shouted as Ashe and both men from his father's Phoenix Pack disappeared.
"Shut up and get in the van!" Marco yelled, jerking his cell from a pocket. Climbing into the van and starting it, he had Winkler on the phone as he raced out of the parking lot.
"Winkler, two wolves were here trying to grab Jackson. Ashe is bringing them to your kitchen. They're both armed! Gotta go." Marco punched the end call button and screeched out of the theatre parking lot with Jackson hanging on, frightened and shaking in the passenger seat.
"What happened?" Jackson shouted as Marco raced toward the highway.
"Can't talk," Marco hissed. "Just hold on and I'll try to get us there in one piece."
"Don't hit Ashe," Winkler growled at Trajan and three other guards. He and Trajan were the only ones who knew how Ashe would arrive. The others were blinking in confusion at an empty kitchen. All five were armed with rifles. Winkler wished at that moment he had mindspeech—he'd tell Ashe to release his prisoners in the floor and remain mist so he wouldn't be placed in danger. "And don't kill unless you're forced to," Winkler added. "We need to do some questioning."
"What are we looking for, boss?" Grady cast a puzzled glance at the Dallas Packmaster.
"They'll be here soon enough," Winkler said. "Raise your rifles and remember what I said."
Ashe barely paid attention to the two werewolves inside his mist. He was worried over the same thing that concerned Winkler—getting shot if he appeared in the kitchen with the other two. He was almost there; he could see the roof of Winkler's mansion. I'll drop them in the kitchen, he sent to Winkler. I'll stay mist and meet you in my bedroom.
Ashe thought that best, in order to keep anyone else from seeing what he truly was. And to keep from being shot, he added to himself. His passengers screamed in terror when he flew through the roof of Winkler's home, then screamed twice more as he dropped through the ceilings of two more floors. Get ready! Ashe shouted mentally and dumped two werewolves in the kitchen floor. Gunfire erupted behind him as he zipped through the house toward his bedroom.
Winkler came upstairs with Marco half an hour later, shirtless and with a bandage on his right shoulder. Ashe wanted to slink away. He'd gotten the Dallas Packmaster injured.
"It's nothing," Winkler sighed at Ashe's expression. "We've got them locked up."
"They're from the Phoenix Pack. The shorter one recognized Jackson," Ashe said. "I think they were trying to kidnap him."
"Probably," Winkler agreed. "Trouble is; Dominic Pruitt isn't in Phoenix right now. His Second is running things and he says Dominic didn't tell him where he was going or when he'd be back. Now, as a Packmaster myself, that's generally a problem. If Trajan doesn't know where I am and can't get in touch with me, then I've been kidnapped or I'm dead. I don't think Dominic Pruitt is either one of those things. As soon as Hicks and Burton are conscious again, we'll ask questions. The Grand Master wants to know what those answers are, and pretty quick."
"Is Jackson okay?" Ashe slid off his bed.
"He's fine—his mother and Jason are talking to him now," Marco said. "He's not sure what he saw, and some of the wolves downstairs are asking questions."
"What was I supposed to do?" Ashe sighed and paced.
"What you did. Ashe, we'll have to keep Jackson hidden until we know the threat from his father is over," Winkler explained. "And that may mean a move." Ashe watched the Dallas Packmaster closely. Lines of pain formed around Winkler's mouth.
"Doctor Lang available?" Ashe asked, suddenly concerned.
"He'll stop by when his shift at the fire department is over," Winkler said. "I'll be fine until then."
"Just a graze," Marco agreed. "Bullets bounce off the boss."
"Good," Ashe said. "I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to take them."
"Son, you did fine. Stop worrying about it," Winkler patted Ashe's shoulder. "Want anything to eat or drink?"
"Come on, we'll find a sandwich downstairs," Marco coaxed.
"All right." Ashe walked downstairs with both men. He was sitting at the kitchen island having a roast-beef sandwich when David Lang walked in. Winkler didn't even stop eating while Dr. Lang cleaned out the wound and bandaged it again.
"I'd ask if you wanted something for pain, but I know better," Dr. Lang laughed.
"It'll be healed in the morning," Winkler waved the doctor-turned-paramedic off. "Now, what I really wanted to say, Ashe, is that since Dominic Pruitt knows where we are, we'll be traveling to my beach house in Port Aransas tomorrow. We'll stay there for a little while, I think, until we can get this sorted out. You'll get to see your parents and friends on weekends if you want. I'd prefer that you stay at the beach house with me during the week. It's right on the gulf, so it shouldn't be a hardship."
"And you won't be getting out of your exercises, we have a weight room there and you and Marco can run on the beach," Trajan walked in, grinning. "How's the shoulder?" He asked Winkler.
"Fine." Winkler huffed. "Grady is meeting someone here tomorrow afternoon, so he won't be traveling with us. Pick at least six to come along, and let Jason, Marcie and her boys know they're coming too. Those two didn't know where Pruitt was; he just called and sent them after Jackson. So, we're at a loss, still, on that end."
"Will do, boss." Trajan set about making a roast-beef sandwich for himself, asked the doctor if he wanted one, made an extra and set out soft drinks for both.