Chapter 26 TO THE RESCUE

Chapter 26 TO THE RESCUE
Hazel P.O.V

“Before what?” I press, leaning in—every second we waste twists a knife in my gut. Derek’s out there, somewhere in this godforsaken warehouse, and the longer we talk, the more danger he’s in.
A flicker crosses Danny’s face—something sharp, unreadable—before it vanishes, replaced by hard worry. “Before we can free him.”
“Exactly. Which is why we can’t waste another second.” I meet his eyes. “If you’re set on coming, I won’t stop you. Besides, I might actually need the help.”
“Then let’s move.” Danny’s voice is sharp with resolve. We climb out of the car, bodies tensed for action.
We quickly reach the front of the warehouse where Lacroix has disappeared to. I’ve made us invisible, hoping that they don’t have any infrared in place. 
Lacroix’s sleek Mercedes is still idling nearby, driver inside, and an idea pops into my mind.
I conjure a hologram of the driver, crisp and lifelike, right in front of the metal door. Then I slam my fist against it—boom. The sound echoes through the quiet night, loud enough to rouse anyone inside.
A small metal slot slides open, revealing a pair of dark, intimidating eyes. Really? The Godfather cosplay is a bit on the nose.
I nudge Danny—my voice is too high, too feminine, to pass as a man’s. He catches on instantly, dropping his tone to a gruff baritone. “Mr. Lacroix sent for me.”
Those dark sharp eyes stare at the fake driver for a moment, and when I think he’s going to ignore him and leave him there in the cold, the door is pulled open, and a guttural voice orders, “Move it!”
I make the driver’s doppelganger step inside, Danny and I gliding silently behind it, still invisible. The burly guard slams the door shut behind us, not bothering to give directions—just planting himself back in his post, face like stone. Rude.
We navigate a dim, shadowed corridor, the air thick with dust and machine oil. After a few steps, I dissolve the hologram—no sense risking questions or unwanted attention. We move onward in heavy silence, until the murmur of voices ahead cuts through the stillness.
Danny and I share a look. He nods, a silent “go on,” and my heart leaps into my mouth. I take the last few steps toward the door, which hangs ajar—just enough for a sliver of sickly yellow light to leak out. I’m terrified to look. What if Derek’s hurt? …I won’t be able to handle seeing him hurt, and God knows how long he’s been kept hostage in this forsaken place. I hate Lacroix and his crew! I swear, as soon as I get my hands on that blond piece of … garbage, I am going to gift him a free ticket to see his beloved daughter and wife.
Anger burns away the dread, hot and bright. I push the door open inch by inch, my breath catching in my throat as I step inside. The room is brightly lit, harsh fluorescent bulbs that make every detail sharp—and every horror impossible to ignore.
My eyes quickly adjust to the light and my gaze immediately zeroes in on Derek, chained to the farthest wall. My heart stops beating. He’s completely roughed up, his clothes are torn, caked in dirt and what looks like dried blood. He’s not wearing any shoes, and it appears he hasn’t worn any for a while, because his feet are black with grim and full of blisters. His hair and beard are overgrown, wild, and there’s no other word for him: feral. His canines are elongated, protruding from his mouth, his claws are out and a thin layer of fur is covering his arms. 
He’s struggling against the chains—thick, metal, looped around his torso and binding his hands behind his back, hooked into a bolt in the wall. On a normal day, he’d snap those chains like twigs. But sedatives must still be coursing through his veins, weakening him. The bruises and cuts that litter his chest, his face—those aren’t stopping him. But someone will pay for them. No one hurts my mate and gets away with it.
I tear my eyes away, forcing myself to focus. Lacroix stands in the center of the room, flanked by two men in white lab coats—clipboards in hand, pointing at charts—and a brute of a bodyguard, his arms crossed, muscles bulging through his shirt. They’re talking about research, their voices low, but I catch snippets: “compulsion,” “antidote,” “wolf DNA.”
“What now?”  Danny mindlinks, impatience edging his tone.
Good question. I want to kill the bastard and free Derek right away, but this might be my chance to get my hands on the antidote, and free the whole pack from the compulsion.
“We need the antidote,” I link back. “I’ll take Lacroix. You—”
I don’t even have the time to finish my sentence that the loudest roar ever booms through the room, making my skin prickle in both awe and fear.
The roar was coming from Derek, who now has his blood red eyes trained on me, and is pushing harder to free himself. By the noise the chains are making, he’s also succeeding. 
Crap. He smelled me.
I scan the room for something—anything—to knock him out. It’s the last thing I want to do, but if he breaks free, he’ll attack. He’s not himself—not the Derek who holds me when I’m scared, who teases me about being a scaredy cat. He’s a wolf pushed to the edge.
“Who are those? How’d they get in?!” someone shouts—one of the doctors, his voice shrill with panic.
To my utter dismay the four men are all looking at me and Danny, which means that they can actually see us!
I immediately try to put the invisibility cloak back in place, but it’s like my powers have vanished, I can’t conjure them, no matter how hard I try.
“Fuck! My powers aren’t working!” I link Danny. Although he’s already moving, launching himself at the bodyguard—fists flying—before I finish the thought.
I don’t know what’s happening. I have used my powers today, but not enough to exhaust them. What’s wrong with me? Did Lacroix do something? 
I don’t have time to ponder over the hows and whys, as Derek pulls free from his restraints and charges at me full force. Without my powers I’m no match for him, even if I’ve worked out, I’ll never be able to match his strength. So, I run toward Lacroix—half wanting to throttle him, half knowing I still need the antidote. He’s my only lead. 
“YOU!” Lacroix yells seeing my face clearly now. “KILL HER! SHE’S THE WHITE WOLF!”
So much for the hair dye and contacts. I guess my disguise was a joke. And any hesitation I had about killing him vanishes. Him first, antidote later.
I shift mid-run—bones cracking, fur sprouting—and my white wolf form bursts forth. I gain speed, Derek hot on my heels, and leap onto Lacroix’s back. He’s trying to run, the coward, but my claws sink into his shoulders—deep, tearing through his shirt, leaving bloody stripes. He screams, and I relish it. Good.
I don’t get to savor it long. Derek’s wolf slams into me, hard enough to send me flying across the room. The blow forces me to shift back mid-air, and I brace for the concrete—but Danny catches me, his body cushioning my fall. I realize, then, how stupid I was to think I could handle this alone. Friends are invaluable, and I’m lucky he stuck around.
“You alright?” Danny links.
“Peachy.” 
He smirks slightly, and then he’s up in a flash shifting and going up against Derek, who has his red eyes focused on me, that deranged look making him look nothing like the Derek I love.
Danny goes on the offensive and manages to slash Derek on his snout, just above his nose. Blood beads, and Derek snarls.
“Try not to hurt him,” I plead through the link.
Danny hesitates. Just for a second. But it’s enough. Derek lunges, sinking his teeth into Danny’s front paw. A sickening crack echoes through the room—bone breaking.
Damn it. Danny’s hurt because of me. I made him hold back, and now he’s paying for it. I can’t let this go on. But I can’t hurt Derek, either.
Danny rakes his claws down Derek’s side, making him release his leg, and they both take a few steps back, hissing in pain, blood dripping from their wounds.
That’s my chance. I reach for my powers again—praying, begging—and feel a tingle. They’re back. Thank the Goddess.
I throw up a wall of scalding light between Derek and Danny—bright, hot, impossible to cross. It hums with energy, keeping them apart. Then I turn to Lacroix, who’s being helped up by the doctors. I kick one doctor in the ribs—he stumbles, gasping—and yank the other by his coat, flinging him into a wall. Then I grab Lacroix by the throat, coating my hand in light—hot, fizzling, burning.
He screams, a high, desperate sound. The smell of burning skin fills the room—foul, acrid—and I fight the urge to gag. But I keep my face hard. No mercy. Not for him.
“Give me the antidote!” I snarl, using my Alpha command.
I release him, dropping him to the floor. He clutches his throat, wheezing, his windpipe making a guttural, wet noise. I should feel something—pity, maybe. But all I feel is hatred. This man and his family have taken too much from me.
“I don’t have it,” he rasps, his voice broken, ragged. “I don’t—”