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But he knew why Jenna had died.
His little girl was dead because he’d failed her. They’d all failed her. Her family had put into motion a set of circumstances that gave Sire the opportunity to kidnap her. Connor hadn’t stopped the FBI from taking her from his home. He hadn’t been fast enough to stop her being terrorized again. He hadn’t found her fast enough.
He hadn’t. He hadn’t.He hadn’t.
The bulk of failure fell on his shoulders and Jenna had paid the price.
Unable to leave her laid alone on the snowy ground, Connor crawled to her. Shock froze him to the core better than the weather, but he inched his way toward her with the last of his strength. Blood streaked behind him, more than a little of the ice-covered lake of fluid his own. Too much had poured from his leg, his shoulder, for him to function normally, and the journey to reach her seemed to take hours.
Luna bellied over to him, nudging and whining at him before she darted to Jenna and pawed at her. Her whines continued as she settled her body into Jenna’s, cuddling up close to her mistress.
Jenna’s foot twitched.
Not three feet away from her, Connor stopped and stared. His body shuddered and jerked with cold, but it was forgotten as he willed her to move again. Part of his brain scoffed, aware he was probably hallucinating out of desperation and grief, but the rest of him kicked into action.
He all but dragged himself the last couple of feet, forcing his body past its limits as he felt for a pulse in her throat. For several long seconds, he couldn’t feel anything but the slowing beat of his own heart. Under his ice-cube fingertips, her flesh was cold, but he swore her pulse kicked under his touch.
“Fuck,” he rasped. “Fuck, he was telling the truth.”
How much time had he wasted on Sire when he could have been saving Jenna? The thought gouged his stomach out with razor-tipped nails. His girl was dying, and he’d spent precious minutes satisfying his need for revenge.
And now he had no way of helping her.
The first aid kit in his pack was useless against the wounds inflicted. Antiseptic wipes and Band-Aids weren’t any kind of match for the…fuck. Connor dropped his head to her shoulder. Catastrophic injuries. She needed a hospital and she needed it hours ago.
His watch beeped, just one quick blip of noise in a world gone silent. Chiming the hour of his uselessness. Tipping his wrist, he wiped the blood away splattered all over the screen.
Nine a.m.
Nine a.m.
Maybe there was hope yet. His eyes searched for the pack, found it lurking in the shadows where he’d abandoned it in his haste, and he cursed.
“Luna.” A hoarse whisper but enough to rouse the dog. “Luna, fetch.”
She licked his face as if to ask what he wanted fetching.
His arm was numb when he tried to lift it. Muscle damage and blood loss had done a number on him. He managed to make a sloppy gesture toward the bag. “Go fetch, Luna. Bring it here.”
The Shepherd took off, bouncing along as she hunted for the prize. Sniffing, she made her way slowly to the pack, but it was too slow for Connor’s liking.
“Away, Luna!” he called out and nodded when she moved closer to the backpack. “Good girl, there, you’ve got it.” Shit, his words were slurring. “Fetch it. Fetch it to me.”
She sank her teeth into the shoulder strap and began to drag the heavy burden toward him, her furry silver-blue butt bunching and releasing with the force of her pulls. Her tail tucked beneath her, she hauled it over to him then sat and seemed to grin at him.
He rubbed her head, leaving bloody streaks over that glorious fur, then rummaged one-handed through the contents of the pack until his thick fingers closed around the flare gun. Another forage into the depths, and he found the canisters.
He dropped one through fumbling, almost cheered as he got one into the chamber. Rolling onto his back with the last of his energy, he pointed the gun toward the sky and fired.
The last thing he saw was the flare shoot up into the early morning sky, a tiny rocket with his last hope tied to it like a ribbon, to explode in a shower of red.
*
“We’ve got you, Connor. Keep fucking breathing, brother.”
Cain’s voice was close to his ear as Connor’s eyes cracked open to a blurred existence. Black shadows danced around in slow motion, and noises were hollow, echoing through of a barrier of molasses.
“Jenna,” he croaked, the word cracking on thena.
