The Lost Years by Natalie Shaw Page B

rattle of a key chain.
    “Once you're free, you'll need to shift into your wolf. That will heal the worst of your injuries.
    “Who are you?” Craven asked.
    The shifter didn't answer. Instead he set about undoing each lock. When he'd unfastened the last one, which had been securing Craven's left arm, Craven fell to the floor in a heap.
    “Get up!” the shifter yelled. “You have to shift to your wolf now. The alarm has been raised. They'll be on us in a few minutes.”
    “I can't,” Craven managed to say.
    “Yes you can! Come on!” The shifter pressed his foot gently onto Craven's rib cage sending a wave of pain through his body. If you don't shift now, we'll both be dead.
    Craven still didn't move.
    “Louise is waiting for you.”
    Those words stung him back to life. From somewhere he managed to find the strength to stand. “Where is she?”
    “Later. First we need to get out of here. She's safe—I promise. You have to shift now, before it's too late.”
    Craven had a million questions, but no time to ask them. With his last vestiges of strength, he managed to begin the shifting process. His body was so weak it took much longer than it normally would. When the transformation was complete, he stood unsteadily on all-fours. Although he was still in some pain, and was extremely weak, the worst of his injuries had healed.
    “We have to go now,” his rescuer said, before he too shifted back into wolf form.
    Craven followed the other wolf along a maze of corridors until they reached another door, which was also off its hinges. Craven assumed his rescuer must have entered the building this way. Once outside, the other wolf made straight for a narrow track which wound its way up a steep hillside. Craven struggled to keep pace, and was soon some fifty metres behind. When the other wolf sensed Craven was no longer close behind, he stopped and waited for him.
    “Are you okay?” he asked.
    “I'm fine. You go on ahead. I'll catch up.”
        
    Twenty minutes later, Craven had lost sight of his rescuer. He still had the wolf's scent though, so kept on running as fast as his busted body would allow. He skirted the top of the hill and began the descent into the next valley. He was almost on them, before he realised what was happening. Twenty metres ahead, his rescuer, still in wolf form, was standing in an area of open ground. Four other wolves surrounded him. His rescuer was turning around slowly on the spot—his gaze shifting from one wolf to the next as he waited to see which one would make the first move. The four wolves all caught Craven's scent at the same instant. One of them howled, and the other quickly joined in. Craven sensed his rescuer tell him to: Go! Save yourself!
    That was never going to happen. Craven had no idea who his rescuer was, but he'd saved him from a slow painful death. For that alone he would have stayed to fight by his side. More importantly, his rescuer knew Louise, and might even know her whereabouts. There was no way Craven was going to walk away from this fight. He edged closer to the group.
    One of the four wolves pounced on Craven's rescuer. A second wolf quickly joined in that attack. The other two wolves turned their attention to Craven. He braced himself—ready for them to make their move. They were clever, and co-ordinated their attack to hit Craven at exactly the same moment. He had to make a split-second decision. He couldn't fend off both of them, so he focussed on the larger of the two—the one who was most likely to cause maximum damage. Craven caught the larger wolf with a side blow to the head which sent him reeling across the open ground. No sooner had he done that than he felt the smaller of the two wolves land squarely on his back. He could feel the wolf's breath on the back of his neck, and knew he had only seconds before the wolf's teeth tore open his throat. Craven rolled over. First onto his side, then onto his back, and then onto his other side. That dislodged