Chapter 2

Peter felt the magic brush against his wolf. His eyes blazed bright blue. His witch was calling for him, calling for his help. Claws extended and fangs grew as he prepared to answer her call. He'd been waiting for a sign that she was coherent, that her magic was back.

Slipping out of the janitor's closet, he walked quickly past a couple of orderlies who were hurrying in the opposite direction, from where he could hear screaming. They barely noticed him. The keycard he'd stolen let him through the doors, and he made his way to where he knew her room was. Stopping before it, he swiped the keycard and opened the door.

The witch standing before him was nothing like the woman he'd met before. Nothing like the girl he remembered. She had power in her; he could sense it. It made his wolf sit up and take notice. She could be a powerful ally, but not as she was now.

Greasy hair hung limply over her sweat streaked face, and burns and bruises, likely from electro "therapy" and other forms of torture, stood out against her pale skin. The gown they had given her was filthy, streaked with blood and dirt. The witch swayed on her feet, and Peter bit back a growl.

"Peter." Her voice, hoarse from screaming, said his name timidly. "You came." He read the uncertainty in her eyes.

"That's right, sweetheart. You called for me, and I thought you might be ready to leave." He let a teasing smile slip onto his face, but his eyes glowed fiercely.

She swayed again and he caught her against him, mindful as he could be of her battered body. She leaned tiredly against him, unable to hold herself upright anymore. "I am. I want…can't…you're here…"

Her voice trailed off as her eyelids fluttered.

"Not yet, sweetheart," Peter said, gently cupping her cheek. "Need you awake so we can get out of here."

Phoebe nodded and forced her eyes open. "Okay. What should I do?"

"Just stay awake for me," Peter said, lifting her into his arms. "If I have to fight, I can't have you in my arms, and I won't leave you passed out on a floor somewhere. You'll have to keep yourself upright against the wall and watch my back."

"I can do that," she assured him, voice stronger now that help was here.

"All right. Here we go."

Peter glanced cautiously down both sides of the corridor. He wanted to put his claws in as many of Eichen House's "doctors" as he could, but to fight so many now as a beta with an injured witch would not be his smartest plan. So he would bide his time once again. Stealthily, Peter crept down hallway after hallway, dodging staff and sneaking down blind spots where he'd disabled the cameras.

Phoebe was light, far lighter than he'd expected for her having been here only two weeks, but her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, despite the harsh tremors Peter could feel coursing through her body. She kept her eyes scanning around and behind him, alert despite the exhaustion that he had seen on her face.

They'd made it almost to the side door he knew he could leave through when a burly employee, one who wasn't supposed to be there, crossed in front of the door. With a muttered curse, Peter skidded to a stop, dropping back against the wall before they were seen.

Placing his charge gently against the wall, Peter let his claws and fangs extend. "Stay here. I won't be a moment."

"Are you going to kill him," Phoebe asked curiously.

Peter watched her for a moment, head tilting as he considered her words. "Yes. He smells like one who beat me when I was here."

"Good," she replied, slumping back against the wall, relief radiating off of her.

An interesting reaction, one Peter would have to analyze another time. For now, he wanted, as his nephew would say, to rip the guy's throat out. With his teeth.