Her Wanted Wolf (3 page)

“Now, don’t get nasty.” His expression hardened, and she glimpsed the
were in him.

“What do you want with me?”

His cool smile confirmed her suspicions. “Breeder, of course.”

The simplistic answer pissed her off to no end. “I won’t be lifting my
tail for a mutt.” Her insult earned her a tightening of his grip. She heard and
felt the bones in her hand grind together. Searing agony shimmied through her
abused fist, and greasy sweat popped up on her skin. Any more pressure and
she’d pass out.

A scent pricked her memory, evoking images in her head a second before
her abuser abruptly released her hand. She looked up into the face of the were
who’d kept her safe in her dreams. He had the Chemist by the neck with his fat
pink toes dangling inches off the lichen-covered ground.

“Let him go, Micah.” The barked order reverberated off the limestone
formations hanging from the ceiling. “Milo, is that any way to treat the mother
of your next alpha?”

Oh shit, she knew that voice.

Reluctantly, Aimee turned her head to see the last person to whom she
wanted to be in close proximity. Bardo Redmaven was a wolf in his prime,
handsome and pinup gorgeous. However, he was one twisted bastard. The mesmeric
quality about him drew people to the wolf even though they knew he was
dangerous. Aimee saw the burning zeal in his eyes that could only be madness.

He sauntered over to her side and dropped down onto his haunches.

Aimee gagged at the stench of fresh blood and death clinging to him. “I
must apologize for the poor accommodations.” His cold grey eyes skimmed over
her. “But since our supreme alpha sent me into exile with your brother’s help,
I’ve had to make do with the most basic amenities.”

Aimee recoiled from the fingers he brushed over her cheek. “Don’t touch
me.”

“I’ll do more than touch before this is over.” He gripped her jaw with a
cruel hand. “But not just yet. You have to regain some of your strength. I like
a bit of a fight with my sex. Adds to my pleasure. You’ll whelp me fine cubs.”
His hand slid down to cradle her breast. His fingers bit into the delicate
flesh. Her protest died on her lips when she saw a grotesque smile, full of
malice and enjoyment at her discomfort, spread across his face.

Aimee winced and shrank back from him. Cold sweat iced down her body.

“By your expression, I see you don’t like it rough. But you’ll learn.”

“Give her to us, Bardo. We’ll prime the haughty little bitch for you.
We’ve been without a woman for weeks.”

The rasp of metal grating against metal dragged her attention to the were
who lumbered out of the dark tunnel and into the circle of light shed by the
Coleman lantern. His eyes slid hungrily over her. Pinpricks skittered over her
skin, and she fought the urge to wrap her arms protectively around her body.
Her perception of the danger she was in multiplied tenfold.

He was as handsome as his pack-mates, but his pronounced brow ridge and
shuttered winter-grey eyes full of greedy lust raked her body in
caterpillar-creeping-up-your-arm kind of way. He was built like a tank, with well-delineated
freakishly purple veins bulging under the taut skin covering his muscle-bound
body.

Giving in to instinct, Aimee drew her knees up against her chest. Her
action brought a pleased smile to Bardo’s lips, and he addressed his
subordinate without glancing from her.

“Not yet, Rifkin. I don’t want the goods damaged.” Bardo’s callous,
dispassionate dismissal shook Aimee out of the horrified fascination she had
with Rifkin’s physique.

It pricked her pride and pissed her off. “My brother is going to skin you
like a doe just for kicks.”

Bardo stood up and sneered down at her. “We’ve managed to evade him so
far. By the time he finds us, my plans will be set in motion, and it will be
much too late for anyone to stop me.”

The snarky question on the tip of her tongue died when Rifkin lumbered
over to stare down at her with a cruel acquisitiveness in his eyes.

He stooped down by her feet, pulled one of her legs down, and ran a
callused hand up her calf. “The Lunedares are a bunch of pussies. I still say
we can play with her until you’re ready to use her.”

Micah growled. His body expanded menacingly as he moved toward Rifkin,
but stopped when Bardo held up a staying hand. The tortured grimness on Micah’s
face puzzled her.

Bile filled Aimee’s mouth. Her skin crawled under Rifkin’s palm while his
meaty hand slithered up her inner thigh. He smirked at her as if there was
nothing she could do.

Aimee didn’t know why Drew hadn’t come for her, but she was a Lunedare.
She wasn’t about to sit there and allow some asshole to paw her.

Enough was enough.

Aimee jerked back her leg and kicked with what little strength she had.
Crap, her aim was way off, she thought as she rammed her foot into his gut.
She’d intended to send his balls up into his throat.

Rifkin lunged at her, his mouth open, fangs reaching for her neck.
Anticipating his intentions, she morphed her hand into a paw, claws extended,
to press them into his jugular.

“Come on, lean in. Just an inch. I’ll show you what this Lunedare bitch
is capable of,” Aimee dared him with a blade-sharp smile.

A were’s neck was his most vulnerable spot. All those big, vital
arteries, filled with their lifeblood. Very few of her kind recovered if an
opponent ripped it open. The flesh couldn’t knit fast enough to stem the blood
lost. It was almost a sure death.

“Back off, Rifkin, the little she-wolf’s got you by the jugular,” the Redmavens’
alpha drawled. “By her attitude, I don’t think she likes you, and would enjoy
taking a chunk out of your neck.” Bardo gestured for him to retreat, but Rifkin
remained where he was, his eyes locked with hers.

Her muscles ached with fatigue from holding her arm in the same position,
and her brow dampened under the strain, but she didn’t dare lower her hand.

If Rifkin defied Bardo, she was screwed. Aimee winced when Rifkin’s
fingers bit deeper into her thigh. Pushing back the agony, she pressed her
claws over his skin, drawing blood. In retaliation, the were wrapped his hand
around her neck, cutting off her air.

Threatening growls rumbled through the cave. After a long,
tension-fraught moment, Rifkin broke eye contact with her. Aimee glanced up,
following the direction of his gaze to see Micah, and Milo moved to flank
Bardo.

Rifkin released her and lifted his arms in a placating gesture before he
slithered off her. His body was stiff with rage as he rose to give his
pack-mates a baleful glare, his face red with humiliation.

Bardo smiled at Rifkin, his black eyes glittering with malice. “Having
trouble obeying my orders, Rifkin? I think you need a refresher course in pack
hierarchy.” In a flash, Bardo’s claws shot from his fingertips, curved and
lethally sharp. He raked them across Rifkin’s jaw, shredding his flesh.

Rifkin’s enraged roar reverberated around them. Arms arched from his
body, his chest puffed out aggressively, and fur sprouted through his skin. He
took a purposeful stride toward Bardo, claws descended.

Eyes icy with intent, Micah stepped in front of his alpha, his visage
grim and uncompromising. Aimee gasped as his body seemed to expand, without him
shifting, causing Rifkin to hesitate. Micah bared his fangs as his claws slid
from his hands, curved and lethal in their sharpness. A low challenging growl
rumbled from his throat. Taut, simmering tension hummed between the two weres.

Rifkin froze, frustration flitting across his face. Quivering with barely
restrained rage, he dropped his head in submission. Shoulders hunched, he
scuttled back.

Bardo fixed him with a steely glare. “Good boy. See, Rifkin, that’s how
you show loyalty to your alpha. Now, Milo wants to collect more air and soil
samples. See that he returns in one piece. Make sure the rest of those idiots
under your command stay within the boundaries Milo set. One more slip-up and
I’ll tear strips out of
your
hide, and use Milo’s little healing inhibitor
on you. Micah, keep a close eye on our guest. I want to know the moment she is
fit to travel.” Bardo speared Aimee with a final glance before he loped down
the dark tunnel from where he came. Milo followed him like flotsam pulled by a
strong current.

Aimee dragged her gaze from them to see Rifkin shoot her and Micah a
malevolent glare before he slouched away.

The silence in the cavern pressed down on her, and Aimee sagged under the
strain of holding it together.

She looked up at the man who’d imprinted himself on her dreams. “How can
you carry out his wishes? You know taking me is wrong. Weres from both packs
are going to die.”

“He is my alpha.” The harsh pronouncement sent an overwhelming sense of
disappointment through her.

“He is jeopardizing the well-being of your pack with his thirst for
revenge. That goes against everything we are.”

“Everything we are? You don’t know what the Redmavens are, what we’ve
become.” He held out a canteen to her. Aimee looked at it suspiciously.

“It’s not drugged. Drink. You need fluids to flush out your system.” He
proffered the canteen again.

Aimee accepted the container and took a few tentative sips to moisten her
parched mouth. “Bardo is not fit to lead a pack. Your clan needs a were who’ll
see to their safety. My kidnapping will start a war.”

“We are already at war. Only now we’re fighting for the survival of our
pack.”

“Your alpha is insane,” she murmured.

“There are worse things here than Bardo, little were. You just got a
taste of it. Don’t get caught in the tunnels alone with Rifkin. It might be in
your best interest to maintain the façade that you’re still sick and weak from
the Chemist’s drugs. Maybe you’ll get through this in one piece.” He took back
the container and offered her some beef jerky. “I’ll do my best to keep you
safe.”

She shook her head in refusal. The thought of food made her nauseous.

Aimee grabbed his hand. “And if Bardo decides to force-breed me, will you
stand by your principles and step back?”

Micah’s green eyes darkened. The muscles in his jaw clenched. He lifted
her hand and ran his stubble-covered face over her skin. “Like I said,
malinger, and make it believable. Vomit a couple of times if you can manage.
Bardo hates the smell of sickness. That should buy you some time.”

The fervency in his eyes buoyed her mood a little. “My brother will come
for me.” She had to believe he’d come because the alternative couldn’t be borne.
Drained, she slumped back on the sleeping bag.

“He won’t find you.” Micah dropped to his knees and pulled a blanket up
over her shoulders. His words released the panic she’d held at bay.

“What do you mean he won’t find me?”

Micah shook his head. “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe, as I promised.”

“From what I’ve seen, I am not sure you can.”

“Nothing is as it seems, little girl.” His cryptic words didn’t make any
sense, but very little did right now. She turned away from him, shut her eyes,
and pretended to sleep.

How long had she been here? She couldn’t believe her pack hadn’t found
her yet.

Where was Drew? She knew he’d never stop until he found her. Until he
did, she’d work to regain her strength, and then kick some ass. Aimee Lunedare
was nobody’s breeding stock.

Chapter Three

Drew lost no time finding the wolves with his sister’s essence on them.
The weres he tracked roamed at random over a vast area at the base of the Ozark
Mountains. They were the biggest bunch of undisciplined fuck-ups he’d ever come
across. Their tempers flared at the smallest slight, and they fought frequently
without an alpha in the mix to control them. Drew figured the steroid-fed jerks
had control issues. It made them stupid and reckless.

Drew realized the wolves he stalked were expendable pawns in the
Machiavellian game Bardo played. They lacked the lethal vibe experienced wolves
exuded. This kept him from putting them down. It would serve no purpose. The
clueless weres had just enough of Aimee’s scent on them to catch his interest,
but not enough to give him a hint of her location. They were decoys.

Drew figured one of them would eventually lead him to a were higher up in
the Redmaven hierarchy. He watched and waited.

His patience finally paid off. One of the wolves veered off on his own.
Drew trailed him for several days, going deeper and deeper into the heavily
wooded area.

He always kept downwind of the wolf. The potent stench particular to
these Redmavens, perverted by their former alpha, allowed him to hang back at a
good distance, minimizing any chance of discovery.

Night fell swiftly. Drew noticed every small shift of the shadows and
used them to conceal his presence. His ears pricked up when the flutter of a
bat’s wings covered the steady paw-beats of the wolf he tracked. He caught all
subtle nuances of the telling odors carried on the wind, but he never lost the
scent trail of his prey.

Drew pressed determinedly on, hour after hour without rest, picking his
way through the dense forest of deciduous trees with silent, deadly precision.
Focused, he ignored the cruel bite of hunger clawing at his shrunken stomach,
and the tremors in his limbs brought on by exhaustion.

A dearth of odors broke through the monotonous hypnotic pace of stealth
and silence. Drew froze, jolted into full alertness. He sniffed the air to
pinpoint the wolf’s location. Nothing. He couldn’t smell a damned thing. A
flash of panic gripped him. He couldn’t lose the wolf he trailed. Not now!

Nostrils flaring, Drew sniffed the air again, searching for the smallest
hint of wolf spoor. He blew out short gusts of air from his nose to clear it.

Hell, he really needed to eat. Perhaps being one step away from
starvation affected his most useful ability, his sense of smell.