True Alpha (22 page)

Damn it
. If he didn’t stop fantasizing, he wasn’t going to be able to last long enough to do all the things that kept racing through his mind. He hadn’t always had such a pathetic portion of self-control, had he?

No, he’d had a hell of a lot more endurance just a few months ago. The way his dick throbbed, keeping him dangerously close to release even though no one was touching it compared only to the crazy lust that had struck him when he’d first met Mandy and every fiber of his being had screamed for him to take her, to claim her as his mate. He’d gotten a bit of a handle on himself after that – a collar on his inner wolf – though things had still simmered between them, in and out of the bedroom. But something had changed…

Her body. God, at seven months pregnant, her every curve had swollen. Her body was a series of roller coaster-worthy swells that kept his cock standing at a constant state of attention. He’d liked watching her breasts grow over the months, so big that he couldn’t really cradle them in his palms anymore; whenever he tried they swelled over the tops of his fingers, ample and irresistibly creamy, topped by nipples he couldn’t so much as glance at without wanting to taste. And then there was her belly. Her narrow waist had grown round, but he liked that too. Every time he looked at her, it reminded him that she was his, that he’d done that to her, that her body was exuding sex because he’d planted his seed deep inside her, because she was his mate…

And she’d been especially tempting today, because the style of her wedding dress had prompted her to go braless, and while she’d worn a demure wrap, beneath that her dress hadn’t been hiding
anything
. His eyes had almost bulged right out of his head when he’d removed the wrap and gotten an eyeful of the complete front of her gown for the first time. Had she realized that the cool fall air would make her nipples pop against the white fabric like ripe cherries? Maybe not; it’d probably been warm when she’d tried on the dress in the store. An involuntary, totally wicked smile stretched across his face as he envisioned an alternate reality that involved her standing at the altar without the wrap, her nipples dark pink pinpricks beneath the pale fabric of her dress.

Shaking his head, he scrubbed his face and body vigorously with the towel, eager to get back to the bedroom. Though the shower had cooled his skin, his hard-on was as persistent as ever. He tossed down his towel in a fit of disgust. Was he really not going to be able to make their wedding night last?

Maybe he shouldn’t try to hold out for a small eternity when he returned to the bedroom. Maybe making love twice was the answer. His cock practically jumped at the thought of coming inside her not once, but twice. Yeah… Tonight, that sounded perfect. Now all he had to do was get back to bed before Mandy started wondering if he’d somehow drowned in the tub, sink or toilet.

The air in the cabin’s main room contrasted starkly with the steamy fog that had filled the bathroom. In fact, it was downright cold. As he stepped out, a chilly breeze blew between his legs and nearly froze his balls.

Breeze? He turned toward the door, surprised to find that the main, solid door hung open, allowing the October wind to blow in through the screen door.

Maybe Mandy had gone out onto the porch; she did that sometimes when she got hot flashes. When he’d left her in the bedroom, her skin had been flushed and hot to the touch. The memory sent a jolt of sensation straight to his cock as he walked to the door and pushed it open.

She wasn’t there. A seed of suspicion instantly took root in his gut. “Mandy?”

He waited a few seconds after calling her name, but there was no response. Quick as lightning, he turned on his heel and raced toward the bedroom.

It was empty. The quilt was rumpled from where she’d lain down on it, the bed clothes disheveled from all her wiggling and bucking. Worry churned in his gut, alternately red-hot and icy-cold as he dashed back to the porch.

“Goddamn!” he huffed when something pierced the sole of his foot, crackling beneath his weight as a searing pain shot up his leg, instantly killing the erection he’d been trying so hard to tame. Forcing himself to hold still and deal with whatever was crippling him, he raised his foot.

A long shard of something hard and transparent protruded from his flesh, smeared with red – glass. Below, a hundred smaller pieces littered the floorboards, soaking in a puddle of his blood. Swallowing hard, he reached down and pulled the piece from his foot with a brutal yank.

Blood dripped from the wound like water exploding from a suddenly-unplugged faucet, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. Tossing the long shard of glass aside, he shifted into his wolf form and leapt over the pile of glass, scenting the night for any sign of his bride.

Her sweet aroma hung in the air; she smelled just like rain and the little wildflowers that sprouted up in nearby clearings in the springtime. Even as he inhaled, the scent was diminishing, fading away as he clung to it. She’d been gone for probably at least ten minutes, and in a situation like this, ten minutes was an eternity. Rage cramped his gut, and he leapt off the porch, furious with himself for lingering in the shower, fantasizing about her as someone had snatched her right out from under his nose.

That had to be what had happened. She wouldn’t have fled like this – not ever, and especially not on their wedding night. And then, there was the broken glass.

Her scent trail was faint, her smell mixed with that of another person – an unidentified male. The odor sent fear lancing through his heart and caused him to grind his fangs, saliva flooding his mouth as he imagined sinking them into someone – specifically, whoever had taken her. He hurried down the driveway with his nose to the ground as his head throbbed with urgency, a tension headache springing up between his eyes as he traced her. She must’ve been carried, because there was only one set of footprints, and they were too big to be hers.

The trail led him out to the road and down the mountain for a few dozen yards before it stopped cold. Jack’s gut roiled as he breathed deeply, straining to pick up any trace of anyone or anything. But Mandy’s scent and that of her attacker had disappeared, lost in the stink of exhaust. She’d been put into a vehicle. As he strained his ears, there was no sound of a motor, no sign of where it had gone, other than the vague stink that drifted down the mountain. They could’ve taken her anywhere.

Damn it, why had he left her alone, even for a minute? She should’ve spent their wedding night in his arms, not alone with a stranger who wanted… God, he didn’t even know what her abductor wanted, hadn’t a clue what this nightmarish disaster was about, only the vaguest of ideas, all blind guesses.

Sheer desperation clawed at him from the inside, shredding his heart as blood pumped through his veins, flooding his muscles with heat and the desperate desire to do
something
. Tipping back his head, he let out a piercing howl, one the rest of the pack would be sure to hear from their cabin farther up the mountain. And when they arrived, he’d have to tell them that Mandy was gone. He’d lost her – his mate, his bride, and their baby. The scent of the man who’d taken her was burnt into his nostrils, his lungs and his mind. Whenever he found him, he’d rip him apart.

Chapter 12

Waking up wasn’t easy; consciousness seemed to ebb and flow, lapping against the edges of Mandy’s mind, constantly just out of reach. Sometimes, it was so close that she could taste it. It tasted like an old sock stuffed full of pennies. When she finally came to, she gagged.

It was no use; her jaws were wedged halfway open and her mouth was full of something that she couldn’t dislodge. Struggling for control of her breathing, she fought to stop the heaving motions of her throat. Pregnancy had made her gag reflex more active than normal, and it would be all too easy for her to vomit. If that happened, she’d choke to death.

When at last she’d managed to stop, making peace with the fact that a disgusting wad of something – fabric, it tasted like – was stuffed into her mouth, she took the time to acknowledge the other sensations that were vying for her attention. The most prominent was the headache; her right temple throbbed. Then there was the pain in her ankles and wrists – something was digging into them, and when she tried, she couldn’t move them. She’d been bound. When she forced her heavy eyelids to rise, she expected to find herself staring into the dark interior of a blindfold. Instead, dull light made her blink.

She was inside a building. A poor excuse for a building, but a building nonetheless. The structure – a shack, or maybe a shed? – was built of rough wooden boards that looked weathered, even from the inside. A high window admitted a shaft of sunlight that illuminated the modest furnishings, which included an ancient looking cot in one corner and a crude wooden stool in another. There was a crooked wooden door that, judging by the light that shone through the cracks around it, led outdoors. The entire one-room shanty was square and maybe about ten by ten feet. Her attention was quickly diverted from examining her surroundings when a kick jarred her belly from the inside.

The baby
. Undiluted panic gripped her for a moment, stronger even than the tight bonds that held her captive, and her heart sped like a runaway horse. As her breathing grew more rapid, she began to gag again.

No. No, she couldn’t let this happen; if she kept freaking out, it would be the death of her and her precious baby. Consciously and carefully, she willed her throat to stop contracting and her breathing to slow. After a couple minutes, it worked. She lay still on her side, clad only in her bathrobe as the sweat that had coated her forehead trickled onto the dirt floor, creating mud. It wasn’t ideal and it certainly wasn’t comfortable, but at least she wasn’t drowning in her own vomit, and at least she was wearing something. She closed her eyes and focused on her belly, registering every little sensation, desperate to know that her baby was alive and unharmed.

The baby shifted positions and eventually gave another kick, which caused Mandy’s heart to swell with hope. He or she was definitely alive, and didn’t seem to be behaving abnormally. And though her head, arms and legs ached, her belly felt fine, other than being a little sore on the side she’d been lying on for so long. Somehow, she’d made it through being bashed in the head and falling without her child being harmed. Had someone caught her? And had that same person brought her here?

All she could remember was the devastating blow she’d sustained to the side of her head as she’d opened the cabin door. The fact that she’d been bound, gagged and shoved into the corner of a dirty little shack screamed
kidnapping
. But why on earth it had happened or who had done it, she had no idea.

Jack
. Her heart ached as she thought of him. She had no way of knowing how long she’d been unconscious, but she’d been out for at least a night, and every second of it had to have been hell for him. Just imagining how she’d have felt if she’d emerged from the shower expecting to consummate their marriage and found him missing instead caused her to break out in a cold sweat. As horrible as her situation was, he had it just as bad. His pain might not be physical, but losing a mate or fearing for their safety was a sort of agony that cut deep, hitting bone.

The door swung open, shrieking on its rusty hinges and admitting a sudden burst of light.

Mandy squinted, barely able to make out the silhouette that stood in the threshold. When it stepped forward and the door swung shut, her vision adjusted enough for her to see an unfamiliar man.

He had dark hair, but it was nothing like Jack’s; it was short and coarse-looking, combed upward into a haphazard, spiky style. His dark eyes narrowed as he looked down at her like she was something he might have just peeled off the bottom of his boot. “Well, well. Thought I heard someone floppin’ around in here like a landed fish.” Judging by his accent, he was a Southerner.

She hadn’t been flopping at all, but gagging was hardly more dignified. At any rate, the gag prevented her from saying anything. Instead, she met his eyes, studying him for any clue to an identity or sign of compassion. She found neither, only noted that he was young – twenty-something – and dressed in pseudo-military gear, like camo pants, a tan t-shirt and combat boots. A gun belt was slung around his hips, a large handgun weighing down the holster, and he’d slung a rifle over his back. Some sort of hand-held radio was also attached to the belt, and occasionally it buzzed with faint static.

Dropping into a squat, he reached for her.

She recoiled automatically, smacking her head painfully against the wall behind her as a reward for her efforts. He smirked, his eyes cold, and continued, his fingertips brushing her face as he gripped something near the corner of her mouth and pulled, hard.