True Alpha (24 page)

“Why don’t you go inside and give her a drink?” Her first captor’s voice drifted from not far away. “I’ll handle the patrol.”

“Why don’t you do it?” the other snapped.

“Because I did it last time.”

“I don’t see why it matters, anyway. If that son of a bitch is as good at seeking as he is at hiding, he’ll get here before she dehydrates.”

“Yeah, but if her throat gets too dry or she gets too weak, she won’t be able to scream.”

Her captor’s matter-of-fact tone chilled her as much as his words. And to think, she’d pegged him, the first one, as the kinder of the two.

“I could make her…” the second one grumbled, but footsteps rustled through the leaves, approaching the cabin, and his gravelly voice grew louder by the second. He entered the shack with his weapon cradled in one arm – a huge gun of some sort. An AR-15, maybe? It was hard to be sure. She’d gleaned most of her knowledge of such large guns from TV, and definitely wasn’t an expert.

As he walked toward her, Mandy did her best to keep her expression impassive, as if she hadn’t overheard their conversation, or at least as if she hadn’t been shaken by it. The masking tape that covered her mouth made it fairly easy to maintain her false bravado, until he ripped it off.

Even her fear receded into the background as she spit out the rag, relieving her aching jaws. She’d managed to get into a position where she sat on her bottom with her legs extended out in front of her body, so this time the rag landed in her lap. At least there, it wouldn’t get any dirtier.

Another grape juice box. Her light-haired guard held it to her lips, his pale blue eyes narrowed as he glared down at her. He’d smeared black paint beneath his eyes, and the dark lines highlighted his severe cheekbones and made him look fiercer than his companion. “Drink the damn thing already.” He was rail-thin and rangy; his deep, scratchy voice sounded like it belonged to a larger man.

She caught the straw between her teeth and drank as quickly as she could. Thirst had been clawing at her throat ever since she’d had the peanut butter and jelly sandwich – she hadn’t been given anything since then. As much as she disliked drinking out of the proffered container like a baby while her captor leered at her, she couldn’t afford to refuse a drop, and not just because she feared what his reaction would be if she refused the order. She was definitely dehydrated. Though it felt like she’d been languishing in the dusty shack forever, she still didn’t feel the need to urinate – a fact that worried her deeply, considering that at seven months pregnant, it wasn’t unusual for her to go on the hour, every hour.

Her throat muscles worked against the collar as she swallowed, the sweet, warm liquid taking the edge off her thirst. She’d figured out what the collar was for, too – it prevented her from shifting. Or rather, it would kill her if she tried. It was already snug against her human neck; if she took her wolf form, her neck would grow a little thicker, and it would strangle her. She suspected that it was thick leather, and unlike flimsy clothing, that wouldn’t break if she transformed. If it hadn’t been for the collar, she would’ve been able to shift, wiggle out of her bonds and maybe even escape, though the fact that her captors were heavily armed made that unlikely at best.

As soon as she emptied the juice box, the light-haired man yanked it away, crushed it in one hand and tossed it onto the dirt floor before hastily shoving the rag back into Mandy’s mouth and securing it with a fresh piece of tape.

It was a relief when he walked back out the door, though she had to fight the urge to gag all over again. After a few moments she managed to get a handle on the dangerous reflex. With the distraction of imminent suffocation gone, she was left to contemplate the increasingly fierce aches in her wrists and ankles.

She’d been wiggling her feet and hands as much as possible, waging a desperate battle against numbness. If she let feeling fade from her limbs, she’d probably incur serious damage, and she’d be completely unable to defend herself in even the smallest way if the need to do so arose. As she stretched and wiggled her fingers, willing the encroaching pins-and-needles sensation away, a sharp pain pierced the pad of one finger.

Something sharp had snagged her; the little wound throbbed, but at least the pain meant she wasn’t numb.

“She drink?” the dark-haired man asked from somewhere outside the shack.

“Yeah,” rumbled the deeper voice of the dirty-blond.

“Good. When that dog shows up, I’m gonna make that bitch scream like a siren. We’ll see if he runs away then.” The satisfaction in his voice made it clear that he didn’t think that would be the case.

“What if he does – what if he doesn’t even come?”

Mandy imagined her dark-haired kidnapper shrugging during the moment of silence that ensued.

“Her pack will come, at least, and we’ll have the pleasure of taking them out, if nothing else. And we’ll get rid of her – kill his kin, just like he did ours. I swear, I’m gonna make her feel the pain of thirty-six deaths before I let her die – one for every Gruen that son of a bitch killed, whether he shows up or not.”

The other kidnapper murmured his approval, voicing a few choice torture methods that Mandy wished she hadn’t overheard.

A bead of cold sweat trickled down her forehead and into one of her eyes. She’d been asking herself what the hell was going on ever since she’d regained consciousness, and the pieces of information she’d been able to gather were combining to form an ugly picture.

The dog they’d mentioned wasn’t Jack – they had to know that he’d be leading the pack’s search, that he’d be the first to risk his life to rescue her, even if trying would mean certain death. That was just how it was with mated pairs. And there was only one male wolf shifter she knew outside of her pack – her father. Of course, she didn’t really know him. The only thing she felt fairly certain of was that she shouldn’t expect him to rush to her rescue.

She continued to wiggle her aching fingers, feeling purposely for the object that had pricked her skin. After a couple moments of blind searching, she found it – something hard, narrow and pointed at the end. A nail. It required some awkward maneuvering, but she managed to wedge the half inch or so of protruding metal between two of her fingers. When she gripped the steel between her knuckles and flexed her wrists, attempting to move it, it proved disappointingly sturdy.

But that was all right. The wooden boards that formed the shack’s walls were weathered and riddled with dry rot. After a few more moments of trying, the nail gave a little, shifting slightly, just as she’d hoped, causing her heart to swell with determination. She’d have to proceed as quietly and quickly as possible. Blood from her injured finger made it slippery work, but at least it kept her hands busy. She poured all of her energy into a desperate game of tug-of-war with the nail, determined not to slow down as the rough metal rubbed her skin raw, bloodying her fingertips further.

****

“Tell me exactly what you mean.” Every muscle in Jack’s body tensed and bunched as a furious energy rippled through him. He clenched his jaw as he forced himself to remain human. He needed answers, not revenge – at least, not yet.

Mandy’s father’s face was a mask of tension, as if he knew Jack’s thoughts. “I’m being hunted,” he said. “The people who are after me… I’m sure they took her, unless she had any other enemies?”

“She sure as hell didn’t.”

“Then it had to be them.”

“Who’s
them
?” Jack’s heart beat a million miles per minute as he waited for the answer to the question that had been haunting him for the past twelve hours. Every millisecond that passed seemed like an eternity; by the time Mandy’s father opened his mouth, he wanted to strangle the man out of sheer frustration.

“Shifter hunters. A family of ‘em, from Georgia. They’ve been after me for a long time. It’s a vendetta; I killed some of their kin after they killed mine. Maybe you’ve heard of the Eastern Cypress Pack and the Gruens?”

Cold, stark dread froze Jack where he stood. Heard of them? He sure as hell had. An entire shifter pack being massacred wasn’t something that went unnoticed. But that had happened decades ago, shortly before he’d even been born. It was just a piece of bloody history that was told to young shifters as an example of the brutality of shifter hunters.

“Are you saying that you led the
Gruens
here?” Jack balled his hands into tight fists as his heart seized up. Shifter hunters – the worst goddamn possibility there was. The last people he wanted his mate and his child to be at the mercy of – the monsters he’d prayed and hoped and believed were least likely to be behind her abduction.

“Not on purpose, but yeah.” The man hung his head, and if he’d been in his wolf form, his tail probably would’ve been tucked between his legs. Good. He deserved the shame, every last little bit of it. Unfortunately, it only seemed to last for a second before he raised his head again and looked directly into Jack’s eyes. “We need to find her, fast. If we—”

Something inside Jack snapped. “You think I don’t know that?” he shouted. “You think that’s not exactly what we’ve been doing all damn night and morning?” He flew across the room, pulled back his fist and let it fly into the man’s jaw.

The man didn’t fall or flinch, though Jack didn’t pull his punch. His knuckles ached as he lowered his fist, watching a livid bruise appear instantly on Mandy’s father’s jaw. Not many men would’ve been able to take such a hard hit standing.

The bruise went from red to purple before his eyes, but the only thing Jack was sorry about was that he hadn’t knocked the idiot down. He could feel a vein throbbing fat and hot on the side of his neck as he internalized the knowledge that Mandy’s father’s curiosity – or whatever the hell had driven him to pop into her life for fifteen minutes, as if he’d ever actually cared about her – may have gotten her killed. Her and the baby. The jerk was stronger than he’d anticipated, but everyone had their limits. Jack’s knuckles throbbed, and he flexed his hand, wishing he’d hit harder.

“Jack.” An unexpected voice spoke from behind him.

“What?” He looked over his shoulder at Noah, watching Mandy’s father out of the corner of his eye.

“Time is everything right now. Maybe you should get more information out of him before you break his jaw.”

Noah was right. Jack drew a deep breath and released it, as if he could breathe out his rage and suppress his disgust for long enough to do what needed to be done.

“Michael…” Mandy’s mother scuttled across the floor and stood by her long-lost lover’s side.

So, that was the bastard’s name. But what was he, really, other than a thorn in the Half Moon Pack’s collective side? “Who the hell are you?”

“I used to be a member of the Eastern Cypress Pack. Now, I’m on my own.”

Jack’s stomach lurched. “You’re one of the survivors?” There hadn’t been many; the Gruen family’s slaughter had proven a death-blow to the pack, with most of the few remaining members dispersing across the country, while a small band of the others had taken a decidedly more vengeful route. A few Eastern Cypress survivors had exacted brutal revenge against the Gruens, killing their family patriarch and picking off multiple other members of the family, one by one.

Michael gave a curt nod, his blue eyes suddenly icy.

“You’re one of the ones who waged war with the Gruens?” What those shifters had done was more akin to a bloody, sneaky special ops mission than an outright confrontation, but it had been war, nonetheless.

Michael nodded again.

“I thought you were all killed?” A small handful of wolves – nobody was sure exactly how many – had plagued the Gruens for years, chiseling their once-large family down to a smaller group comprised mostly of women and children. But it had cost them – they’d sustained losses too, and according to the tales Jack had heard, the Eastern Cypress avengers had all given their lives in the effort to destroy their pack’s murderers. In the end, the Eastern Cypress pack and the Gruen family had both been diminished to almost nothing. Or at least, that was how the story went.

“Obviously, I’m still around,” Michael said, his tone flat. “I’m the last of the group. Have been for years now.”

“What have you been doing?”

“Running. Hiding. Fighting. Biding my time in hopes that I’d someday succeed in wiping the Gruens completely from the face of the earth.”

“From what folk say, one would think that you’d already done that.”

Michael shook his head. “I was never as vicious as the Gruens. My packmates and I managed to kill the active hunters in the family, but we let their children live, and well, they’ve grown up. By the time we’d finished killing the first set, another generation had taken their place. The Gruen family ain’t what it used to be, that’s for sure, but there are still about half a dozen hunters bearing that name that’d like nothin’ more than to shoot me through the heart and skin me alive.”