Stolen and Forgiven (Branded Packs #1)(69)

Soren growled in satisfaction as he tasted blood on his tongue. At last. But even as he prepared to rip out the bastard’s throat, he felt a shockingly painful blow to the back of his head.

With an agonized whimper, he rolled to the side, barely clinging to consciousness as a shadow fell over him.

Sinclair. Looking down at him with an icy gaze.

How the hell had he gotten across the room so fast?

And what had he hit him with?

It felt as if he’d used an iron fist.

“Shit, Sinclair,” a new male voice floated through the air. “I had a clean shot.”

Soren closed his eyes, pretending to be unconscious as Sinclair turned toward the approaching guard.

“Did you want me to wait and see if you could pull the trigger before the bastard killed our fearless leader, Clark?” Sinclair demanded.

On cue, the older man gave a pained cough. “Shut up, both of you,” he snapped. “And help me up.”

Soren felt a stab of intense fury.

He’d been shot, the back of his skull split open, and captured before he could save Cora.

The least he could have done was kill one of the bastards.

“Do you want me to put a bullet in his head?” the male that Soren assumed was Clark asked with obvious anticipation.

“Not yet, you idiot,” the leader muttered, his voice a rough rasp, as if Soren had done at least some damage. “Markham might be able to use him.”

“He’s a big boy.” Soren felt Sinclair give his haunch a rough nudge with the toe of his boot. “We can always use him in the fights.”

Fights? Soren forced himself to remain limp, his eyes closed.

Was that where those missing shifters went? Were the SAU using their authority over his people to use them as some sort of modern-day Gladiators?

“Christ, Sinclair,” the older man muttered. “Open the door to the cell.”

Soren felt pain jolt through him as the leader grabbed him by one leg and roughly yanked him across the floor. He battled back a growl of agony, not only from the wound on the back of his head, but the bullet that remained lodged in his shoulder.

Until his body managed to work the projectile out of his flesh, he wouldn’t be able to heal.

Thankfully, his fur protected his skin as he was dragged over the floor and into the cell. Instantly, he was surrounded by Cora’s enticing scent as he sensed her rush forward.

“Stand back, bitch,” the guard warned.

“What have you done to him?” Cora demanded.

There was the sound of a low grunt as if Cora had actually run into the man.

“Dammit,” the guard snapped. “I told you to get back.”

On the verge of opening his eyes and launching himself at the bastard, Soren was halted when Cora abruptly kneeled at his side, her hand stroking over his head in a soothing motion.

“It’s okay,” she murmured softly.

“Shit.” Leaving the cell, the guard slammed the door shut. “Sinclair, keep watch at the top of the stairs,” he snapped, his voice harsh as he tried to pretend that he wasn’t unnerved by his up-close and personal encounter with a wolf. “We can’t be sure he was alone. Clark, stand guard here. Anyone shows up…shoot them.”





Chapter 9


Cora waited until she heard the two men leave the basement before she leaned down to bury her face in Soren’s fur.

“Oh God, Soren,” she choked out, shaking with fear.

She’d been terrified when she’d realized that he was in the basement. He had to know that he was risking his life. And then the idiot had charged the guard, getting shot and then hit so hard that she’d been able to hear his skull crack from the impact.

God. She was going to have nightmares for years at the sight of him lying on the floor, so still she thought he was dead.

A deep shiver raced through the wolf before he released a pained groan and shifted back into his human form. With a burst of magic, the fur was replaced by smooth, naked skin and long, muscular limbs that sprawled over the hard floor.

Cora gave a choked cry as she saw the raw wound that continued to seep blood just above his collarbone.

It was even worse than she’d feared.

“Ssh, princess,” he murmured, his hand lifting to brush away the tears that ran down her cheeks. “It’s okay.”

She shook her head. It wasn’t okay. Not when he was injured and trapped in this damned cell with her.

“How badly are you hurt?” she asked.

“I’ll heal.” He grimaced. “Bastards.”

Glancing toward the cell door, she could catch sight of the guard who restlessly paced the basement. His human senses weren’t acute enough to overhear their conversation, but still, she lowered her voice.

“How did you find me?” she demanded, her fingers running through his tousled hair, careful to avoid the wound on the back of his head.

His lips twitched, his fingers continuing to stroke her cheek.

“There’s nowhere in the world I wouldn’t be able to track you down, princess,” he assured her. “You belong to me.”

The tightness that made it nearly impossible to breathe slowly eased as she studied his fiercely beautiful face. He was injured, but he was alive.

Right now, that was enough.