The Lone Wolf's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #3)(46)

I want him to kiss me. I’ve never kissed anyone, and I’ve been mated for four years, and that’s bullshit. My eyes prickle. I blink them quickly.

Lenox slows and draws me in front of him so we’re facing each other. Oh, crap. When I was blinking, did it look like I was batting my eyelashes? Does that actually work?

He gently unclenches the fingers of my other hand and takes it in his. His palms are smooth and cool. He gazes down at me. “You’re really special, Mari,” he says.

I swallow.

“You’re hot as shit, too,” he says. “Fantastic tits.” He smiles wider. I smile back out of habit, but something in my chest feels weird. I don’t think I’ve heard him cuss before. And “tits?”

“Sorry that this had to happen,” he says. “It’s nothing personal.”

What?

His grip slides to my wrists, clamping down until the bones grind, and he spins me so my arms are crossed over my chest, and I’m caught, and I can’t breathe. The cobblestones rattle. Tires squeal. A white van screeches to a halt in front of us. The sliding door flies open.

I kick and lose my footing. I’m dangling forward like a ragdoll, trapped by my own crossed arms. My wolf springs awake, but she’s disoriented, slow in stumbling to her feet. I scream as I’m thrown with full force into the van, my shoulder slamming into the metal interior wall, inertia sending my body airborne as the van speeds forward. My head slams into the rear doors, and everything goes black.





When I wake up, I’m being hoisted out of the dark van into the bright daylight, rough hands seizing my arms and legs. A piercing pain spears my temples.

I squeeze my eyes shut and go limp. My wolf is awake, too, but she’s cowering in a corner, fur damp with fear sweat. My heart bangs so loud it’s almost impossible to think over it.

What do I do?

I fight. Shift.

Come on. Take our skin.

My wolf stumbles a few steps forward on wobbling legs.

That’s right. Come on. We need the fangs and claws.

She totters to a stop, nose quivering, whining low in her throat. She won’t come any further. She senses something I haven’t. I force my eyes to open, force my lungs to draw air.

What does she sense that I don’t?

The tang of carbon steels burns my nose. Guns. The males hauling me across a clearing toward a tree line are armed. They have holsters at their sides and strapped to their ankles. They’re dressed in all black, black skull caps, black boots.

And they’re human.

I squint and try to force my blurry eyes to focus. There are six of them that I can see. Four carrying me, one loaded down with gear, and a gray-haired man leading the way. I draw in another breath. Lenox is here, too, following behind. We’re heading away from the scent of asphalt and gasoline fumes into a wood. It doesn’t smell like Quarry Pack territory.

How long was I out?

What are they going to do with me?

They’re going to kill me.

My panic rises to a sudden, crashing crescendo, and spurred by instinct, I fight, buck, flail, but every time I manage to free a leg or an arm, the gray-haired man is there, and he has a stick, a taser, and he jabs me in my side. The pain sears. I jerk and spasm, my wolf screaming, but I keep fighting, keep thrashing, because I don’t want to die.

The gray-haired man jolts me again and again until my muscles seize, and then they won’t work. My tongue is bleeding. Only two men are dragging me by my armpits now, through underbrush, over exposed roots. Thorns and low branches catch and tear my dress and my skin. My shoes are gone.

“Think she’s finally had enough?” one of the men says, chuckling.

“Why doesn’t she shift?” the gray-haired man asks over his shoulder. He’s taken the lead again.

“Couldn’t say,” Lenox answers. “Her wolf might be too intimidated. She says it’s small.” I told him that in confidence, late one night over video chat. He asked to see pics, but I didn’t have any.

“Smart wolf. She should be scared.” The gray-haired man smirks.

She’s terrified. She’s paralyzed on her feet, pupils blown, fur bristled, trembling. She’s not hiding, though. She’s waiting for an opening. We’re of one mind. We’re getting out of this.

We come to a small clearing, no more than a quarter mile from where we started, and the men drop me. Instantly, I curl into a ball, my knees to my chest, arms tucked to my sides where the taser singed holes in my dress. I let my curls fall in my face and watch the men from slitted eyes.

Without speaking, they fan out in a circle. Two of them disappear into the surrounding trees, moving in a sure and practiced way, like they’ve done this before. My blood runs cold. Are they the human government? Am I being kidnapped for some kind of unsanctioned experiments? There have always been rumors, scary stories told around the bonfire after full moon runs.

But then why are we stopping in the middle of the woods?

Lenox and the gray-haired man squat beside me. He’s older—in his late fifties—and he’s got a close-cropped gray beard and a thick gold ring with a red stone. He shoves my curls out of my face. I jerk my head away. He laughs.

“She’s pretty.”

Lenox grunts. He’s squatting on the ground, rummaging in a rucksack.

“Did you fuck her?” the gray-haired man asks him while smirking at me.