Chapter 6 Mo
Mo
Ijolt awake to the damp chill of the cave seeping into my bones.
Another day in paradise.
I drag myself up and survey my new digs. A dingy hole in the ground, barely big enough to stand in, and about as welcoming as a grave. But it’s mine, and that’s what matters.
“Home sweet hellhole,” I mutter, grabbing some rocks to fashion a half-assed fire pit.
My stomach growls while I’m lugging branches to cover the entrance. Loud enough that anything within a mile probably heard it.
Time to hunt.
I strip down and let the shift take over.
Bones crack, muscles ripple, fur sprouts across my body.
In moments, I’m on four paws, my senses sharper than ever.
The world opens up into layers of sound and scent.
Wind through leaves, the rich musk of soil beneath my claws, the faint trail of a rabbit somewhere to the east.
The forest is alive with prey, and I’m hungry enough to eat just about anything that moves. I take down a plump rabbit, hot blood filling my mouth as my wolf sinks her teeth into its fur.
The animal inside me loves the kill. My human side still gags a little, but I’ve gotten used to it. Out here, you do what you have to.
Back at the cave, I shift and get a fire going. The sizzle and pop of cooking meat is the best sound I’ve heard in days.
“Goddamn, that hits the spot,” I groan around a mouthful of rabbit. For the first time in what feels like forever, heat blooms in my belly and spreads outward.
A twig cracks somewhere close. I freeze, every muscle going taut. “Shit,” I hiss, scanning the forest—and that’s when I see them.
Figures moving between the trees, their faces hidden behind masks. One of them wears a clown mask with a garish painted grin that turns my stomach.
“There you are, little omega,” a deep voice calls. “Don’t make us do this the hard way.”
Terror rushes back so hard I can barely think. The alphas. They found me. Already.
I bolt, tearing through the underbrush as their footsteps crash after me into the trees. “Run, little rabbit!” one of them calls. “But we’re taking you home, whether you like it or not.”
The irony isn’t lost on me. Minutes ago, I was the one hunting rabbits. Now I’m the fucking rabbit.
“Fuck you!” I snarl over my shoulder, pushing my body harder. Every muscle screams, but stopping isn’t an option.
I leap over a rotting log, bare feet barely skimming the ground, every sense cranked to maximum.
But their heavy footfalls keep coming.
Relentless assholes.
“You can’t outrun us forever, little one!” a gruff voice calls, closer than I’d like.
I veer left, pushing through the densest part of the forest where the undergrowth is thick enough to slow them down. My lungs burn with each breath, and my legs are starting to shake. Exhaustion is creeping in.
The masked alphas are in hot pursuit, hulking forms tearing through branches that would stop a smaller man cold. I move through the gaps they can’t fit through, slipping between trunks, ducking under fallen trees. But I know, with sick certainty, that they’re closing in.
“Spread out!” the lead alpha orders. Even muffled by his mask, his voice sends a chill through me. “Cut her off!”
Fuck. My mind races, searching for any way out. I change direction, darting between two oaks, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“Stop running—we’re here to help!” another voice shouts.
I grit my teeth and refuse to answer. I need every ounce of energy to stay ahead.
But when I burst into a small clearing, my stomach drops.
They’re waiting for me. They herded me here on purpose.
Four towering figures surround me. All of them in those stupid masks. A Jason hockey mask. A demon. A skeleton. And that fucking creepy clown.
The one in the hockey mask steps forward, ice-blue eyes flashing through the eyeholes.
“No more running,” he says. “You’re coming with us.”
I bare my teeth, crouching low, body coiled tight. “I’ll die before I submit to you, bastards!”
“Oh, sweetheart,” the one in the demon mask purrs, “who said anything about dying?”
My wolf whines inside me, urging me to submit, but I shove the instinct down. I won’t give in. I can’t.
The leader steps closer and reaches up slowly to remove the hockey mask.
Fuck.
Yeah, he’s hot. Square jaw, ice-blue eyes, dark hair falling across his forehead.
So what? That doesn’t change anything. If anything, it pisses me off more.
“You’ve led us on quite the chase, omega,” he says. “But this ends now.”
“Fuck you,” I snarl, even as a part of me, the part that’s tired of running, tired of sleeping on dirt, tired of being alone, tugs at my resolve. Begging for rest. Begging for something I can’t let myself want.
He steps forward, and I lash out. My fist connects with his jaw, and the crack is satisfying. His head snaps to the side, and for a second, I think maybe I’ve got a shot.
But then his hand shoots out and closes around my wrist, halting me before I can swing again. He yanks me forward, and I collide with his chest, letting out a startled gasp. His eyes flash not with anger, but with something else. Want.
“Feisty little one,” he says, his breath hot against my skin.
The other alphas circle us. Skeleton mask tilts his head. “She is strong and stubborn. Won’t be easy.”
“Good,” the demon says, amber eyes burning through the holes. “I like a challenge.”
The clown stays silent, which unnerves me the most. He’s the largest of them by far, and there’s something about the way he watches me, body tensed and ready, that makes every instinct in me scream to run.
I force a grin even though my body is shaking. “I see you boys like to dress up.”
Before the leader can react, I swing again, aiming for his face. This time, he’s ready. I continue thrashing in his grip.
“Let me go, you fucking bag of shit,” I choke out.
“Quite the mouth on her,” Demon says, stepping closer.
“We should secure her,” Skeleton says, “before she tries anything else.”
The clown produces a rope from somewhere, creepy bastard, and the others move in to bind me.
I fight like I’m possessed—biting, scratching, and head-butting anything within reach.
“Fuck!” Demon hisses as my teeth sink into his arm.
The leader lets out a rough breath, eyes locked on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. “She’s magnificent, isn’t she?”
But it’s no use. There are too many of them, and I’m too fucking tired.
Finally subdued, I’m slung over the clown’s shoulder. Humiliated. The indignity burns, but a very small part of me, a part I’d never admit to out loud, is relieved I don’t have to walk.
As we start to walk away, the image of Charly, cold and alone, brings a fresh surge of panic.
“My cave,” I say. “At least let me grab my shit.”
Skeleton nods. “It’s on the way. We’ll stop.”
That surprises me more than anything else. Alphas willing to compromise?
We move through the forest, and the weight of my capture sinks in. I need to escape. But for now, all I can do is hang here, bound and helpless, my head knocking against the ass of a fucking clown.
* * *
The cave comes into view… not that I can see much from this angle. Just the clown’s enormous ass and the steady rhythm of their footsteps.
When we reach the entrance, the clown drops me but steadies me as I stumble, bound hands scrambling for balance.
“Fuckers,” I spit, glaring at my captors.
The leader steps forward. “Grab your things. And don’t try anything.”
I scoff. “And how the fuck do you expect me to grab anything with my hands tied, you twat?”
His eyes darken, and he closes the distance in a single step. He unties the ropes from my wrists without a word, but his eyes never leave mine. The others block the entrance.
There’s no way out.
I shove my supplies into my pack, movements jerky with anger.
I zip up the bag. Demon leans against the cave wall, arms crossed. “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here all alone?”
I bare my teeth. “Trying to stay away from dumbfucks like you.”
He laughs. “How’s that working out for you, sweetheart?”
I don’t answer. I just grab my pack and lift my chin. Defiance is all I’ve got left. “Let’s get this over with.”
Skeleton takes my pack, and the clown steps forward, tying my wrists again. His touch is softer this time, but the control still makes my blood boil. He tosses me back over his shoulder, and the heat crawls up my neck. But I hold my tongue. Save your strength, I tell myself.
After about an hour of my head bouncing on the clown’s ass, I feel sick. My skull pounds and the world spins with each heavy footstep. Nausea creeps up the back of my throat.
“Hey, you fucker,” I hiss. “Can you carry me another way? Or do you want me to throw up all over you?”
He grunts and shifts me into his arms, holding me bridal-style. His grip tightens under my legs and back, steady and firm. The pressure on my head eases, but the new position feels too intimate. His warmth seeps into me through my clothes, through my skin, and I hate how my body responds to it.
I haven’t been held, let alone touched, in three years.
My wolf stirs inside me, content, almost nuzzling into the feeling, and it turns my stomach.
He smells good, too good, like the woods after a rainstorm. But I force my mind to pretend it’s shit.
The disgusting smell of fresh turd. That’s what I tell myself he smells like. No, not just fresh turd, but hot turd. Turd that has been sitting in the hot sun for hours.
I pull the hood of my hoodie up over my head with my bound hands, trying to hide. I don’t want them to see what the smell and being held like this are doing to me.
My eyes prickle. The burn of tears threatening to spill.
Fuck, Mo. Get it together. You’re stronger than this. You’ve survived too much to fall apart now.
But the warmth. The closeness.
I’m being kidnapped. This is not a hug. This is not comfort.
I try to hold on to my anger. I’m tied up, being carried against my will by a pack of alphas who probably see me as nothing more than property.
And yet.
My eyes close, and my body relaxes in his arms. In my exhaustion, I almost nuzzle my head against his chest, searching for more warmth, more safety.
How low have I fallen?
The thought makes me sick. But my wolf is content, her soft whine of satisfaction hums in the back of my mind.
I want to fight it. Fight her. But I’m bone-tired.
My mind knows the truth. But my body, my wolf, they don’t care about truth. They care about warmth and touch and the fact that for the first time in three years, someone is holding me, and it feels like I’m not about to die alone in a cave.
I hate it.
I hate how much I don’t hate it.