Chapter 2
two
. . .
Woodrow
The moment I first saw Priscilla, I knew she was mine.
Not in the way normal men see women they want to fuck.
In the way a wolf recognizes its mate—primal, absolute, non-negotiable.
I watched her through the bookstore window, shelving novels with those delicate hands, tucking that dark hair behind her ear, completely unaware of the danger circling her.
Completely unaware of me. Her protector. Her shadow. Her fucking salvation.
Three weeks I've been watching her. Twenty-one days of restraint that's been eating me alive. Those soft curves that beg for my hands. That sweet mouth that would look perfect stretched around my cock. Those wide, innocent eyes that don't know shit about the world or the men in it. Men like me.
I shouldn't want her. She's everything I'm not—pure, untouched, good to her fucking core. Twenty-four to my thirty-eight. A lamb to my wolf.
But I do want her. And what I want, I take.
Fifteen years in special forces taught me how to hunt, how to kill, how to disappear. Another five as private security for the kind of people who don't officially exist made me rich. Made me dangerous. Made me the kind of man who can smell a threat from a mile away.
The threat to Priscilla lit up all my senses the moment I intercepted that encrypted message.
I have connections—the kind you make when you've spent years doing the government's dirty work.
The kind that give me access to communications no civilian should see.
I wasn't even looking for anything specific that night, just monitoring chatter like I always do to stay ahead of potential contracts.
Then I saw her name.
"Target: Priscilla Marshall. Extraction scheduled. Client wants minimal damage."
My blood went cold, then hot with rage. Who the fuck was targeting this innocent bookstore girl? I dug deeper, called in favors, broke into databases I had no business accessing.
The answer was her father. Estranged, thank fuck, but still casting a shadow over her life she didn't even know about.
James Marshall—professional gambler, amateur drug dealer, and world-class piece of shit who owed the wrong people too much money.
Money he didn't have. But he had a daughter.
A beautiful daughter who could be leveraged, ransomed, or worse.
I found her address that night. Watched her apartment.
Learned her routines. The small bookstore where she works.
The coffee shop where she sometimes sits alone, reading for hours, that little furrow between her brows when she's concentrating.
The grocery store she visits every Sunday.
The park where she walks when the weather's nice, always keeping to herself.
She's so fucking lonely it makes my chest ache. Keeping everyone at arm's length like she's afraid to get close. Like she's been hurt before.
Over my dead body will anyone hurt her again.
I wasn't planning on approaching her yet. Wanted to eliminate the threat first, but those fuckers moved up their timeline. I was parked down the street, watching her lock up the store, when I saw the van circle the block for the third time.
Game time.
I moved through the shadows, positioning myself between buildings where I could intervene if needed. When I saw them grab her, something snapped inside me. Something primal and violent that I usually keep chained.
Her screams unlocked the beast.
Taking down those amateurs was child's play. Hardly worth the energy. But seeing her—trembling against her car, those big hazel eyes wide with fear and something else, something that made my cock twitch—that was the real reward.
"You're safe now, little girl."
The way she reacted to that—fuck. A little shiver, a flash in those innocent eyes. She liked it. Didn't want to, but did. I could smell her fear, but underneath it was something else. Something sweet and ripe.
Then she tried to pull away, talking about police. About going home. Like I'd let her out of my sight now. Like I'd ever let her go again.
I shake my head. “You’re coming with me.”
When she takes another step back and starts to protest, I step forward, ready to chase her if need be.
"We're not going to your apartment," I tell her now, watching her back further against her car. "It's not safe."
"What? No, I—I need to go home. I appreciate your help, but—"
"Those men weren't random. They were sent for you specifically." I step closer, crowding her space. Let her feel my size, my strength. Let her understand that resistance is pointless. "They'll have backup. They'll try again."
Her face pales, those freckles standing out across her nose and cheeks. Goddamn beautiful.
"Why would anyone want to kidnap me?" Her voice shakes. "I'm nobody."
"You're not nobody to me," I growl, then catch myself. Too much, too soon. "It's complicated. I'll explain everything, but not here. Not in the open."
Decision made, I reach for her. She tries to dodge but there's nowhere to go. I scoop her up like she weighs nothing—which she practically doesn't, just a handful of soft, sweet woman. She gasps, those perfect tits pressing against my chest as I carry her to my truck parked in the shadows.
"Put me down!" She pushes against me, her small hands ineffective against my chest. "This is kidnapping!"
"It's protection," I correct her, opening the passenger door one-handed. "And you'll thank me when you understand what's happening."
I deposit her in the seat, leaning in close before she can scramble away. Her scent hits me hard—vanilla and fear-sweat and something uniquely her. My cock hardens instantly.
"Listen carefully, Priscilla." I keep my voice low, controlled, despite the urge to claim those parted lips. "Those men were sent by people your father pissed off. They won't stop. They'll find you at your apartment, at work, anywhere you normally go. The only safe place for you is with me."
She stares at me, processing. "My father? I haven't spoken to him in years."
"Doesn't matter to them." I buckle her in, letting my fingers graze her collarbone. She shivers. "They'll use you to get to him, and they won't be gentle about it."
She swallows hard. I watch the delicate movement of her throat, imagining my teeth there, marking her.
"How do you know all this?"
"I have resources." I straighten up, close her door, and circle to the driver's side. Behind us, the kidnappers are struggling to their feet, stumbling toward their van. I could finish them, should finish them, but Priscilla doesn't need to see that side of me. Not yet.
The drive to my cabin takes forty minutes. She's quiet most of the way, huddled against the door, as far from me as possible. But I catch her watching me, those big eyes flicking over my face, my hands on the wheel, my body. Assessing. Wondering.
"Where are we going?" she finally asks as we turn onto the unmarked gravel road that leads to my property.
"Somewhere safe. My place. Twenty acres, no neighbors, security system that would make the Pentagon jealous."
The trees thicken around us, blocking out the moonlight. My cabin appears through the pines—not the rustic shack the word implies, but a custom-built fortress of wood and stone. Remote. Defensible. Perfect for keeping her hidden away from the world.
From anyone who might try to take her from me.
I park and come around to open her door. She doesn't move, just stares up at me with those wide, uncertain eyes.
"Come on. This is your home now, at least until I eliminate the threat."
"And how long will that take?" she asks, voice small but with an edge of defiance that makes me want to bend her over the hood of my truck.
"As long as necessary." I reach in and unbuckle her, my hand deliberately grazing her thigh. "Days. Weeks. However long it takes to make sure you're safe."
When she still doesn't move, I simply lift her out. This time she doesn't struggle, just goes rigid in my arms. I carry her to the front door, savoring the feel of her soft body against mine.
Inside, I set her down but keep a hand on the small of her back, guiding her further into the open living area. Stone fireplace. Leather furniture. Gun cabinet against one wall, locked but visible. I want her to understand exactly what kind of man I am.
She takes it all in, arms wrapped around herself, looking small and vulnerable and so fucking perfect I can barely stand it.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispers. "You don't even know me."
I step closer, backing her against the wall. Cage her in with my arms, one on either side of her head. Lower my face until we're breathing the same air.
"I know everything about you, Priscilla.
I know how you take your coffee. I know which books you recommend to customers and which ones you keep for yourself.
I know you sleep with your window cracked even when it's cold.
" I lean in, my lips nearly brushing her ear.
"And I know your little panties are probably wet right now.”
She trembles, her eyes locked on mine, pupils dilating.
Fuck me.