Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Explosive pain travels up my ribcage, stealing my breath and forcing my muscles into a tense rigidness. Son of a bitch. My hands are tied above my head, and when I twist my wrists, the skin rubs painfully against rope. It throbs, pulsating with every beat of my heart.
It’s nothing compared to the flare of pain in my right shoulder. It must be broken, or at the very least dislocated. I don’t need to see it to know. I can feel that I’m in a bloody dress, too, the damp fabric bunched at my thighs.
It begins.
My vision is blurred, and I blink several times to clear it before scanning the small cabin HPAW scouted out. I knew they didn’t intend to give me much warning before setting our plan into motion, but I thought I’d get some sort of heads-up.
It’s beyond disorienting to wake up in a bed and a building different than the one you fell asleep in.
The cabin is old, but it’s well cared for.
The bed I’m tied to is comfortable, and the brown flannel sheets twisted around my ankles are thick and clean.
There’s a small kitchenette near the door and a cozy sitting area on my right.
Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust.
This cabin is deep in what used to be Ontario before the shifters claimed the land as their own. HPAW has been monitoring it for years. There are two shifters, a man and a woman, who visit this place every month. Assuming the couple hasn’t strayed from tradition, they should be arriving today.
I gulp, my throat burning.
Daniel wasn’t exaggerating when he said the medical team would bruise my ribs, and I worry they’ve gone as far as to break one.
Every breath is torturous. They promised not to do anything that would cause permanent damage—excluding leaving a small handful of cuts that will likely lead to nasty-looking scars.
A slight tinge of fear I work hard to ignore travels down my spine, and I bring my knees to my chest before scooting back against the dark wooden headboard I’m restrained to.
The slight movement is enough to have sweat dotting my forehead, and I rest my chin against my knees to prevent myself from passing out.
This is really happening.
The shifters should be able to smell the blood on my dress, the metallic scent acting as a beacon. If that doesn’t get their attention, my ragged breathing surely will. The shifters are known to have impeccable hearing.
I have to hope it’s enough. This cabin is deep within the shifter lands, and it was a risk to bring me here. HPAW won’t come back to check that I’ve been found. If the couple doesn’t come and the shifters don’t find me, I’ll die chained to this bed.
My gaze travels to my arms. My wrists are swollen, and I was indeed positioned in a way that has my mark on full display.
That’s a relief. I don’t trust the shifters not to attack the second they scent me, and I’m hoping the sight of my marking brings them pause.
Will they recognize it as the match to their alpha?
I chew at my bottom lip as I take in the mangled skin below my wrists. Sometimes I think HPAW’s doctors are rougher than they need to be. Their hatred for the shifters extends to me…as if I had any say in being mated to an alpha.
I scan the room once more, wishing I were in a position to see out the window near the door. This cabin is isolated—the perfect place to bring a young woman you intend to torture. Nobody is around to hear my screams and pleas for help.
Something snaps outside. It sounds like a twig, and unease climbs up my throat.
The shifters are here.
The front door to the cabin is slammed open and a large, feral wolf comes barreling inside a heartbeat later. It practically fills the doorframe, its dark-brown fur brushing against each end. The animal snarls, revealing a drooling mouth filled with sharp, white teeth.
I’ve never seen a shifter in person, and pure adrenaline courses through my system as I take in its sheer size. Nothing could have prepared me for this. It’s fucking huge.
I open my mouth, a scream tearing from my throat. This has been rehearsed, but it feels real enough.
A smaller, light-brown wolf comes running inside behind the larger one.
This must be the couple.
The animals exchange a look before shifting into their skin forms. The sight is gruesome, their limbs twisting at unnatural angles that would have most humans wishing for death. It’s a quick transformation, though, and at the end of it stand two human-looking creatures.
A man and a woman. Both naked as the day they were born.
I keep my attention on the man. He’s the larger of the two—the bigger threat. His brown eyes flicker from injury to injury, lingering on my shoulder before finally settling on my wrists. Every muscle in his body grows taut as he notices my marking.
What does he think of it? He’s either going to kill me or save me. I’m at his mercy.
He curses, dragging a hand through his messy, dark hair before running it down his face. He has thick facial hair, but it’s kept short. He’s rugged, every bit of him screaming wilderness. It’s precisely how I pictured a shifter male to look.
The man extends one muscular arm to the side, covering his female’s torso.
He’s trying to tuck her behind him. She doesn’t move.
Her brown eyes are blown wide, and when she roughly shoves her long, dark hair out of her heavily freckled face, I notice her hand is shaking.
Why? The man beside her shows no outward expression.
I glance between the two of them, not needing to pretend my fear is real.
It ratchets up as the man steps forward, rapidly closing the distance between us.
I’m supposed to be pleading for help. It’s what I rehearsed with HPAW, but my jaw remains clamped shut.
I work it from side to side, trying and failing to find the courage to speak.
The man takes my wrist, his touch feather-light as he runs his fingers over my dark-red marking. He’s trying to smudge it. Luckily for him, it’s real.
“Sash…” His voice is surprisingly hoarse. “Get Knox.”
The woman vanishes. I pay her no mind, too occupied by the man as he begins untying my wrists. Instinct takes over as I kick at him, harsh breaths slipping from my throat as I put a little distance between us.
“Shit,” the man curses. “You’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I curl my arms around myself the second my hands are freed, protectively cradling my front. My shoulder aches with the movement, as does my ribcage and collarbone.
The man scans me with poorly concealed panic. The medical team did a number on me.
I begin counting.
Shifters are fast. They can sprint up to fifty or so miles an hour, and the time it takes the woman to return will reveal a lot about the location of the nearest pack.
HPAW doesn’t have much visibility beyond this cabin.
I’m most interested in how long it takes the alpha to reach me.
We know he resides in this general area, but we haven’t been able to pinpoint a specific location.
“How did you get here?” The man scratches at his thick, short beard. “It doesn’t matter. We need to move you. The cabin reeks of gas.”
Gas? I wasn’t told anything about gasoline. Assholes.
The man reaches for me, then hesitates, his hands hovering over my shoulders.
“Where are you hurt?” he asks.
It takes me a moment to respond. I shake my head, jostling myself into clarity. I need to focus. I’m scared, in pain, and a little nauseous, but I have a mission to complete. Focus.
“I—” I cough, my ribs screaming. “Everywhere.”
The man grimaces. “Well, I’m sorry in advance.”
His hands close around my shoulder, and before I have the opportunity to react, he’s popping it back into place. I hiss through my teeth, sweat dotting along my forehead as I throw my head back and curse every god, star, and world wonder known to man. Son of a bitch.
The man grabs my waist. The shriek I release as he lifts me out of bed is very much real, and I resist the urge to bite off his ear as he takes me into his arms.
My instinct is to fight, but I suppress those urges. They’re useless, anyway. I’m a trained fighter, but I know my limits. I stand no chance against an adult shifter male. Besides, attempting to defend myself would only raise questions.
I’m playing a part, and I can’t let anything real slip. I’m to be just an ordinary young woman—one who has lived her life hiding the marking she’s so ashamed of. She’s scared of the shifters, the rumors of them widespread and vicious, but she’s desperate to be loved.
If the alpha is kind, she’ll fall in love with him in no time. If he’s not… I’ll figure something else out. I’ll beg him for information under the guise of wanting to get to know him better.
The shifter carries me outside. The blast of cold air that smacks me in the face as he kicks open the cabin door sends me momentarily reeling.
I don’t spend much, if any, time outside.
HPAW doesn’t allow it. The facility where I was raised has a small courtyard I had access to, but it’s not well-maintained.
Once I’ve completed my work and the shifters are no longer a concern, I’ll get to enjoy the outside. I won’t have to fear humans recognizing my mark—not when the man it links me to is dead. I’ll finally get to live as a normal human.
The shifter is surprisingly gentle as he carries me outside, but every step still sends a flare of agony throughout my body. Pain licks up my ribcage, rendering it nearly impossible to breathe, and my arm hangs limply by my side.
I continue counting, refusing to lose focus. The pain is temporary, and my injuries aren’t fatal. HPAW would never allow that. I’m too big an asset.
The man crouches, setting me on the ground. I scamper away from him, my feet kicking at the ground until my back hits a tree. I prop myself against it, refusing to take my eyes off the shifter. HPAW warned me to remain vigilant, not that I need their warning. The shifters are terrifying creatures.
The man clears his throat. “Sash is getting Caleb. He’ll be here soon.”
I blink, overwhelmed by my pain. I knew this would hurt, but fuck.
“Who?” I croak out.
The shifter licks his lips, sitting back on his heels. I’m painfully aware that he’s naked, his bits dangling openly between his thighs. I avoid looking, but I wish he’d turn away.
“Sash, my mate,” he starts. “She’s getting Knox. Caleb. He’s…” He points to my mark. “Well, he’s yours.”
My mate. Caleb. The alpha’s name is Caleb.
We know him as ‘Alpha Knox.’ That’s also how the other countries refer to him. His first name has always remained an unknown. I’ve been in the presence of these shifters for less than five minutes, and already, I have valuable information.
The shifter rises, standing to his full height.
He’s still looking at me, probably taking a mental tally of my injuries, but he makes no moves to touch me.
I take this moment to eye him, too. Every muscle on his tanned frame ripples as he shifts his weight from his left to his right foot.
He stands several feet away, his hands clasped behind his back and his shoulders rolled forward.
It looks like he’s trying to make himself appear smaller, probably for my benefit.
A part of me I’ll never admit to appreciates it. Shifters have a natural physical advantage over humans. I’ve always taken pride in being strong and athletic by human standards, but I can’t do much of anything with my injuries.
It will take weeks, if not months, for me to regain my strength. It’s going to be an agonizing wait, and I’m impatient. I don’t enjoy being vulnerable.
I raise my good arm and wipe at my face. My palm comes back wet.
“Who are you?” I finally ask.
I spare a glance at my hand. My palm is red, covered in blood. I didn’t realize I was bleeding, and I wince as I feel along a deep cut near my hairline. That’s going to scar.
The man crouches again, his muscular frame folding until he’s eye level with me. He bounces on the balls of his feet, his forearms resting on his thighs.
“I’m Logan,” he says. He cocks his head to the side, his lips turning down at the corners. “Do you know what that marking on your hand means?”
I nod, forcing myself to look at the dark-red lines. The color seems even more pronounced than the last time I examined it, but maybe that’s just my mind playing tricks on me. I’ve lost a lot of blood.
Logan remains silent as I touch my mark, tracing the vine-like lines on my knuckles.
“I do,” I admit. I draw in a deep breath. “Are you going to kill me?”
I’m reasonably certain they aren’t going to. Logan carried me outside because the cabin smells of gasoline, and HPAW is confident that shifters revere their mate bonds. I don’t want to seem too knowledgeable about the shifters, though.
Most humans are rightfully terrified of them.
Logan frowns. “No. Never.” He clears his throat. “How did you get here? Do you know who did this to you, or where they went?”
I shake my head. “No.”
Logan touches his face. I spot his marking, the harsh lines traveling from his knuckles to his wrist. We don’t know much about the marks or how they work, but each is unique. Mine is delicate, almost floral. Logan’s is rough.
His is also the white color mine used to be. I wonder if time or distance has anything to do with the changing of mine, the dark color deepening with each passing year.
Will my mate’s be a dark red as well?
Logan falls silent, ending the conversation. I appreciate it, mainly because speaking is hard with my bruised ribs. Every breath hurts, and I rest my head against the tree trunk as I focus on counting how long the female shifter is gone for.
I estimate that a little over an hour passes before Logan’s head snaps to the right. She’s back. The nearest pack is about twenty-five miles away, then. That’s closer than I would’ve guessed. Good to know.
Logan squints at the trees before scrambling to his feet. I shift, eager to see, but I grow rigid when Logan places a hand on my shoulder.
“Stay,” he orders.
He removes his hand and steps forward, his shoulders relaxing and chest deflating with breath. He’s relieved.
I don’t share that emotion.