Scarred Savages (The Northcrest Pack #1)

Prologue

The nightmare is always the same.

I wake up, heart racing, screams cutting through the night. It’s my parents.

Their terrified voices creep down the hallway to my room.

Mom? Dad?

I thrash against the bed, but ropes bite into my wrists.

I can’t move. Panic seizes me.

“Mom!” The word tears out of my throat.

Then something cold brushes against my cheek. I squint in the darkness, making out the hulking figure standing over me.

“Shhh,” he whispers, tracing a finger along my lips. My stomach lurches, bile crawling up my throat.

My wrists burn as I fight against the bindings. “Let me go!” I shout, twisting until my skin is raw.

The man chuckles, a sound that freezes my blood. “Can’t do that, kitty cat.” His gravelly voice sends fresh waves of terror crashing over me. “Don’t worry. We’ll have our fun soon.”

My parents scream again, and then there is a crushing silence as if they were struck down mid-scream.

“Mom? Dad?” I yell, my voice fracturing.

The oppressive quiet makes me thrash harder. “Where are they?”

“Busy,” he replies, his smile glinting in the faint light. “Just like we’re going to be.”

“Let them go, please,” I plead, tears spilling down my cheeks.

He leans closer, the smell of leather and cigarettes invading my senses. “Sorry, girlie. Can’t do that either.”

His hand tangles in my silver hair, and I recoil, wishing I could shift and fight back. But I’m too young. My wolf hasn’t awakened yet. I’m stuck, human and vulnerable.

“Touch me again, and I’ll—” I start, but he cuts me off with a laugh.

“Or you’ll what?” His breath is hot on my face. “You’re just a helpless little kitty cat.”

His hand slides down, pinching my breasts, and I kick out, trying to escape.

“Get away from me!” I squirm, uselessly.

Rough hands seize me, and I feel the ropes tighten around my ankles, anchoring me to the bed.

“Feisty. I like that,” he says. “Maybe there’s time for a little fun.” His hand trails down my nightgown.

Another shadow appears at my doorway. “We gotta go, Skid,” he tells the bastard with his hands all over me.

“I want to fuck this one,” he tells him.

“She’s still a kid, Skid,” the newcomer protests.

“Those tits tell me she’s old enough.” Skid’s eyes travel down my body. “Imagine how tight she must be.”

“There’s no time,” the other man insists as the fire alarm blares.

“Dammit,” Skid curses, rubbing himself through his jeans. “Fucking waste of a good fuck.” He grabs a large container and spills its contents all over my room. “I would have been your first and your last,” he laughs, looking at me with twisted glee.

A sharp, acrid smell claws at my nostrils. My eyes sting, and I blink rapidly, trying to clear the blur of tears and fear.

Gasoline.

The room becomes saturated with its toxic scent.

He splashes the liquid over my bare legs.

“What—what are you doing?” I yell.

“Insurance,” he sneers, the skull tattoo on his neck shifting as he chuckles darkly. “Can’t have you running off now, can we?”

“Please,” I gasp, “don’t do this.”

“Shhh,” he mocks, a matchstick appearing between his fingers. “It’ll all be over soon.”

The scratch of the match head flaring to life is deafening in the gasoline-soaked silence. I watch, heart hammering against my ribs, as the small flame flickers. He dangles it tauntingly, the light reflecting in his crazed gaze.

“Stop!” I scream, pulling against the ropes, but they hold fast, biting into my wrists. “You’re insane!”

“Maybe,” he admits with a shrug, that chilling laughter spilling from him again. “But who’s going to stop me? You?” He hovers the match closer to the ground, and I can almost hear the hungry whispers of the impending inferno. “Any last words, kitty?”

“Go to hell,” I spit; the taste of gasoline bitter on my tongue.

“See you there.” He winks and lets the match fall.

Flames erupt, and smoke chokes me. Within seconds, my room is engulfed. The fire licks at my legs, and I scream as the pain sears through me.

Just before everything goes dark, I see a shadow approaching, and then the pain overwhelms me.

I wake up.

Heart pounding. Sweat-soaked sheets tangled around my legs.

“Just a nightmare,” I tell myself, even though it’s not one.

Not really.

It’s a memory.