Her Wolves: A Reverse Harem Romance

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Her Wolves: A Reverse Harem Romance Page 6

by Candace Wondrak


  A single window, bars slung across it so no one had the opportunity to fling themselves out of a third-story window and go crashing to the ground. Maybe a shifter could survive that fall unscathed, but Violet was nowhere near as coordinated. She’d probably land the wrong way on a bone and instantly break it.

  The clothes Iris had gotten for Violet were…not her style. Tight and flashy, very sparkly and light-colored. Even the pants hugged her ass, making her look like she actually did have a round ass and not, in Iris’s words, a child’s ass.

  Like, okay. Violet got it. She had the body of a child, minus the whole boob thing. The hazards of remaining under five feet tall, even as a fully-grown adult.

  The rooms weren’t like regular bedrooms, where anyone could walk out and walk in anytime they wanted. No, that would make things too easy. Violet was locked inside, right after Iris said her goodbyes.

  Yeah, locked inside. Like fucking Cinderella in the attic.

  If only she had little mice who could understand her and help her. But alas, all Violet had was…well, nothing. Maia and her mates probably had no idea where she was, and Brice and Everett didn’t care about her enough to try to break her out. Everything those two brothers did, they did for their sister, who was hopefully somewhere in this gigantic house, unharmed.

  That night, Violet got next to no sleep. Sleep refused to come because her mind was busy running. Worried she would never escape this house alive. Totally freaked she’d become just another woman to Fletcher’s collection, passed around constantly to whoever wanted her. The thought of being forced to have sex—raped, in another not-so-kind word—was horrible. No woman deserved it.

  No man deserved it either.

  People should only have sex when and if they felt like it, mutually. And if it wasn’t mutual, there was always masturbation, right? Really, not having sex was not the end of the world, and just because these shifters were dying out meant nothing. No female wolves around? Okay, find some humans. Love was love, right? Across genders, across species—human-like species only, that was—it was all the same.

  Wolves had to love. What Maia had with Alarick, Farkas, and Grimm, it might not have started out in love, it might’ve been all animal instinct at first, but it was more than obvious they were all madly in love now.

  Violet was…kind of jealous, not that she should be. Ever since Maria ditched her, she’d been closed off, not really receptive to attempts at flirting or hooking up. Then again, who the hell was she going to hook up with back home? Roy?

  Hell to the no. Roy was about thirty years too old for her and missing a few too many teeth for her tastes. A good man, terrible with a shotgun, but not her type.

  What was her type? What did she want in a partner? Violet spent most of the night thinking about this, putting together her perfect woman. Even a perfect man—although in her opinion those didn’t exist, so she could pretty much scrap him.

  She didn’t need someone who was drop-dead gorgeous. Physical looks would fade with time anyway. She didn’t care if her partner was missing a limb, or fingers or toes or whatnot, didn’t care if their body was covered in scars. Long hair, short hair, whatever. A good smile, though, was a necessity. A good smile could light up even the ugliest face. Violet was a sucker for a nice grin.

  As for characteristics…kindness was a must. She wanted someone who would really care for her, someone who would put her welfare above their own. Someone who would fight for her, tooth and nail, and not leave her abandoned in the dust. Being left like that—it left a wound, and sometimes the wounds never healed; they became scars.

  Was Violet scarred from Maria’s abandonment? Probably.

  Okay, definitely.

  It was just so ridiculously hard to put herself back out there when the last time she’d done it, she’d ended up stranded in the middle of nowhere with fifty dollars to her name. Luckily the town’s motel had been super cheap, and she’d stumbled upon a diner in need of an extra employee, but what if she hadn’t? What would she have done? Violet had run away before she even got her high school diploma. She'd literally had nothing.

  Now…now she had a little more. Money saved up, a place of her own, even if it was rented. Friends who happened to be shifters. A life, as boring as some might view it. It was a life she would not give up.

  It was a life she might not see again.

  How depressing.

  Violet withdrew into herself as the hours ticked by and the windows slowly revealed a rising sun, somewhere over the mountains. When broad daylight shone through the clear window panes, she sat up, glancing around the room.

  No TV, no books. No anything to take up time. What the hell did these women do while they were locked up like this? Even if Violet wasn’t inside her own head overthinking everything, she’d be bored to death. This was pure medieval torture.

  How long she waited to hear someone in the hall, she wasn’t sure. All Violet knew was that she was on her feet by the time the lock was undone and someone walked in.

  Iris.

  Did she get locked up too? Did she spend her nights with Fletcher? Violet shivered at the thought, and not a good, fluttery shiver either. More like a disgusted, grossed-out shiver that made her insides boil. Fletcher deserved to die cold and alone.

  “Fletcher will dine with you at lunch,” Iris spoke, stepping inside. She closed the door behind her, a careful kind of slowness. Her tall, curvy body wore a sundress today, the flowery fabric tight across her chest, making her already ample bosom seem even bigger. Even though the woman was gorgeous, there was something about her that put Violet on edge.

  She couldn’t trust her. Not really. She couldn’t trust anyone in this forsaken place.

  Speaking of food though, Violet was starved. When was the last time she’d eaten? Everett had tried to get her to eat some snacks in the car, but she’d refused. Felt kind of silly now, given she was here anyway.

  As if knowing what she was thinking, Iris said, “You will have meals delivered to your room, if you behave. If you fail to behave, you will starve. It really is simple. This can be a nice place to be, if you let it.”

  Violet chuckled. “Sorry, but whoring myself out to any shifter who wants a rub and tug isn’t on my list of things to do this year. Maybe next year.”

  The woman cracked a smile, though she did not laugh. “You have quite the tongue on you. Hopefully you know how to put it to good use.”

  “Oh I do, just not so much on Fletcher’s equipment. You? I could play you like a fiddle.” Maybe it was over-exaggerating her ability to eat a woman out, but Violet didn’t stop herself from saying it.

  Iris’s smile grew wider, and her grey eyes dropped to Violet’s feet, which were bare. Violet suddenly felt naked, even though she wore a sequined top and jeans that molded to her like a second layer of skin. “I bet you could, Violet, but perhaps you should save that tongue play for later, in the bath. I will return for you in two hours. Makeup is in the top drawer of that armoire. There are shoes in the closet. I would leave the clothes I gave you yesterday on. Fletcher will like them.”

  She wasn’t so keen on doing anything Fletcher liked, but at this point, what choice did she have? The last thing Violet wanted was to be whipped like Everett.

  Everett. He wasn’t someone Violet should think of, but it was hard not to. Not when she knew he’d only growled because Fletcher had struck her. Basically, his whipping was her fault. Not like she asked him to get suddenly protective of her, but still. She felt bad when she thought of him. She hoped he was alright, wherever he was. Even though he was one half of the duo who’d kidnapped her, she had already decided he didn’t seem like a terrible guy—and he’d mentioned he was doing all of this for his sister. She couldn't help but respect how far he would go for those he truly cared for.

  Feeling sympathy for her kidnappers. What. The. Hell. It was not something Violet should feel, the very last thing she should feel, for Christ’s sakes. She’d tried to get them to band with her and take Fletche
r down—which she now realized was a pipedream, because he was a whole lot more insane than she thought—and they’d said no.

  That should be that. Violet should spend no more time thinking about them. They’d left her here, after all. Abandoned her, just like Maria did years ago.

  Violet stopped thinking the moment Iris stepped closer to her, reaching for her hair. Her long, slender fingers curled around a tendril of purple hair. The woman seemed envious of her color. “If you behave during your lunch with Fletcher, I have a surprise for you. I think you’ll like it.” She pulled her hand away, leaning down to her, placing a single kiss upon Violet’s cheek. “You practically begged me for it yesterday.” Her lips lingered on her cheek for a few moments before she stood straight and exited the room, locking it behind her.

  What…what was the crazy woman talking about? What had Violet begged her for? A communal bath? Iris had seen Violet being dragged in by the brothers, but she couldn’t possibly know she meant Ivy. For all Iris knew, Violet hated the brothers and wanted Ivy dead in revenge or something.

  Whatever Iris had meant, Violet knew she had nothing but time to think about it. Her feet drew her towards the armoire, and she yanked on the top drawer, revealing a vast array of expensive makeup. Brands that cost seventy dollars for a pallet of eyeshadow, AKA brands Violet could never afford. Brushes and blending sponges. A whole lot of stuff just to dress herself up for a man who should eat the shit off her boots.

  Violet didn’t currently have any boots, but it was the thought that counted.

  She went to open the armoire’s top doors, revealing a hidden mirror. Lights flickered on, practically blinding her with their bright whiteness. Her eyes took their time to adjust, and once they did, she got to work.

  What the hell else was she going to do? Protest and stare at the wall? This might be her only chance to try some of these brands.

  Violet was not so much a fan of the blending or nude colors. When Violet put on makeup, she wanted her face to pop. Here would be no different. Choosing mostly dark colors, she did the best she could to make her eyes smoky. The dark on her eyelids made the green in her eyes sparkle and seem even more vibrant than they normally were. Thick black eyeliner, mascara to make her pathetically short lashes look longer and fuller. More of a ‘come hither’ feel, although she was uncertain whether she actually wanted to look like that.

  Maybe she should make herself look ugly…but then that fucking whip…

  No, she wouldn’t make herself look ugly, because she did not want her back to look like Everett’s when Brice had practically carried him out.

  Ugh. Again, with the damned shifter brothers. She needed to get those guys out of her head, had to focus on what was in front of her. Makeup. Makeup was in front of her, and her own tired reflection, an omen of what was to come.

  Eh. Maybe thinking of the damned brothers would be better than that.

  Chapter Ten - Violet

  It was not Iris who came to get her once lunch was ready; it was one of the big, burly shifter guards. A man nearly a foot and a half taller than Violet, whose eyes scanned her immediately after he unlocked and opened the door. He probably saw her, smelled her human-ness, and immediately dismissed her, for an expression of annoyance flickered on his masculine features. He gestured for her to walk.

  The guard took her to a wide hall, the dining room, judging from the ridiculously long table in its center and the crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling above it every few feet. So many sparkles, almost too many. Too much to stare at all at once.

  Fletcher looked smug at the head of the table. His brown hair was slicked back, and unlike the last time Violet had seen him, he wore real clothes. A suit, no less. A suit with a fucking bowtie.

  Oh, the humanity.

  When Violet’s feet slowed, when she spotted him smiling at her—a smile that made her gut clench and knot, a queasiness rising in her belly—he gestured to the chair on his left. “Come, sit by me,” Fletcher said, cutting off any hope she had of choosing literally any of the other one hundred seats at the never-ending table.

  The shifter guard watched with wary eyes as Violet went without a hurry, slowly sitting in the seat that had been assigned to her. A small feast lay before them on the table, turkey, from the look of the meat. Freshly-baked bread and stuffing. Bowls of assorted fruits. Okay, everything looked fucking delicious, but she was still ruffled being so close to Fletcher.

  Plus, her mind was still caught up in the length of the table. Who the hell needed this many seats? Did he have a dinner and an auction for the women every time he did business?

  “Don’t you look beautiful all cleaned up?” Fletcher offered, waving his guard away. The guard left the room, but Violet had a feeling he was still nearby. “My shiny new toy.”

  A muscle in Violet’s jaw ticked, and it took every ounce of her willpower to stop herself from declaring she was no man’s toy, his especially.

  He must’ve seen her internal battle, for he said, “You know of our existence, yet you were raised by humans, given their values and their belief system. This will be a huge change for you, I’m sure.”

  Violet wanted to punch him, but she knew he could break her hand without trying. If he’d been a human bad guy, she would’ve said fuck it and given it a shot. Here…she wasn’t quite at that point yet. Give her a few minutes, and she’ll probably get there.

  Fletcher laughed. “You may speak, for now. Tell me what you think of my home.”

  What Violet really wanted to do was push Fletcher’s skull into the ground and eat, then collect all the women stuck here against their will and leave, but that was off the table for various obvious reasons, so she shrugged and said, “I’m sure you know your home is…nice. Very big. Spacious. Bet you can throw some killer parties here.”

  Violet wouldn’t know a thing about parties, because she’d never been to one. She and Maria used to throw their own parties, one-on-one, every night before she dumped her. The bitch.

  Fletcher smirked. Since he was a shifter, he was large with the same obscene musculature most shifters had; however, he was older, maybe in his forties? The brown in his hair starting to grey. He was, kind of like Roy, not Violet’s type.

  Hell, even if Fletcher was her age, he’d still be a sex-trafficking criminal.

  “You have such a way with words,” he said, reaching to start filling his plate. “None of my other girls are like that. I can’t help but wonder if it’s a human trait, or if you’re just special. Tell me, Violet, are you special?”

  She sure as shit didn’t appreciate him calling the other women girls, as if demeaning them further. Violet held back a frown as she replied, “I’m sure there are others out there who like to talk. Maybe you need to broaden your horizons.”

  “Don’t fool yourself into believing you’re important,” Fletcher spoke, his words as sharp as any knife, “because you aren’t. I couldn’t care if you dropped dead right here. Prove your worth to me, human, and I’ll happily keep you here with my other girls.”

  Prove it to him…like service him? Fuck that.

  “I can see it in your eyes. You’re wondering if I want to test you out. Truthfully, I make sure all of my girls are ready and willing to perform for my clients, but you…you’re fiery. Spirited. I know quite a few wolves who would love to sink their teeth into you and force you into submission.” A glimmer of something dark and depraved passed behind his eyes, as if he enjoyed the thought. “A few clients of mine do love the fighters. Sometimes the struggle makes the release so much sweeter.”

  Violet literally wanted to vomit. Her aching hunger, the pangs of starvation that had settled within her bones were long forgotten once he started talking. Basically he was threatening her. There were wolves out there who didn’t care she wasn’t a shifter, didn’t care whether or not she would willingly spread her legs for them.

  His next question was more direct: “Are you on any birth control? If you were on the pill, that’s an easy enough fix, sin
ce you will not be taking anything while you’re here, but if you had one of those, oh, what are they called? Those intrauterine devices, we’ll have to get a doctor in here to remove it.”

  “Why?” She hardly sounded like herself. If Violet didn’t know any better, she’d say she was scared.

  She was.

  “You know all about us shifters, so I’m sure you know a union between a shifter and a human still results in shifter births half the time. Shifter babies are…precious things, things some packs would pay a hefty price for, especially for a young girl of their own. New blood. What they don’t realize is, even with an organ transplant, the patient still dies eventually.”

  Violet swallowed. “You don’t care about saving the shifter race.”

  “Of course not. What good will the future do me? I am in it for the money, Violet, remember that. Most men are, human or shifter. Greed is universal. Greed is what keeps this house over our heads and our bellies full.” He reached for her hand, and before she could pull away, his fingers curled around it. “Now I ask again, are you on birth control?”

  She didn’t want to tell him anything about herself, but soon she knew she had no choice. The hand holding hers started to squeeze, and she felt her fingers threatening to crack and break. Pain shot up her arm; Fletcher would not stop until she told him. She stuttered, “The—the patch. I have the patch.” It was mostly for her periods, since she wasn’t a fan of most guys in general, but he didn’t need to know that.

  The instant she spoke, Fletcher released her, and she moved her aching, hurt hand to her lap. “Good. Next time answer my question straight away, and I won’t have to resort to violence with you. Save your fight for the wolves who will claim you.”

  At that, she couldn’t help but give him a look.

  “Human claimings are not so different from shifter ones, you know, at least to our kind. We can smell the wolves who’ve been with our mates before,” Fletcher went on, buttering a slice of bread with a knife so dull it would never be able to break through skin. “The first wolf always gets her fresh. My clients don’t care, though.”

 

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