Wolf’s Mate: Paranormal Menage Protector Romance

by Lilly Wilder

  Suddenly, I break down into tears. He turns to me, but doesn’t try to hug me.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “It’s all my fault,” I snivel, wiping my eyes with my sleeves.

  I look at him, and I see the confusion on his face. He knows I’m right. I suggested that damned walk, and maybe, if all of us had been there, Anderson wouldn’t have been taken. Maybe we could have prevented this. And now, Fynn is trying to find a way to be polite about this.

  “I know you feel guilty,” he starts. “I know that feeling. It can eat you up on the inside, until there is nothing left. Don’t do this to yourself.”

  “How can I not?” I cry out, feeling actual pain in my chest.

  “Feeling guilty doesn’t change anything. Your crying doesn’t change what happened.”

  “I know, but I can’t stop…”

  He walks over to me, a little clumsily, my field of vision still a little blurry from all the tears streaming down my face. I see his elbows jerk upward, then fall back down, as if there was a string pulling them back towards his body. A moment later, he tries the motion again, and this time, his elbows remain in the air. His lower arms follow, slowly, gently.

  Suddenly, his hands are resting softly on my back, and my face nestles into the soft flesh of his neck. A few left-over sobs escape my chest, and he presses me into him even closer. I inhale deeply, smelling moss and deep woods. My hands clutch at his shoulders, but I’m not crying any longer. Even the sobs have subsided. My body has calmed down.

  We remain like that for a few moments longer, neither of us wishing to break free. In that one moment, I forgot all about Anderson being gone. I could have easily swayed myself into believing that he was still asleep inside. However, reality never goes away for a long time. It allows hope to creep in, only long enough to lull you into a false sense of security.

  Not knowing how long we stayed like that, I start to let go, and he does the same. I smile at him, blushing, and he takes an even clumsier step backwards. I want to tell him that this was exactly what I needed, but I fear that might make him more self-conscious, so I remain quiet.

  His eyes take on a darker hue somehow, and I know that he isn’t in this comforting mood any longer. He is back to his usual self.

  “Come,” he suddenly says and grabs me by the hand.

  We rush back inside, and start rummaging through those black bags he warned Anderson and me against. I watch him as he extracts small handguns, and a whole boatload of ammo. His hands work fast, placing everything carefully on the ground in front of him.

  He is done surprisingly quickly. He kicks the empty black bags to the side, and looms over the weapons arrangement with his hands firmly on his hips.

  “Have you ever used one of these?” he asks, without taking his eyes off of the guns.

  My eyes travel over each single weapon, their metallic gleam soft, but visible. Suddenly, a memory floods my mind. I was about four or five years old, and I remember wanting my dad to play with me. My mom was busy in the kitchen, so she just told me to knock on the door to dad’s study, and ask him. Only, I didn’t knock. My little hand pressed on the doorknob skillfully, with the curiosity and strength only a toddler has, and I barged into my father’s study. I remember him being over at his safe, tucked neatly in the corner of the room, behind a wall of tapestry, and a potted plant. There were some papers inside, a few wads of cash, and something metallic. When he saw me, he seemed anxious, confused, as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. He quickly slammed the safe shut, twisted the knob, and then walked over to me.

  “Did you see what daddy has there in his safe?” he asked me, in his your-my-big-girl voice. I just shook my head to that. I wasn’t lying, but at the same time, I also wasn’t telling the truth. I was somewhere in what I considered to be a safe place between. “Those are daddy’s things in there, OK, pumpkin? It’s always locked and it needs to stay that way. If you ever see it open, come find me immediately, without touching anything there, OK?”

  My curiosity peaked at that very moment, but even as a toddler I knew that he wouldn’t show me what’s inside. So, I just nodded again, and allowed him to hug me, my little arms wrapped around his meaty neck.

  “No, never,” I tell Fynn, my child’s mind reminding me that I did see one of those, in my own home, but luckily, I was never forced to use it.

  “Here,” he bends down and picks up the smallest gun from the bundle. “Look here.”

  He opens the gun, clicks it, twists it, all I hear are metallic clicks and clanks. Then, he points it away from us.

  “You just pull the trigger and shoot. First shoot, ask questions later, got it?” He sounds out of breath, like he’s been running for hours before this.

  He hands it to me, like one hands the latest newspaper off the stand, and not a gun. I hesitate to take it and he notices.

  “Are you scared?” he asks.

  “Mhm,” I muster.

  It’s not the gun that scares me. Holding it in my hand and feeling its hard surface doesn’t make me afraid. The knowledge that I’d have to pull that trigger does. Because, I’m sure Fynn wouldn’t be handing it to me unless he expects me to use it.

  “We have two options,” he tells me, that gun still between us, lingering in the air. He isn’t pulling it back, and I’m not taking it. “Fight or flee.”

  I know what his choice is. It’s evident. But, that fear that has my feet nailed to the ground doesn’t agree.

  “It makes no sense,” I shake my head in disbelief. “It’s only the two of us. Who knows how many there are of them.”

  “Maddie, there is nowhere else to go,” I hear hopelessness in his voice and I know he is telling me the truth. “This was the last place on Earth I thought we’d be safe. I was wrong. And, now they have my partner.”

  “Do you think he’s…” I start, but he cuts me off.

  “No!” His voice thunders. “I’m gonna find him. We are gonna find him.”

  It’s strange to hear him talk like this. But, I understand.

  “I can drive you somewhere else, but honestly, I don’t even know where. I doubt I could protect you anywhere else by hiding you. The best I can do is fight until my last breath to keep you safe and unharmed.”

  The thought of him fighting a small army of wolf shifters or maybe something even worse frightens me to death. But, I know that’s a possibility. My heart is beating in my throat, threatening to jump right out of my chest. I look at him straight in the eyes, and grab the gun from his hand. The gun seems inadequate in my trembling hand, and I have no idea if I’ll dare to pull the trigger when the time comes. But, I can’t dwell on that right now. I need to believe that I can and I will. Fynn needs me. I can’t let him down. I can’t let Anderson down.

  “Things are in perspective now,” I exhale loudly.

  “Yes,” he nods. “You see now we can’t flee. That instinct telling you to run? That’s prey instinct. And we aren’t prey.”

  I listen to him talk, and I can almost imagine myself running barefoot through the woods. He lights up a fire inside of me, a strength I never knew I possessed. I’m no longer a scared little girl. I am a warrior. And, they will not have me without a fight.

  “We stay here,” he continues. “We fight. That’s what warriors do. That is what hunters do. We will kill all of those who come for us. We will fight and be saved, and then, we will go find Anderson.”

  His hand caged mine, the one holding the gun. I could feel the power of his being surging through me. It was, as if, in the strangest of ways, we’ve connected. We’ve become one. He has taken over some of my weakness and in its place, left his own strength to protect me, to guide me.

  “You can do this,” he tells me again, knowing I need to hear it over and over again. “Now, let’s go outside to set up the traps.”

  I nod, following him through the door. But, the moment, we exit, we see it immediately, at the sam
e time. There is a note stuck to our door, held in place by a little pocket knife.

  The Boon.

  Tomorrow at 9 pm.

  Bring the girl if you ever want to find out what happened to Hugo.

  S.

  Fynn pulls it off the door forcefully, then crumples up the paper. They’re playing with us. They’ve been playing with us all this time, and we’ve fallen right into their trap.

  I look over at Fynn. His nostrils are flaring. His nose is raised high up in the air, but I doubt he’ll pick up on anything. They’re long gone. Left to laugh at us, waiting for us to keep playing their game.

  Chapter 20

  Anderson

  When I wake up, I feel like there is a whole orchestra playing inside my head. Looking too much to the left hurts. Come to think of it, looking any way other than straight ahead fucking hurts. I try to move my arms, and only then do I realize that I’m sitting on a chair, which I’m also tied to. I try the ropes, but they’re too tight. The more I struggle, the more they dig into my flesh.

  I look around, and the moment I do that, a flicker of a small light appears in the darkest corner.

  “Well, look who’s awake.”

  It’s a voice I’d recognize anywhere. Only snakes hiss like that.

  Sven’s cigarette intensifies the flame, and he walks out into the light. It barely illuminates anything, but I can see him. The first thing I notice is the scar, then the rest of him.

  I try to remember what happened, but it’s all a blur. I remember sleeping in the bed, then some commotion. Someone’s hand over my mouth. Some sweet-smelling liquid pressed to my nose and lips.

  “You fucking drugged me!” I growl at him, shaking the chair, in a futile effort to get loose and lunge at him.

  He just chuckles. “Save your strength. You’ll need it for when your friends arrive.”

  “You motherfucker! What have you done to them?”

  “Nothing yet,” he tells me, shaking his head in his usual, calm manner. He’d make you almost believe that he’s just here to talk, and then he slits your throat while you’re not looking. “They’re not even here. We’re expecting them in a few hours, though.”

  “What do you want?” I ask, even though I know he probably won’t answer.

  “All questions will be answered in due time,” he assures me, inhaling deeply, then releasing a long, satisfying breath of smoke. “But, Hugo wouldn’t tell us where it is.”

  “Where what is!?”

  Sven shakes his head in disapproval. He walks over to me, then without a single word, presses the burning end of the cigarette on the bare skin of my hand.

  “Aaaaaaaaargh!” I scream at the top of my lungs, as it burns through my flesh. “You fucker!”

  He pulls it away, as the small red circle remains, reminding me of his anger. But, there’s more of it to come. I know it.

  I breathe heavily, as the pain subsides.

  “It was with Hugo,” Sven continues. “We know it was in his safe. The problem is that it’s not there anymore, and Hugo… well, let’s just say Hugo isn’t talking anymore.”

  “Is he… dead?”

  “That’s part of the surprise. And, I can’t ruin the surprise.”

  “What surprise?”

  “Didn’t I just say I can’t ruin it?” he chuckles again, finishing the cigarette, then stomping on it with his foot.

  “Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?” I growl at him again, angered that they took me out so easily.

  Then, it hits me. If they went inside our hideout, where was Fynn? Wasn’t he supposed to be watching the place? What was he doing?

  “It’s more fun this way,” he tells me. “Besides, there is a point to all this. You’ll see. Also, I’m told not to harm you. At least not until we wrap this up properly. Then, my hands get untied and I go crazy!”

  He doesn’t need to say that twice. No one wants to be around when Sven is allowed, and actually encouraged, to go crazy. All I can hope for is that Fynn won’t be enough of a fool to actually come here on his own, looking for me.

  I shake the chair a little more, but I know there’s no point. Sven doesn’t make such mistakes of using wobbly chairs or tying up his victims loosely. He’s way too meticulous for that.

  “Like I said, you should save your strength for later,” he reminds me.

  “You won’t get away with this.”

  This sounds like some cheesy, worn out line from a movie, but at the moment, that’s all I can come up with. And, Sven knows it. He just stares at me, then bends down, hands on his knees, and starts laughing his ass off. He laughs for a while like that, the whole place echoing, then he finally straightens.

  “That one was really good, Anderson. Got any more cliché movie lines?”

  I don’t grace that with a reply.

  “Silence?” he wonders. “Alright. I grow tired of this anyway. I’m just supposed to watch you until you wake up. Then, one of the thugs takes over. I’ve got business to attend to.”

  He heads over to the door, slamming it shut after him. My mind races, as I look around, trying to find something to use as a means of escape. It’s a big, empty room. Probably used to be the boiler room, as there are several pipes still hanging from the ceiling and from the walls. The floor has been stripped of any flooring. It’s bare cement now.

  I look at the chair. Pretty sturdy, with strong legs and back. The rope is tight, double knotted. If I had been awake while they were tying me up, I would have remembered to inhale deeply and enlarge my frame, which could have made wriggling out of these ropes easier. Now, they’re tightly wound around me.

  Fuck. Fuck. I have to wait for the first opportunity to get free. Only how?

  At that moment, the door opens, and an unfamiliar face walks in. It’s swollen from too much alcohol and drugs, probably. The guy is dressed all in black, and he doesn’t walk over to me. He just stops by the door and crosses his arms in front of his chest, giving me an orangutan look.

  Now I get it. He’s the thug. Thugs usually don’t talk. They just beat the crap out of you.

  I exhale loudly. This guy probably has instructions not to get near me, not to talk to me, not even to acknowledge me. But, I know a way he’d be forced to get near me.

  I inhale deeply once more, preparing myself for the pain that’s about to follow. But, I can’t wait for Sven to return and find me in the same spot. I might not get up from this chair alive.

  I remember the last time I was out of breath. It was a particularly dangerous mission, during which Fynn and I got separated. I was the first to stumble onto our target, only no one told us that the guy was a fucking bear shifter with hands the size of a football. He grabbed me by the neck and shoved me against the wall, pressing hard. At one point, I saw stars. Just darkness, with tiny freckles of light, and I thought I was a goner. Fynn smashed a brick on the guy’s head, and knocked him out cold. Needless to say, it took me a while to start talking properly again after that.

  But, that is what I need to do now. Put on a show. The fucking show of my life.

  I start coughing at first, expelling more air than I take in, to make it more believable. The guy turns to look at me curiously, but he doesn’t budge. Still. I start taking short, wheezy breaths, again expelling more air out of my lungs, purposefully making myself suffocate, or at least sound like I’m suffocating. I tighten my jaw, then open my mouth wide. I try to envision those same hands around my neck, and surprisingly, it’s not that hard. I guess you never forget some things.

  “My…. inhaler….” I wheeze at the guy in the corner. “Can’t…. breeeeeeathe…”

  And, with those words I let my head flop down towards my chest. I make sure to keep my eyes closed, and my ears pricked up. When one of your senses is off, then others become much keener than normal. Seeing I was left with barely anything functional in my nose, that meant that I needed to focus on my hearing. Now, it is paying off more than ever
.

  I hear the guy’s footsteps moving closer and closer to me. If my nose was any good, I’d be able to tell exactly when he’s in front of me, or when he leans down to check on me. But, I can’t smell him. Instead, I can only listen. His body fights the air around him, the air that is in this case, my best friend. He’s a heavy guy, his shoes are pressing hard against the cement floor, even though the soles of his shoes try to soak up all the noise. But, it’s impossible. A keen ear will always hear them.

  Making sure to breathe as slowly as possible, I need to confuse him. I need to make him think that I’m dying. I’m on the verge of death, and he needs to find my non-existent inhaler.

  I hear him stop a little away from me. He hesitates to approach me. My breathing has calmed down to the extent of being barely noticeable. Suddenly, I feel his fingers pressing against my jeans pockets. He feels nothing. He checks the pockets of my jacket, and I feel a gush of air brought on by his presence.

  I know this is my moment. It’s now or never.

  I lift my head as hard as I can, and I come down onto his with a bang. A million sharp needles of pain pierce through my face, my forehead and my chin. I try not to focus on the nerve-wracking pain, because I know there will be more to follow. The thug’s body slumps down onto the floor, right in front of me. A thin trickle of blood starts oozing from both of his nostrils. But, I know such a big guy won’t stay down so easily. So, I need to go on with my plan.

  I look down at my legs. They’re both tied to the chair legs. My hands are tied to my back. The only way I can do this is the most painful. But, I can’t risk this guy getting up, or Sven coming back. I need to do this now.

  I take another deep breath, trying to tighten my muscles as much as possible. The wall is close behind me. I just need to bang against it as hard as I can. Slowly, I lower my body onto my feet, managing to keep a balance of both my body and the chair that’s tied to my back. Without thinking, as these things usually go, I slam hard backwards, as hard as I can. A part of the chair breaks, but the seat and the legs remain intact. I sway to the front again, and repeat the action, even harder this time, ready for any stray spike that might dig into me. But, at this point, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.