True Alpha

by Ranae Rose

  Blood dripped from the wound like water exploding from a suddenly-unplugged faucet, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. Tossing the long shard of glass aside, he shifted into his wolf form and leapt over the pile of glass, scenting the night for any sign of his bride.

  Her sweet aroma hung in the air; she smelled just like rain and the little wildflowers that sprouted up in nearby clearings in the springtime. Even as he inhaled, the scent was diminishing, fading away as he clung to it. She’d been gone for probably at least ten minutes, and in a situation like this, ten minutes was an eternity. Rage cramped his gut, and he leapt off the porch, furious with himself for lingering in the shower, fantasizing about her as someone had snatched her right out from under his nose.

  That had to be what had happened. She wouldn’t have fled like this – not ever, and especially not on their wedding night. And then, there was the broken glass.

  Her scent trail was faint, her smell mixed with that of another person – an unidentified male. The odor sent fear lancing through his heart and caused him to grind his fangs, saliva flooding his mouth as he imagined sinking them into someone – specifically, whoever had taken her. He hurried down the driveway with his nose to the ground as his head throbbed with urgency, a tension headache springing up between his eyes as he traced her. She must’ve been carried, because there was only one set of footprints, and they were too big to be hers.

  The trail led him out to the road and down the mountain for a few dozen yards before it stopped cold. Jack’s gut roiled as he breathed deeply, straining to pick up any trace of anyone or anything. But Mandy’s scent and that of her attacker had disappeared, lost in the stink of exhaust. She’d been put into a vehicle. As he strained his ears, there was no sound of a motor, no sign of where it had gone, other than the vague stink that drifted down the mountain. They could’ve taken her anywhere.

  Damn it, why had he left her alone, even for a minute? She should’ve spent their wedding night in his arms, not alone with a stranger who wanted… God, he didn’t even know what her abductor wanted, hadn’t a clue what this nightmarish disaster was about, only the vaguest of ideas, all blind guesses.

  Sheer desperation clawed at him from the inside, shredding his heart as blood pumped through his veins, flooding his muscles with heat and the desperate desire to do something. Tipping back his head, he let out a piercing howl, one the rest of the pack would be sure to hear from their cabin farther up the mountain. And when they arrived, he’d have to tell them that Mandy was gone. He’d lost her – his mate, his bride, and their baby. The scent of the man who’d taken her was burnt into his nostrils, his lungs and his mind. Whenever he found him, he’d rip him apart.

  Chapter 12

  Waking up wasn’t easy; consciousness seemed to ebb and flow, lapping against the edges of Mandy’s mind, constantly just out of reach. Sometimes, it was so close that she could taste it. It tasted like an old sock stuffed full of pennies. When she finally came to, she gagged.

  It was no use; her jaws were wedged halfway open and her mouth was full of something that she couldn’t dislodge. Struggling for control of her breathing, she fought to stop the heaving motions of her throat. Pregnancy had made her gag reflex more active than normal, and it would be all too easy for her to vomit. If that happened, she’d choke to death.

  When at last she’d managed to stop, making peace with the fact that a disgusting wad of something – fabric, it tasted like – was stuffed into her mouth, she took the time to acknowledge the other sensations that were vying for her attention. The most prominent was the headache; her right temple throbbed. Then there was the pain in her ankles and wrists – something was digging into them, and when she tried, she couldn’t move them. She’d been bound. When she forced her heavy eyelids to rise, she expected to find herself staring into the dark interior of a blindfold. Instead, dull light made her blink.

  She was inside a building. A poor excuse for a building, but a building nonetheless. The structure – a shack, or maybe a shed? – was built of rough wooden boards that looked weathered, even from the inside. A high window admitted a shaft of sunlight that illuminated the modest furnishings, which included an ancient looking cot in one corner and a crude wooden stool in another. There was a crooked wooden door that, judging by the light that shone through the cracks around it, led outdoors. The entire one-room shanty was square and maybe about ten by ten feet. Her attention was quickly diverted from examining her surroundings when a kick jarred her belly from the inside.

  The baby. Undiluted panic gripped her for a moment, stronger even than the tight bonds that held her captive, and her heart sped like a runaway horse. As her breathing grew more rapid, she began to gag again.

  No. No, she couldn’t let this happen; if she kept freaking out, it would be the death of her and her precious baby. Consciously and carefully, she willed her throat to stop contracting and her breathing to slow. After a couple minutes, it worked. She lay still on her side, clad only in her bathrobe as the sweat that had coated her forehead trickled onto the dirt floor, creating mud. It wasn’t ideal and it certainly wasn’t comfortable, but at least she wasn’t drowning in her own vomit, and at least she was wearing something. She closed her eyes and focused on her belly, registering every little sensation, desperate to know that her baby was alive and unharmed.

  The baby shifted positions and eventually gave another kick, which caused Mandy’s heart to swell with hope. He or she was definitely alive, and didn’t seem to be behaving abnormally. And though her head, arms and legs ached, her belly felt fine, other than being a little sore on the side she’d been lying on for so long. Somehow, she’d made it through being bashed in the head and falling without her child being harmed. Had someone caught her? And had that same person brought her here?

  All she could remember was the devastating blow she’d sustained to the side of her head as she’d opened the cabin door. The fact that she’d been bound, gagged and shoved into the corner of a dirty little shack screamed kidnapping. But why on earth it had happened or who had done it, she had no idea.

  Jack. Her heart ached as she thought of him. She had no way of knowing how long she’d been unconscious, but she’d been out for at least a night, and every second of it had to have been hell for him. Just imagining how she’d have felt if she’d emerged from the shower expecting to consummate their marriage and found him missing instead caused her to break out in a cold sweat. As horrible as her situation was, he had it just as bad. His pain might not be physical, but losing a mate or fearing for their safety was a sort of agony that cut deep, hitting bone.

  The door swung open, shrieking on its rusty hinges and admitting a sudden burst of light.

  Mandy squinted, barely able to make out the silhouette that stood in the threshold. When it stepped forward and the door swung shut, her vision adjusted enough for her to see an unfamiliar man.

  He had dark hair, but it was nothing like Jack’s; it was short and coarse-looking, combed upward into a haphazard, spiky style. His dark eyes narrowed as he looked down at her like she was something he might have just peeled off the bottom of his boot. “Well, well. Thought I heard someone floppin’ around in here like a landed fish.” Judging by his accent, he was a Southerner.

  She hadn’t been flopping at all, but gagging was hardly more dignified. At any rate, the gag prevented her from saying anything. Instead, she met his eyes, studying him for any clue to an identity or sign of compassion. She found neither, only noted that he was young – twenty-something – and dressed in pseudo-military gear, like camo pants, a tan t-shirt and combat boots. A gun belt was slung around his hips, a large handgun weighing down the holster, and he’d slung a rifle over his back. Some sort of hand-held radio was also attached to the belt, and occasionally it buzzed with faint static.

  Dropping into a squat, he reached for her.

  She recoiled automatically, smacking her head painfully against the wall behind her as a reward for her efforts. He smirked, his e
yes cold, and continued, his fingertips brushing her face as he gripped something near the corner of her mouth and pulled, hard.

  Masking tape. That was what they’d used to seal her mouth shut, and it stung fiercely as it was pulled away. At least he’d done it quickly; slower always hurt more. “Don’t scream,” he said as he tossed it aside, “or it goes right back on.”

  Silently, she spit out whatever had been crammed into her mouth. It tumbled to the ground, a sodden red rag. As she stretched her jaws, experiencing blessed relief when she closed her mouth afterward, he seized her by the shoulders and lifted her into a sitting position.

  His brusque movement forced her to sit with her legs tucked under her body, which caused the pain in her ankles to flare. Her left shoulder, however, tingled as it began to regain feeling, and it was as if a weight had been lifted from her belly. Before she could make a move, he stood, reaching for a shelf high on the wall that she hadn’t noticed before.

  When he squatted again, he was holding a juice box. The little cluster of cartoon grapes on the front indicated the flavor and the colorful, silly design contrasted sharply with her crude surroundings. He tore the straw from the side, divested it of its wrapper and punched the pointed end through the top of the box. “Drink,” he said, holding it out so that the straw brushed her lips.

  She obeyed, far too thirsty to dream of refusing. The juice was room temperature, but it soothed her dry throat and washed the faint taste of blood from her mouth. The coppery tang must have been the result of a busted lip; her lower lip felt swollen. The fact that she’d been left with unhealed injuries meant that she’d either been kept out of the moonlight the night before or injured somehow that morning. The juice was gone far too soon. She sipped the last little bit of it, and the straw made a slurping noise as it scraped the bottom of the box. Her captor yanked it away.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded. She probably wouldn’t get any answers, but she had to try.

  “Payback,” he said flatly, his eyes narrowing in warning. “You’ll see soon enough. ‘Till then, you sure as hell better not ask about it again, unless you want an early taste of it.”

  She clamped her mouth shut in resignation. She wasn’t about to endanger her child by testing her captor. She’d just have to gather information by listening carefully and watching for clues; something might come up. Her first priority was her baby. Every instinct she had urged her to shut up and wrap her arms protectively around her belly. Unfortunately, she could only do the former.

  “Eat.” This time, he held half a sandwich – peanut butter and jelly. The cuisine resembled nothing so much as the contents of a kindergartener’s lunch box, but the fact that she was being given food and drink at all was a surprise. She complied, awkwardly eating from her captor’s hand, careful not to bite his fingers, though there were few things she would’ve liked more than to do so. A blob of jelly dripped from between the bread onto her chin, and another onto her belly, but she was too concerned for her baby to be humiliated. As she chewed and swallowed, it became apparent that the feeling of tightness in her throat hadn’t been due entirely to thirst.

  Something was exerting a light pressure on her throat and neck, which became more uncomfortable when she swallowed. It felt like a band … or a collar. But why? It didn’t seem to be attached to anything. Was it some sort of weird attempt to degrade her, or an item that would prove somehow practical in time? Either possibility was disturbing.

  When she finished the sandwich, her captor picked up the rag she’d spit out and stuffed it back into her mouth. Still sodden and now dirty, it triggered her gag reflex instantly. She fought it, willing her throat to be still, trying to arrange her tongue as comfortably as possible. He hadn’t even given her time to swallow all the remnants of her meal; her mouth still tasted of peanut butter and grape jelly. Her heart sank when he pulled a roll of masking tape from the shelf, tore off a fresh piece and pressed it firmly over her lips before settling onto the stool.

  She still didn’t know why she’d been taken. Her captor could be a shifter hunter like the one who’d nearly murdered her and Jack when they’d first met, a run-of-the-mill serial killer or a straight-up psychopath. His talk of payback echoed in her mind, confusing her further. The only thing that seemed extremely unlikely was that she was being held for ransom; nobody in their right mind would abduct the wife of a cabin maintenance man for the sake of money. But she did know one thing, and that was that when an abductee was allowed to look freely at her captor’s face, it generally meant that her kidnapper had absolutely no intention of letting her go alive.

  ****

  “Anything?” Sweat trickled into Jack’s eyes and stung them as he hurried to Ronnie’s truck, leaning against the driver’s side door as the vehicle slowed to a halt in the driveway in front of his cabin.

  Ronnie’s stoicism melted as his lips twitched down into the slightest of frowns. “No.”

  Jack cursed as his heart sank and the panic that had been simmering beneath the surface of his skin ever since Mandy had disappeared reared its ugly head. He didn’t give into it – couldn’t afford to give into it – but it was there, eating him alive from the inside. He stumbled backward as Ronnie stepped out of the truck, a rifle slung over one broad shoulder.

  “On to the next step in the plan,” Ronnie said, his voice as calm as ever, though his eyes looked a little darker than usual, and he placed a huge hand on Jack’s shoulder. With his other hand, he held up a map. “We mark all the known structures on the surrounding mountains and go out in teams to check them one by one, doing a sweep of the forests while we’re at it.”

  Jack nodded, his mouth dry as cotton – too dry to say anything. Mandy had been missing overnight, for about twelve hours so far. His heart pounded against his chest constantly, marking each passing second. Every moment was precious – when someone went missing, the first twenty-four hours were crucial. Half of that precious window was already gone, and they had absolutely nothing to show for their search efforts. The entire pack, plus Ronnie and Will, had been up all night, scouring the mountain. Their knowledge of the terrain was impeccable, and they’d been thorough. Every inch of Half Moon territory had been searched. Wherever Mandy was, it wasn’t familiar ground. He could only hope and pray that she was somewhere nearby. Alive.

  Of course, she could be anywhere. Just about anywhere in the damned world, by now. He clung to the hope that she was close, somewhere where he could find her, if he just looked hard enough.

  “Come on.” Ronnie steered Jack toward the cabin.

  Inside, Will and the rest of the pack had gathered around the table. They’d all agreed to meet back at the cabin at this time to regroup and solidify their plans for searching the surrounding mountains. Jack had hoped that they wouldn’t have to, that Mandy would be back in his arms by now, her belly bumping against his as he held her.

  “Found a marker,” Daniel said, his voice rough as he tossed a red marker onto the table. Jack recognized it from the junk drawer next to the fridge.

  “Great,” Jack muttered, like it mattered.

  The others were silent as Ronnie unfolded the map and spread it across the table. They all had bloodshot eyes and were obviously exhausted, but none of them had pulled out a chair. The entire pack, plus the two bear shifters, stood in a tired, nervous circle, eager to return to the search.

  Ronnie, who, as a ranger, knew the surrounding wilderness better than anyone, began marking all of the structures he knew of. Cabins, hunting shacks – everything, and caves, too. Those places would be their focal points; they’d check them, and make sure to do a sweep of the surrounding woods as well. It was possible that Mandy’s abductor had taken her somewhere far away, but what better hiding place was there than the sprawling wilderness of the Smokies? People had disappeared into the mountains and never emerged. It made sense that the sick bastard who’d taken Mandy had plucked a victim from the mountainside on purpose, so that he could easily sneak into the wild with his abduc
tee, where he’d be unlikely to be discovered.

  That was if they were dealing with an ordinary human kidnapper, one who had no idea that Mandy was a shifter. On one hand, the possibility filled Jack’s gut with a roiling sickness – if the person who’d taken her wasn’t a shifter hunter, he was probably some sort of sick, calculating killer or psychopath.

  On the other hand, if Mandy’s abductor didn’t know what she was, there was no way he’d be prepared for her to shift into her wolf form. That meant that if she had indeed been taken by some sort of serial killer or other ordinary abductor, she had a good chance of escaping. That was another reason why they needed to search the surrounding mountains; she might be trying to make her way home, possibly injured or maybe hiding out in whatever shelter she could find.

  If they were dealing with a shifter hunter, the possibilities were significantly grimmer. A shifter hunter would expect her to shift. They’d either do something to prevent it, find a way to restrain her even in her wolf form, or, most likely, kill her instantly. That was by far the most terrifying possibility, but there was good reason to believe that it was also the most unlikely. Why would a shifter hunter have abducted her instead of killing her on the spot in the only way that provided a highly sought-after wolf carcass trophy – with a silver bullet through the heart? And why would they have left Jack behind? A mated pair would make quite the trophy, as far as the demented sons of bitches who hunted shifters were concerned.

  “All right,” Ronnie said, still holding his red marker. “Anyone know of any other place I haven’t marked?”

  No one said anything. Together, Ronnie and Will had already identified almost a dozen locations to search.

  “It’s settled, then.” Ronnie capped the marker and slipped it into his pocket. “Jack, will we be dividing up into the same teams as last time?”