by Marcy Jacks
DeWitt's Pack 3
Handcuffed to the Werewolf
Jason Snowe woke up in a nightmare. Kidnapped and thrown into a cement hole, he is chained to a werewolf, and is to be used for food when the wolf becomes too hungry to go without!
Mick Stewart despises the fact that he was caught by a bunch of lowbrow hunters, but there is always a silver lining. The human they chained him to is his mate, and though Jason is wary of him, they both agree that working together is their only chance of
escape.
For Mick, traveling whilst chained to a human only slows him down, and though Jason tries to keep the silver in the chain from affecting him, he soon comes down with a case of silver poisoning.
For Jason, finding out that he has a mate is surreal enough, but now he is faced with the possibility of losing Mick to the hunters before they even have the chance to really know each other.
Genre: Alternative (M/M or F/F), Paranormal,
Vampires/Werewolves
Length: 23,576 words
HANDCUFFED TO THE
WEREWOLF
DeWitt’s Pack 3
Marcy Jacks
EVERLASTING CLASSIC
MANLOVE
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www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Everlasting Classic ManLove
HANDCUFFED TO THE WEREWOLF
Copyright © 2012 by Marcy Jacks
E-book ISBN: 978- 1-62241-516-8
First E-book Publication: October 2012
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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www.SirenPublishing.com
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HANDCUFFED TO THE
WEREWOLF
DeWitt’s Pack 3
MARCY JACKS
Copyright © 2012
Chapter One
When Jason Snowe woke up in the middle of the night to hands grabbing him out of his bed, he’d thought he’d woken up into a nightmare. A black bag that made it nearly impossible to breathe had been stuffed over his head, the neck tied so tight that no fresh air could get in, and within seconds he was breathing in his own hot carbon dioxide that made his face break out into a sweat.
He’d tried to scream at them, to call for help, though he had no roommates who would hear him, and his neighbours on his floor were practically deaf.
His captors didn’t so much as talk to him, though he heard their muffled voices speaking to each other through his bag.
Once he’d stopped panicking enough to calm down and pay attention, that is. It did nothing to help him figure out where they were
taking him.
They tossed him onto what he figured out was the hard floor of a van, and it rumbled with the engine as it drove off with him inside.
Jesus Christ, he should’ve known coming here would be a bad idea. The town was too small, and someone within the local religious population had found out that the new clerk at the gas station was gay.
8 Marcy Jacks
If Jason was at all lucky, these people were just going to take him to a confessional or something and try to get him to renounce his perverted ways.
If he was unlucky, which, as of late, he had been, they were going to lynch him. Then maybe say that a wolf had dragged him away.
The locals did talk about the wolf cries at night. Said they were ferocious around these parts.
Jesus Christ. Jason panicked and began to struggle in earnest once more, the bonds tying his hands scraping at his wrists, but he didn’t stop until someone hit him with something hard over the face, and instantly his body relaxed.
He didn’t come to again until the bag was ripped off, and the air
felt like such a cold jolt to his skin that he had no choice to become fully aware. Like someone had doused him in cold water.
He just nearly pissed himself at the grungy-looking scene before him. Hey, no one could ever accuse him of being brave.
It looked like something out of a Saw movie. There was a hole in the ground, at least fifteen feet deep and definitely man-made. This wasn’t something quickly dug up. It was layered in concrete. Jason couldn’t tell how thick they were, but the metal rings, some of which had chains attached to them, looked anything but friendly. He didn’t even want to concentrate too much on what those brown stains were.
Yeah, they were definitely lynching him.
He raised his hands. “Look, guys, I don’t know what this is, but it’s no business of mine.”
“Bring in the other one and put them in,” said the gruff voice of
someone cloaked to look like one of those evil dementor creatures
from Harry Potter. He spoke as though Jason hadn’t said a word.
Then more rough hands gripped him hard enough to bruise before throwing him over. Jason hadn’t even had a chance to fight back.
He landed awkwardly on his feet, collapsing onto his side as the pain exploded in his right ankle and sliced up his leg. He cried out, clutching at the spot, but th
e men who threw him over jumped down
Handcuffed to the Werewolf 9
with all the grace that an intended move like that could give them, and then started pulling out chains from their black robes.
“What are you going to do to me?” he asked when he could get his mouth to work on something other than weak little whimpering sounds.
Again, no one answered him. They went about their day as though this was as normal as apple pie.
Who the fucking hell were these people?
He couldn’t get up, and the was nowhere for him to even try and go with his ankle throbbing like it was—please, God, don’t let it be broken—so he stayed put and watched the men work, attaching a heavy chain to one of the rings in the chipped cement ground, removing other chains. Someone must have been doing some heavy lifting outside of the hole, because Jason heard a lot of grunting and pulling from above.
He figured out what exactly they were dragging into this pit when a giant furry animal was dropped in with a heavy thud less than ten feet away from where he lay.
Jason screamed. A bear! They’d just tossed a heavy fucking bear in here with him! Christ, was it alive or dead?
Someone said something else, but Jason was too busy screaming
to know what it was.
He figured it out real quick when someone slapped a handcuff ring around his right wrist. Jason tried to yank his hand away. “Stop that!”
It seemed they only paid any attention to him when he was struggling, and he fought and kicked and bit down hard on any bit of flesh that came near him.
He got kicked in the head once or twice for that, so hard that his vision went foggy and his brain seemed to slow down.
He got back up to speed when he realized where the other side of the handcuff had gone.
The other ring had gone through a metal loop in one of the chains,
10 Marcy Jacks
which, as he looked, seemed to be connected to the bear in the pit
with him.
What they had planned for him became apparent, and he flipped out. “Are you guys out of your fucking minds? He’s going to kill me! Let me out of here!”
They pretended to be deaf once more as the grim-looking men above the pit helped their friends out of it using rope ladders.
“Help! Help!” Jason screamed, as though he expected someone to rush into his rescue.
A slight whining groan caught his attention from beside him.
The bear. It was definitely alive, and…not a bear.
A long, heavy tail, shaggy and brown, started a lazy thump against the concrete flooring, the chest rising and falling in drugged breaths, and the body itself twitched.
Not a bear. A giant dog.
A huge wolf?
Not much better than a bear.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Jason muttered.
His captors were going to feed him to this thing. Jason had to find
a way to get out.
After a minute of heavy breathing and sweating over just how in
the hell he planned to do that part, exactly, he finally got up the
courage and reached his hand out, ready to crawl forward and find out exactly where he and the wolf were connected and if he could sever that connection before it woke up.
He stopped when the ripple passed under the wolf’s skin. It almost looked like something was moving underneath.
Bugs maybe?
Then the entire body of massive wolf shifted, and Jason’s heart slammed to a complete stop in his chest.
It didn’t get up and rip his head off, though, no. It started to shed its hair.
The coarse hairs fell away like leaves on a tree, only much faster,
Handcuffed to the Werewolf 11
revealing smooth, pink skin beneath.
Then the body of the wolf began to shrink, as though someone had popped it and it was deflating like a balloon, slowly losing its helium.
Jason wasn’t sure what he expected or even when he expected this sudden change to stop. But it certainly hadn’t been when the body of a man replaced the wolf on the cold grey concrete.
A naked man, with the body of a GQ model.
Jason had watched enough horror flicks to know what that meant.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, right before he started to scream again.
12 Marcy Jacks
Chapter Two
Mick Stewart came briefly awake, floating up through the cloud of drugs that were in his system. The reason for his fogginess couldn’t be anything else. He was sober enough to put that much together, but he couldn’t quite figure out where all that annoying racket was coming from.
Groggily, he decided it didn’t matter and fell back under the heavy haze that kept him calm and comfortable.
When he came to again, he was more aware this time, especially of the fact that the noise from before had stopped. He didn’t know why, but that actually scared him. No noise was a bad thing. Something was wrong.
He was definitely not back with his pack, in his own bed where he should be. His bed wasn’t this gritty, hard, and goddamn
uncomfortable.
He was clear headed enough to know that opening his eyes, letting whoever had taken him know that he was awake and aware, was a bad
thing indeed, so he kept quiet and kept his eyes gently shut, allowing
his other senses to tell him what he needed to know.
He’d shifted back into his human form sometime during his ordeal, he could tell that much. The hard, dirty surface under his naked body felt like stone, but the scent and feel was different. This
was man-made. Cement. The place reeked of old blood, so these were definitely not friendlies who had him, and then there was the sound of breathing.
So someone was in here with him.
His first thought was that it was one of the unfriendlies. A hunter,
Handcuffed to the Werewolf 13
or a werewolf from a rival pack. Deacon was certainly still pissed about what had happened last month to his own pack, and he wouldn’t be above trying some stupid shit like this.
No, not Deacon. The heartbeat was different, quick and frightened, just like the breathing. Whoever this was, they were having a mild panic attack.
Another prisoner, perhaps.
Mick took the risk and opened his eyes.
Though he did not recognize the guy, had never seen him before in his entire life, the sight of him would have knocked Mick back a step, had he not already been laying down on his side.
The point of no return. The one and only. The yin to his yang, and all that other weirdo shit wolves said when they finally made the discovery.
Mate. This was Mick’s mate.
The man was small, not naked like Mick was, but not dressed for
the occasion either. Looked like he was wearing a pair of navy-andwhite striped pajama bottoms and nothing else.
His knees were up, arms hugging around them, struggling for warmth. A human, then, otherwise the temperature wouldn’t bother him so much. Mick definitely felt fine, but if this man was cold, Mick wanted to warm him.
His eyes—they were such a deep shade of chocolate that, even with his excellent sight, Mick had some difficulty seeing the irises—were as round as golf balls, and Mick could most assuredly see the whites all the way around them.
He’d noticed that Mick had woken up, and from the looks of things, he might also assume that this man had watched him transform.
That usually was enough to freak out the locals.
Mick lifted himself not his knees, ignoring the man—his mate—hoping that if he didn’t show much interest in him, he wouldn’t be so afraid of him. He stretched out his back and neck, the little cracks and
14 Marcy Jacks
dull pops hurting, but he needed it so badly and felt a little more like
himself when he finished.
Finally, he looked at his cell mate. They appeared to be in a cement hole somewhere, and
from the looks of the stains and deep claw marks that scarred the walls, he would not be the first werewolf
held prisoner here.
The poor guy still looked terrified, and Mick couldn’t blame him. He wondered what the men who brought them here thought this man had done to them in order to throw him into a pit with a werewolf, probably in the hopes that Mick would eat him.
“Hey,” he said.
The man jerked back, as though it shocked him that Mick would know how to speak.
He needed to take this easy. The man was radiating fear, like a deer that knew it could not outrun a predator and was about to be devoured.
“I’m Mick Stewart. Did you see anything that could help us get
out of here?”
The man shook his head in the negative, still giving Mick that
shocked stare.
Any other time, he would have just ignored the guy and tried to find his own way out, or flat-out lost patience. Now, patience was his middle name, despite how much he needed to figure out what was going on and fast.
Was this how James felt when he first scented Corey? Some wolves said it was the scent that led them to their mates, others swore
they knew on sight.
Mick officially knew which camp he was in when it came down to
that.
God, he felt like shit. His regeneration abilities couldn’t kick in fast enough to get out whatever those assholes had pumped into him. He still couldn’t remember what had brought him here. The last thing he could bring to mind was being called into James’s office. Then
Handcuffed to the Werewolf 15
there was just a whole lot of nothing.
He tried getting to his feet. “Could you—”
The heavy clinking of chains stopped that sentence before it could really begin, and he looked down, suddenly aware that the reason for his heavy limbs had more to do with what was weighing them down, rather than his own drugged up muscles.