by Aline Hunter
“Halfway to the portal, using the east path of the forest.” There was no way Ian or any of his brethren could come to his aid. The sun was already rising. He couldn’t contact Lucian either, as the daemon couldn’t transport without disrupting the portal. That left one person. “I need you to contact Trace. Tell him where we are.”
“I already have.”
That got Bridon’s attention. “That fast?”
“Trace arrived early this morning, before the sun rose. He’s on his way to you.”
Bridon felt his strength ebbing as the telepathy drained him. Trying to locate Trace to communicate could very well take all of the energy he had left.
“Don’t reach out to me or anyone else unless you have to. You need to save your strength.” Ian paused. “You know what they’ll do when the moon rises. If Willow doesn’t know what’s going to happen, it might be best to keep it that way. Scaring her won’t do either of you any favors.”
The harvesting. Bridon wasn’t sure if Ian caught the thought, although he was aware his friend probably knew what he must be thinking. Thank the Fates he and Willow hadn’t consummated their relationship and he hadn’t spoken the words to bind them to each other. If Trace didn’t arrive in time, there was a very real possibility Willow wouldn’t have to worry about being his Chosen.
Bridon was lifted and tossed over what he could only assume was his saddle. His hands and feet were tied under the animal’s belly, keeping him in place. As they started to move, he was tempted to reach out mentally to Willow again, but he refrained from doing so. Right now she had to be terrified. He wasn’t sure he could offer the comfort or answers she sought. Instead he started to strategize. The agent in his system wouldn’t last forever. He simply had to keep the mortal men from knowing when the magikal compound began to wear off.
If he wanted to survive, he had to keep his age and identity hidden. If the men who intended to butcher him alive found out how powerful he was, they’d keep him alive only as long as it took to drain his blood. Older vampires were too dangerous to keep around, since they were able to remain awake during the day versus falling into a deep slumber when the sun rose. They’d take his organs one by one before they flayed him like a fish and stripped his flesh from his bones.
For now, he had to pretend to be just like any other vampire they tracked. They’d want his blood first. As long as he could rejuvenate it quickly enough and didn’t appear capable of causing harm, they’d keep him alive. It wasn’t until he was no longer viable or became a threat that they’d go for his organs to sell for use in black magik spells.
He knew it was foolhardy, but he reached out with his telepathy, searching for Trace. Unlike Ian, whom he had a blood bond with, Trace wasn’t as easy to find. Numerous thoughts assailed him as he sought the mind he wanted.
His captors were planning to place him in the center circle and begin the bleeding process at dusk. Ian was in the process of amassing a group that would leave as soon as the sun set. Willow was trying to figure out what was happening to them. His strength immediately began to wane, causing him to slip into blackness. When he found his friend, on the move and over a day’s ride away on the other side of the forest, he managed to impart one message.
“Hurry.”
Then the darkness overtook him.
* * *
“You get a room with a view. We don’t want you to miss the show.”
Willow fell limply onto the mattress the man tossed her on. Luckily the stale heap of box springs and padding cushioned the fall. She was unable to move much, although she’d discovered hours before while seated in the center of what the men called their camp—as they stripped her of her clothing—that she could finally shift her limbs and move her fingers and toes. She groaned as the putrid smell of the mattress rose to her nose. The creaky thing was covered with death, blood, semen, and disease.
Never had the thought of a shower appealed to her so much.
“Don’t worry.” The man called Finn flipped her over and dipped his head, putting them nose to nose. “Once that vampire is gone, I’ll be more than happy to take care of you.”
For a minute, she wondered if she might vomit and choke to death due to paralysis. All of the men looked as if they hadn’t changed or showered in weeks, dressed in filthy clothing, reeking of body odor so strong, it didn’t require a Wolven sense of smell to identify. Finn, however, was the total opposite. He was extremely gorgeous and well-spoken, with dark hair and beautiful green eyes. He gave the orders, and the men followed. He was the leader, without question, which made some kind of karmic sense because he was also the epitome of what Lycae females detested.
Finn—the brains of the psychotic outfit—was a poser. She had no doubt that the man would piss himself in a fight without the weapons that made him feel larger than life. With those looks, he likely charmed his way into many pairs of panties. For her, he ranked lower than an omega of her pack.
“Now, I want you to listen to me closely.” Finn ran a finger along her chin and watched the movement with a tilt of his head. “Soon, you’re going to be able to move freely. If you do anything stupid, the guard posted outside will dart you again. I suggest you sit tight and be a good girl until we’re finished with your boyfriend.” The gentle touch became rough, and he clasped her jaw. “It would be a damned shame to kill you before we’ve had the chance to know each other, but I will if you get in the way.”
The bed shifted as he stood and walked from the room. She honed her hearing, attempting to make out sounds in the distance. Whatever they had planned wasn’t good, and it all involved Bridon. She tried to stay calm, remembering what Bridon had told her.
Damn it, today was supposed to be different. She shouldn’t be alive right now. She should have already done as promised, taken the pill her father had given her, and ended it all. As she’d traveled on the back of the damned nightmare, she’d wondered if maybe they’d do the job for her. That hope was squelched the minute she came face-to-face with Finn and she saw the blatant sexual interest in his gaze. When they’d stripped her of her clothing, taking away the one thing that would finish her off, they’d removed any chance she had of seeing things to their proper end.
Fuck it to Hades, she was deep in the shit.
Squeezing her muscles, she willed them to life, and slowly shifted her legs. She felt the corresponding tingle as they went taut, could feel her legs trembling as she moved them to the side. It was already midafternoon. The evening wasn’t far away. Despite the collar—which the bastards had apparently written off and let her keep—she could feel the changes taking place inside her. Her hormones went into overload, and the need to shift increased. Her bones ached, and her skin burned. Worse, her wolf recognized her mate and accepted him fully. Sensing Bridon’s danger only brought her bestial half closer to the surface.
Where had they taken him? To another cabin? After one of the men had taken her from the horse, he’d placed her in an area that didn’t allow her to get a decent glimpse at her surroundings. The only thing the open area provided was a huge helping of the sun. She assumed they moved Bridon to keep him away from the harmful rays, which initially had provided a bit of relief. If they wanted him dead, exposure would do it. Then, as she watched them go to a cross planted deep in the earth with bloodstains marring it, she knew their plans were far more sinister.
They were planning something bad—something very, very bad.
Laughing voices from outside the cabin got her attention. She glanced at the window and wanted to snarl at the men staring inside. All of them had made it clear that she was a bounty to be rotated between them, shared in any way they saw fit. The thought of their foul and sweaty bodies anywhere near her made her gag reflex kick in.
“How long do you think it’ll be until we get a shot at her?” one asked.
“When Finn has his turn, I’d wager.”
“Then it won’t be long. He’s about as long lasting as a Vegas marriage.”
“We could ge
t to her faster if we had her at the same time. Her mouth looks as good as her ass.”
“You’re crazy as shit, Mars. That bitch would bite your dick off at the root.”
The man—Mars—stared at her, licking his lips. “It would be one hell of a way to go.”
“I’ll tell you what. You want to tag team, I’m game. But you get the teeth. I’m not going anywhere near them.”
“I suppose it’s time I introduced you to my spider gag,” Mars said.
“Spider gag?”
“You put it inside a woman’s mouth, and she can’t bite down.”
“You’re shitting me.”
The look in Mars’s eye as he leered at her made her skin crawl. “Just wait.” He met her gaze, as if speaking to her directly. “I’ll introduce it to you tonight.”
Both men turned their gazes to her, and a shiver ran down her spine. An image of her trapped between them, stripped naked and bound to do whatever they wished, flashed in her head. She cringed as she realized if they darted her again, it could be a very real possibility. They started laughing once more, as if they could visualize the same thing. After several agonizing moments, they turned away, leaving her to seethe in silence.
There was no way she’d allow them to fuck her. She’d pretend to be willing and rip out their throats.
Determined to gain her mobility, she shifted her arms and legs again, finding that as the time passed, they became a bit steadier. Sweat beaded her brow, and her body reacted as if she were on a full-fledged hunt. Her motions became stronger, until she was finally able to brace herself on her hands and sit upright. She continued watching the window the entire time, noting the way the sky turned a different shade as the sun disappeared below the horizon.
When the final hues of orange became purple, signaling the day was done, her heart started racing, her skin became itchy, and she felt her body temperature rise several more degrees.
She didn’t have much time left.
The moon was on its way.
Chapter Eleven
Bridon woke to the sharp bite of a blade in the crease of his arm. He opened his eyes, blinked rapidly, and tried to get a handle on his surroundings. Dusk settled on the horizon, he was outside and stripped of his shirt, and he was bound to a cross of some kind. A large cylinder attached to a plastic baggie collected the blood that welled from a deep cut in his arm and trickled down his elbow to his fingers.
“Don’t move,” a voice he recognized from earlier warned. “We don’t want to waste any of this.”
Glancing up, he saw one of the men walking around the circle with a smoking wick, speaking an incantation in Latin. In another circumstance he would have laughed to watch the vile and dense man as he babbled—saying something idiotic about blood and food—which proved he had no idea what he was doing. Sadly, the predicament was dangerous, leaving humor out of the question.
Bridon attempted to remain calm and focused. He knew this would happen and had prepared himself before he contacted Trace. They’d want as much of his blood as they could get. Black magik had multiple uses for it. Most practitioners liked to keep it stocked for the dark spells that called for blood more potent than that of mortals. He just had to bide his time until his friend arrived. Once that happened, hell would unleash, and he’d show the human men exactly who they’d decided to trifle with.
“Do the other arm now,” the man with the wick said, waving the damned thing around like a flashlight.
The man at his side moved to his left arm, found the vein, and slid his knife into it. The bite of the blade stung, but he held back a wince. Blood flowed instantly, sliding down his arm like a thin red river. He took a deep breath, grateful that there was no weakness from blood loss—yet. That wouldn’t last forever. If they continued bleeding him out, he’d either pass out or become so weak he wouldn’t be able to move.
Damn it, Trace. Where are you?
Another man approached from a cabin some twenty or so yards away. Like the rest of the men, he was covered in dirt, his clothing tattered and worn. He spit on the ground and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. The man with the smoking wick stopped and turned, facing him.
“How’s our girl?”
The man spit another line of blackened foulness onto the ground and grinned. “Agitated.”
“The dart has worn off?”
“About an hour ago. She’s pacing around the cabin.”
“She’s probably got the jitters. She knows we’ll be coming for a visit later tonight.”
Bridon’s fangs lengthened at the thought, and the calm he had maintain shattered. They would not touch his Fated. If Trace didn’t arrive soon, he’d have to take matters into his own hands. Looking down at his arms, he realized he might have to act sooner rather than later. The more blood he lost, the weaker he would become. While he could gain strength by drinking, it wouldn’t be possible until the threat to his Chosen was eliminated. Taking the time to drain one of the poachers wasn’t an option when Willow was trapped inside the cabin, vulnerable to the men who leered at her through the small window in the front of the structure.
“Don’t get any ideas.” The man who’d inflicted the gashes in his arms turned to him, waving his knife. “The ropes you’re tied with are fortified with siren’s hair. You ain’t going nowhere. You might as well get used to the idea that your little feeder in there no longer belongs to you.” Moving close, the man smiled. “Don’t worry. We know how to take care of a lady. I gave her some TLC when she arrived, so she’s aware of what’s coming. She’ll be sore in the morning, but she’ll be satisfied.”
Bridon’s temper snapped. He snarled at the man, lunging forward. The ropes holding him didn’t budge.
“See, you ain’t going nowhere. When we go to sample that sweet little ass later tonight, you’ll stay right here. You’ll hear every cry we get outta her, and there won’t be a damned thing you can do about it.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Bridon informed him quietly.
“If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that, I’d be a rich man.”
“Then you haven’t met someone who means it.” Bridon narrowed his eyes and allowed his fangs to show. “Before this night is over, I’m going to kill you.”
“Really?” The man shrugged. “Good luck with that.”
A horrifying scream broke them apart. The man turned toward the sound, and Bridon’s heart skipped a beat. He knew who was screaming.
Willow.
He struggled as a couple of the men took off in a dead run toward the shack. They met the one stationed at the door, and the questions started.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. She just started screaming.”
They moved to the window and looked inside.
Several of them cursed in unison. One of the men rushed to the door, threw it open, and they vanished inside.
Bridon went still as he heard Willow screaming one word over and over, her agonized shrieks carrying into the night.
“Collar.”
His stomach sank and guilt hit hard. He lifted his head, staring at the glow from the horizon. The moon was rising. The collar had to be causing her pain.
“Jesus, what is she doing?” someone yelled.
“Get the bolt cutters. We have to get that fucking thing off of her.”
A man appeared at the door and ran to a shed across from the cabin. Willow’s screams continued, but now there was a steady growl behind them. He heard a loud snarl, followed by her continued chanting, “Collar, collar, collar.”
“What’s happening? What the hell is wrong with her?”
The man who’d fled the cabin returned with a large pair of bolt cutters. He ran across the distance and disappeared inside. Bridon thrashed against the ropes until his right shoulder dislocated. It burned like Hades, a scorching fire that extended from the joint all the way to his fingers. He didn’t let the pain stop him, knowing he had to get free.
“Hold her still.�
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“I’m fucking trying!”
More cries came from his Chosen, breaking his heart. There was pain in the screams, as well as misery and anger. He could hear the men trying to subdue her and pictured Willow thrashing on the floor.
“There, the damned thing is gone.”
The screams stopped, and a low, heavy growl rent the night. The snarling became louder, more threatening. The men at the door started to back away from the entrance, going for their weapons.
“Oh shit. Oh fuck.”
Then gunshots rang from inside the cabin.
* * *
The change came, so hard and fast it took her breath away. She growled as the wolf rose to take her place. The bones in her spine cracked, starting at the base and working upward. Her knees flipped backward as her fingers slid back, becoming paws. As she continued shifting, she lifted her head, now a muzzle, the fur covering her body removing the chill from the night. She snarled at the men, baring her teeth, and stood when she was fully changed.
“Oh shit. Oh fuck,” one of the men thundered.
She chose him first, going for his throat. He didn’t stand a chance, not when her jaw wrapped around the delicate bones in his neck and clamped down. She heard the loud crack of gunshots and felt multiple bullets enter her body. They set her off course, but she was too far gone to care. Only one thought drove her now, one compulsion.
Bridon.
Her mate was waiting for her. The moon demanded she go to him, take him into her body, and mark him as hers.
Her next target was Mars. He wanted a piece of her mouth, and she was only too happy to give it to him now. He screamed when she leaped from the floor and tackled him to the ground. More bullets sank into her side, creating a raw fire beneath her skin, enraging her further. She ripped his throat apart, tasting the metallic rustiness of the blood from her kill. Turning, she focused on the next threat in line. The man scrambled back, tripped, and she was on him before he could make a sound.