Primal Night

by Ally Parker

  She bit her lip, thinking of a backup plan to get out of her current nightmare if things went south. Would she be able to leave Ryker if push came to shove? Not to mention the females they had to be hoarding in the place. She hadn't smelled any fresh scents, but still...

  In the distance she could make out the clip of boots approaching. Her heart punched against her ribs, the organ so damn loud. She held her breath and hoped with every fiber in her body that she’d go unnoticed. The shifter would have to be deaf not to hear the beating of her heart.

  Keep on walking. Just keep on walking. Nostrils flaring, she sucked in a breath, searching, hoping for Ryker’s scent. Damn it, similar to a vapor, the scent lacked substance in her mind. A small growl slipped out. Her chains rattled no matter how light she kept her movements. She hated being so defenseless. If any male entered the room she knew there would be no mercy. The footsteps slowed, and the knot in her stomach grew substantially and sank to the murky waters of doom. “Damn it to hell.”

  Flickers of a scent that haunted her nightmares teased her nose. “No,” she breathed out.

  Drawing in another breath, the scent intensified. Unwashed male with the tiniest hint of peppermint and fire. She tugged at her bindings even though she knew the effort was futile. The reaction was ingrained into her body. She had to fight or flee. Only neither was an option. She was literally a lamb awaiting slaughter. Why did she have to be so thorough, hiding the wire she’d used to pick the lock? As meager as the metal was, it still could have been used as a weapon.

  This couldn’t be happening. Her stomach rolled. Sweat dotted her upper lip. Her wolf surged forward. Fur washed over her arms, and bones shifted in the beginnings of a change. Bones snapped, and she screamed out, biting her lip to hide the outburst. Damn it. The stupid cuffs wouldn’t allow her to shift.

  Outside the cell, the lock clicked and the door swung open. In strode her real-life bogey man and wedged himself in the doorframe.

  “Handy contraption, those cuffs. Reinforced and strong enough to prevent li’l beasties from escaping. Ingenious, really.”

  He hadn't changed a bit. Mussed black hair, wild and dark—just like his tainted soul, leather jacket, and ripped jeans. He folded his arms, making the leather crinkle. The sparkle in his eyes told her he just scored payday.

  “Jefferson.”

  His thin lips lifted on one side and his eyes flared amber.

  “Firefly. You've been a very naughty girl.” His pointer finger hammered.

  God, she hated it when he called her that. It always reminded her of the biggest mistake of her life, and he knew it.

  He stroked his chin, his gaze traveling up her bare legs to the base of the tee she wore. Shaking his head, he slapped his jean-clad thigh. “Hot damn, I was shocked when I caught your scent. Not many folks can do that. To think I’ve been searching for you for many moons and to find you holed up in the Pit, now that there is some irony.”

  He tapped the side of his nose. “Here I am minding my own business, eager to get to the games, and I catch the sweetest smell of night lilies that remind me of the one girl that got away.”

  His words finished on a growl, and she suppressed a shudder. Jefferson was pissed, frothing at the mouth like a rabid animal, pissed. His softly spoken words trademarked his rage. She wasn't a member of his pack—if she'd ever really been. She wouldn't submit.

  Along her shoulders, muscles tightened. She gritted her teeth, fighting her body’s reaction. Damn it, she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he still affected her. Still, she couldn’t quite hold back the way her body trembled ever so slightly.

  Jefferson’s smirk grew into the smile of a psychopath about to cut up his next victim. She growled, fighting the fear creeping up her spine. She was no longer his puppet; she had worked hard to break the strings he used on her, sacrificed much to do so. There was no way in hell she would go back to that dark time. Ryker had shown her what it was like on the other side of the fence. He’d gifted her with the knowledge that being ruthless wasn’t the only way to ensure your survival—she’d learned that standing with someone else made her stronger, better.

  Adrenaline zapped around her body, leaving her limbs tingling. Eyes squinting to slits, she curled her lip and growled. He laughed and moved closer to the bed, his finger trailing up the curve of her calf. She kicked out, landing a hit in his stomach. He staggered back a few steps. Her victory was short-lived. Quicker than a second, he was on her, straddling her hips, his hand snarled in her hair, yanking it back so hard her skin burned as if he was ripping her cells at the seam.

  “You’re going to be all mine, my chosen mate.”

  Her teeth clenched, the current of blood whooshed in her ears, and her body hummed with a mixture of fear and adrenaline. “I'll never be yours! Never!”

  “What the actual fuck! Jefferson! Get the hell out. You know the rules. Unless you win, hands off the merchandise,” an unknown male shouted from the doorway.

  Jefferson growled, dipped his head, and ran his nose up her neck. She shivered, and it wasn’t the good kind. He reared back. Rage burned in his gaze, the smell of fur potent in the air. For all the bravado she’d been showing, her treacherous body failed her. Her heart pounded; she sucked in a breath and froze under his gaze.

  “You’ve been with a male and recently.”

  “Jefferson. I'm sick of reminding you. You get paid for your work, and first dibs isn't a fringe benefit allowed.” The male’s voice rumbled in warning.

  Jefferson ignored the male and licked up the side of her cheek. Her body shuddered with disgust. A whimper sounded from the entrance. One moment Jefferson was pinning her in place with his thighs, the next he sailed through the air and smashed into the wall. Loose mortar from the bricks rained down on him. The unknown male—a guard by the looks of his leather pants, black tee, and whole demeanor—folded his arms and smiled, all teeth. “Do it. Just give me a reason to have you excluded from the games. I dare you.”

  Jefferson rose, a snarl rattling in his chest. His fists pumped at his side, and the tension arced between the males. Blood trickled from a small cut on Jefferson’s brow but would heal within minutes. Unfortunately.

  Do it. Attack. Give the guard the reason he’s looking for. She had no idea what the games were, but it seemed like they were important to Jefferson, so she hoped with her whole heart he did something to miss out. The moments ticked on. The tension pressed against her chest, making it hard to draw a breath. Her gaze bounced between the males. Damn it, why wasn’t Jefferson attacking? He was never one to hold back.

  The guard raised his brows “Even you must follow the rules. You might donate females, but like the rest of us, if you want this female, go and earn it.”

  Spitting a wad of blood on the ground, Jefferson snarled and ignored the guard, refocusing his attention on her. “I’ll be seeing you later, firefly. Looks like Santa brought my present early this year.”

  God, not if she could help it. She’d chew off her arm before Jefferson had any part of her. Swallowing deeply, fear refluxed up her throat. After everything she’d been through, all that she’d sacrificed, Jefferson had finally found her, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. When she first found out about the Pit, an icy inkling scratched at her insides when she saw three female pictures she’d recognized. Seeing Jefferson only confirmed her suspicions. He was connected to gathering women. And she’d inadvertently led him on a female-snatching spree.

  The guard eyed her and turned his attention to a female she’d only just noticed plastered against the wall near the doorway.

  “Grace! What are you waiting for? Prepare the female. Boss wants her in the cage before the games start.”

  Fire-red hair hung in clumps and flopped over the she-wolf’s face as she hurried over, shoulders rounded, head bowed, looking at her dirty gray flats. Water sloshed from a bucket she carried, turning the concrete floor a deeper gray where the fluid hit.

  “My name is Grac
e.”

  Gracie? She sucked in a breath at the slip of a female. “Gracie… is that you?” Her voice wobbled, but she ignored it. “It’s me, Kali.”

  The only person who had shown her kindness, and she was less than a shadow of the strong and brave woman that had helped her long ago.

  As if she hadn't spoken, Gracie dipped a washcloth into the water and rubbed the cold material over her legs with timid, shaking hands. She suppressed a shiver, and not because she was cold. Thanks to her shifter DNA, things like goose bumps were a response meant for humans. No, what chilled her to her bones was the automatic way in which Gracie moved and the few lifeless words she'd spoken. As if a well-rehearsed scene.

  “Silence, female! Conversations is forbidden. Now hurry the fuck up and cleanse her body, Grace. She needs to be prepared for the games viewing.”

  Every single word increased her heart rate. Cleanse. Prepare. It made her sound like a meal. Regardless, she couldn’t help but notice that word again. Games. The one word shadowed her thoughts, filling her mind with sinister images.

  Gracie jumped, and a whimper escaped. What in the moon had they done to her? The last time she'd seen her, the female had been wild and brave and filled with an untapped energy. Now, she was as timid as a wounded bunny. Kali rubbed her wrists and took the cloth from Gracie to quickly wipe over her body. Gracie held out a wisp of white material and she started to wipe her body. It was really a poor choice of fabric for a towel. It was too thin, too sheer, and too small.

  Gracie cleared her throat. “You need to put that on.”

  Kali looked down to the material bunched in her hand and raised a brow. She uncurled the fabric and saw it was a see-through camisole. They wanted her to put on a negligee? Was she meant to be some kind of prize for the games they kept mentioning? Suddenly, it was if she’d thrown back curdled milk; nausea washed her insides, and she realized things were about to get a whole lot worse.

  14

  Testosterone filled the air, setting Ryker's teeth on edge; his wolf snapped, snarled, and clawed at his insides, wanting out. With so many males in the area and by the smell of sickness, a good few of them where close to turning rogue. His wolf wanted to show strength, dominance. Running his tongue over his lengthening canines, he fought his instincts and grappled for control.

  Like a never ending loop, his mind circled back to Kali. Was she okay? Had someone entered her cell? Had someone… By the moon, he couldn’t even entertain that thought. Claws sprung from his nail beds, and he curled his hands into fists. Get control, damn it. From the moment he’d scented Kali, denying the instinct to mate had burned in his veins like a poison. He’d expected as much and mentally prepared to walk away from the one thing that could save him. That was before he’d realized Kali had been so resourceful to escape the safety of his den.

  Now, here they were, both trapped in a façade—him the predator, her the prey. He’d do well to remember his role for fear Kali would pay the price. If his father caught on to his plan, there’d be hell to pay. Worse, if Josef knew who Kali was to him, she’d be used to control him. He couldn’t allow that.

  The air held the undercurrent of blood. A lot of it. He sat front and center stage to the main arena where he was sure the freshly layered dirt buried the shadows of death. To the right, a male rebounded off the metal railings edging the enclosed fighting area.

  The male steadied himself and growled. “You’re gonna wish you hadn’t done that, Aelric.”

  Aelric, a much larger shifter, stalked forward, his chest puffed up like some kind of balloon filled with too much air. “You fucking think you can keep me from the she-wolf. Give me what you owe, Wyatt, or you’ll be too damaged to fight.”

  Wyatt growled, his jaw pulsed, and Ryker could feel the anger hitting him in the chest. “I want her. Tonight, the female’s mine.”

  Brennen pushed past through the throng of bodies and broke the males apart. “Wyatt, you prick, if you owe Aelric money, give it to him. Otherwise, save it for the ring, assholes.”

  Both males stood rooted to the spot for a solid minute. Until the shifter that had been pushed laughed. He scratched his chin using the claws of his wolf then, digging into his pocket, he pulled a few fifties and slapped them into Aelric’s open palm. “May the best shifter win.”

  Josef sank into a chair beside Ryker and slapped him on the shoulder. “Some of the men take a shining to certain females. The competition is fierce… if you can pay the price.” He sucked back on his cigar a final time and drilled the end into an ash tray next to them. “Do you feel that?”

  Did his father mean how the air buzzed with anticipation? Yeah, he felt it. But a deeper, more unsettling sensation crawled up his back, making his limbs tingle. It was the way each male’s gaze darted to the stage.

  One of his father’s minions hurried over and offered Josef a glass of whiskey. Josef inclined his head toward Ryker and the servant scuttled over. Ryker took what was offered. No use in offending his father just yet. The male bowed and backed away.

  Settling into his chair Josef leaned over and whispered, “Now for the best part.”

  He frowned. “Best part?”

  Josef kicked his chin toward the stage just as a door creaked open on the far side of the platform. Immediately, cheers roared across the amphitheater. Males stomped their feet and slapped at the chairs in the row in front of them, the excitement growing by the second. Ryker leaned forward, arms braced on his thighs. He blinked hard and had to do a double take. Heads bowed, hands clasped in front, one by one, an entourage of females stepped out onto the floor.

  Stomach plummeting, his mouth dried up, and the horror and disgust he experienced was a hard pill to swallow. No matter how much he fought the urge, a deep rumble rattled in his chest. Christ. He threw back the whiskey, not tasting a drop. All of the women were dressed in barely there lingerie that left nothing to the imagination. Not for the first time he wondered how all the males held captive by the display lived with themselves. Females were precious. Females were males’ hopes and dreams. They weren’t to be paraded like show ponies and won by the best fighter to hurt, to harm… to rape.

  One shifter closest to the caged stage jumped and started to climb the bars. His movements were fast and frantic—a monster possessed. Scratching and clawing, the male scaled faster toward the women. The cheers exploded louder. On the male’s heels, two guards gained on him, and as soon as they were in striking range they stuck him with a juiced-up prod. The male tensed, his muscles locking in place, and fell the four feet to the floor.

  The sad thing was, not one of the females flinched, whimpered, or shied away from the scene. As if they’d seen it a thousand times and it was now their normal. It disturbed him a lot. These females should be in their homes preparing for Christmas with their packs; instead, they were prisoners to a war no one knew about… Yet. He swallowed hard hoping like hell his pack would pull through and bust through the doors soon, putting an end to this living hell.

  “Fuck me!”

  Josef laughed. “There’ll be plenty of time for that. Each of these females are up for grabs tonight.”

  Yanking his gaze from the stage he glanced toward his father, just realizing that he must have said the words out loud. His father’s eyes gleamed as if he knew what he was thinking. Or maybe that was just his fear talking? His instincts fought with his control. It was difficult, but he managed to keep his response in check. Was Kali going to be led out there? Like fuck she’d be up for grabs. Kali chased away his demons; Kali settled everything in him. It was like she reached inside of him and warmed the coldest parts no one else could reach. Maybe he was too late to save the other females, but he would never allow his mate—unclaimed or not—to be harmed.

  Above the rumble of the males he could hear the soft rattling of the chain that connected each and every female together at the waist by a shackled belt. Closest to where he sat, a female with hair as red as a flickering flame stood. The strands, matted in clumps, parted en
ough to hint at a paw print tattoo travelling up her neck. Her cheeks were gaunt, and she didn’t even flinch from the deafening hoots and hollers of the males.

  None of the females did.

  Gracie. He was sure of it. It had to be the female Kali had known from his candid shots. His gaze trailed down the line-up and froze on the second-to-last woman. Everything in him stilled. He was sure that if he had a heart, it stopped beating. The only thing moving was the blood whooshing in his ears. His shoulder rolled and bones creaked, preparing for a shift. Shooting up from his seat, he snapped his jaw tight until the tang of copper filled his mouth.

  “Kali.”

  Her name pulled from his chest, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. In that moment he didn’t give two fucks if anyone heard him. On the far side of the stage stood his mate, dressed in a white sheer baby doll negligee with strategically placed lace to cover her nipples and the juncture at the peak of her thighs.

  He staggered forward and gripped the railing. Kali’s shoulders were ridged, her expression stoic. Right then he knew that father or not, Josef Bennett would die, and it would be by his hand.

  Shock reverberated through her whole body. Her mind still asked if she was really next to naked, chained to an assembly of females on a stage in front of what looked like a whole stadium of males. The stench of unbridled lust confirmed the ugly truth. She was in a world of trouble, and this time she didn't know if she'd survive. Her gaze swung around the rows and rows of shifters and weres, the males who would fight to win each of them.

  “Please,” a female beside her sobbed. “Just let me go. I… I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

  The guard who had escorted her from the cell to the chaining room growled, curling his lip. “Do not cry. It’s forbidden.”