The Savage Alien's Chosen (Astral Heat Book 3)
Page 8
She tried to rub the sleep from her eyes, but her hands were bound. Something was pushing her to her feet. She swayed dangerously, and then hands were pushing her forward, and up, into bright lights. She fell to her knees, still dazed, and raised her hands instinctively, trying to shield her vision from the glare. Where the hell am I?
“Aw now, darling, don’t be like that! These gentlemen don’t bite… at least, not until after they’ve paid!” a sickeningly familiar voice crooned to the response of lewd laughter.
Anger bubbled in her stomach. The bartender. The realization hit her like a punch to the stomach. She’d been drugged, that much was clear. But why? And what in the world were they going to do to her?
Think! She thought harshly, Wherever you’re in, you’re in serious danger! The only way out is by your wits!
She forced herself to breathe, to calm her thundering pulse and mash her muddled brain into gear. With tremendous effort, she yanked herself together. The scene slowly slid into focus. She was kneeling on a cold floor, on what seemed to be a raised stage, the heat of a spotlight beating down on her.
She tentatively shifted her wrists, bound tight with duct tape. Beside her, she could hear the barman’s voice, tossing out lame commentary to the dark room beyond. She tried to peer out into the assembled audience, but could see nothing but dark shadows. By the sound of the jeers, it was all men.
Wait… all men, and he’d mentioned payment… no, it couldn’t be…
A hand hooked her under the arm and hauled her roughly to her feet. She stumbled, still heavy from the aftereffects of the drugs.
“Maybe not the most graceful,” the bartender joked loudly, then hissed into her ear, “Do anything except stand there and look like the barely-fresh piece of meat you are, and I will kill you.” Turning back to the audience, he hooted, “Come on, darling, let the fine gentlemen get a good, long look at you!”
Molly realized in sudden horror that her coat was gone-not just her coat, but her blouse, and her jeans as well. She stood before these leering bastards in nothing but her lacy undershirt and her skimpiest hiphuggers, bought on a whim and worn whenever she was feeling particularly happy about her circumstances. Her face flushed hot with shame and humiliation, knowing that each and every pervert could see the curve of her thighs and bosom, something she hesitated to show even the guys she was dating.
There was no doubt about where she was now, and what exactly they intended for her. Selling me off to the highest bidder, who will do whatever he wants with me, she surmised grimly.
Hot rage swam through her body like a tropical flood, clearing every thought and hesitation in its path. It seemed to wipe away any sluggish aftermath left in her brain, and gave her courage from the deep depths of her soul. With no thought but revenge, she turned, and slammed her knee as hard as she could into the groin of the vile MC beside her.
The puffed-up MC’s handsome face twisted with pain as he crumbled onto the stage. Another employee quickly rushed up to contain the woman as she kicked and hollered against her duct tape gag. All around him, the audience muttered with intense discomfort, clearly unnerved by such a blatant display of independence from a supposed possession, but Keith felt as if his heart would burst from pride.
Any doubt about the source of his yearning had disappeared. The moment she’d been brought onto the stage, her warm brown eyes still half-lidded as if from a heavy sleep, he knew. Even from across the room, her presence sang to him like a siren’s call. The sheer magnitude of his immediate, intense reaction to her should have startled him-he’d never been so instantly captivated by anyone.
He tried his best to keep his gaze locked onto her lovely face, readily admiring the sensual jut of her chin and stunning coloring of her tanned complexion, but found his eyes being drawn ever down, to the luscious curves of her figure, perfectly showcased in the tight fabric of her underclothes.
The white of the fabric made her skin glow beneath the lights, accenting the smooth arc of her shapely legs and back and breasts. His mouth went dry as her cleavage swelled with each shuddering breath; how he longed to see what lay underneath the clinging cotton of her shirt.
This was no ordinary attraction; his shifter self, usually content to slumber beneath the surface of his humanity, roared to be satisfied, to claim this woman as his mate right then and there, to slaughter every single creature in this hole that dared to look at her. It took all his strength, standing in the dark basement of the seedy bar with his hands clenched into fists, not to storm the stage and sweep her up into his arms.
He took a deep breath, struggling to compose himself. The MC had picked himself up off the floor, doing his best to cover his mortification. Two bar employees now stood, holding the woman’s shoulders and arms to prevent any further outbursts.
She glared out at all of them with eyes that seemed to blaze, her ample chest heaving with effort. The beast within him howled with fury that they dare lay hands on her; he bit hard onto his soft lower lip, enough to draw blood, in hopes the pain would drive away his transformation.
The MC cleared his throat awkwardly, “Sorry about the, uh, interruption. Spirited one, isn’t she?” He attempted to seize her chin; she jerked it roughly away, struggling to get loose.
I could kill everyone, Keith thought venomously, Attack from behind, and they’d never see it coming. He’d never hurt a human, even the obnoxious tracker who’d thought he could capture the only jaguar ever spotted in the northern wilds. It was the only human concession he forced his shifter self to adhere to, but perhaps rules were made to be broken.
She’d see, a small voice suddenly spoke up from the back of his head, She’d see and she’d never understand. The admission caught Keith up short. How would he explain it, after he’d just slaughtered a room full of men in front of her? Even if done to protect her, she’d still think him a freak, an abomination. He’d lose her. No, he could never let that happen.
“So, gents,” the MC tried nervously, “What do you say to this little spitfire?”
The silence was deafening.
“Oh come on, fellas. Don’t tell me you’re… you’re afraid of some little girl? What, don’t any of you like a challenge? Just think of the… satisfaction, of breaking in a new horse.” He grinned wickedly at the struggling girl, letting his eyes rake up and down across her body.
Maybe I can kill just one of them, Keith reflected with fierce satisfaction.
“Two hundred!” a voice called from amongst the crowd.
“Two fifty!” another said, emboldened by the MC’s challenge.
“Four hundred!”
“Now that’s more like it!” the MC said enthusiastically, “I hear four hundred, going once…”
“Ten thousand,” Keith’s voice echoed through the small basement.
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