Rescued by the Wolf, Page 2

  Olivia realized they weren’t alone. A young woman was with them, her face sharp and hard. She stared down at Olivia with pure contempt. “Why are you sewing her up, Byron?” The girl tied the rope to the cage wall, forcing Olivia’s arms taut over her head—stringing her up.

  “Cyrus says so.”

  “Because?” the girl asked.

  Byron looked at her. “That’s all the reason I need. It’s all the reason you should need, you hear me? Hold her ankles so she doesn’t move.”

  The girl nodded then, her expression growing wary. Cold fingers gripped Olivia’s ankles and tugged, forcing her leg straight and making her scream.

  The girl smiled. “She’s so fragile.”

  Byron grunted, focusing on his work.

  Olivia felt the pierce of the needle and swallowed back another cry. She couldn’t escape the pain; it was all there was. Poke, the tug of thread, another poke, more thread. Over and over.

  By the time Byron stopped, she was a shaking, sweaty, bloody mess. When he tugged the zipper of her hoodie down, she barely reacted. But his inspection was quick and callous. He had no interest in her, unlike the girl peering over his shoulder.

  “Not so fragile,” the giant said. “She has scars.” He pointed as he spoke, yanking her jacket zipper down and rolling her to her side. The rope chafed her wrists, pulling skin.

  She bit back a groan, catching sight of the man in the cage next to her. He leaned against the wall, no care in the world. But his eyes were hard, staring at her with something hot and angry.

  “No other injuries,” Byron said.

  “She won’t die?” the girl asked.

  Byron stood, dropping her hoodie back on top of her. “Guess we’ll see. If he keeps her around.”

  He flipped her over, the ropes popping her back into place—bouncing her leg in the process. Olivia gagged, the food she’d eaten what seemed like a lifetime ago lodging in her throat. They untied her quickly, leaving her where she was and slamming her cell door behind them as they left.

  She lay there gasping, the vague sounds of a struggle further disorienting her.

  She turned onto her side, groaned, and threw up all over the stone floor. Rolling onto her back took the last energy she had. Her eyes drifted shut, offering a kind of relief. Maybe, just maybe, she’d wake up and this would all be the worst nightmare she’d ever had.

  Chapter Two

  Mal rolled his shoulder, the socket still tender. While he’d been watching everything in the goddamn woman’s cage, Numb Nuts had come into his, shoving the broken blade back into his shoulder—and dislocating his arm for good measure. He was going to kill the motherfucker slowly and enjoy it. His arm was back in, but he didn’t have the strength to dig the blade back out. And he was going to have to dig deep for the strength because of all the fucking silver.

  He slid down the wall and sat staring at the woman—his wolf’s rage and frustration at an all-time high.

  She’d been strong, stronger than he’d expected her to be. That was a quality he could respect. His wolf, however, wanted to hunt down the Big One and rip him to shreds. The Big One had a name now. Byron. Byron the fucking butcher. Mal’s almost visceral reaction when the ass-hat had tugged the woman’s jacket free had shaken him, deeply. For a second he believed he could break his chain, silver or not, if Byron laid a hand on her. His wolf wasn’t about to let that happen again.

  He tried to relax, to prepare for what he needed to do. But as soon as he closed his eyes, the lights came on.

  The girl came down, nervous, opening the woman’s cage and grabbing the untouched tray. Mal had been slowly working on her, using every opportunity he got to charm her into sharing little bits of information with him. She liked him, his wolf knew that—enough to sneak him something special to eat now and then.

  “Anything left?” He kept his voice soft.

  She looked at him, her cheeks flushing. “I’m not supposed to.”

  He grinned. “It’s okay.” He stood, then moved to the cage, his hands resting on the bars, palms up. If he could get the tray close enough, he could get the metal fork. If he could get the fork, he could try to free the lock on the collar. And if he could open the damn collar…

  He sighed, forcing himself to relax. “How’s your day?”

  She stepped closer, holding out the tray. “You’ve seen it.” She nodded at the woman on the floor. “All this fuss over a human woman. And her brother.”

  “Why?” Not that it was any of his business, but he—his wolf—wanted to know.

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Cyrus left hours ago,” she whispered. “You’ll be left alone for a while.” She frowned, glancing at the stairs.

  Cyrus was gone? That would make things easier. “Or the other three will make sure I’m not around when Cyrus gets back.”

  She stared at him in sympathy, stepped forward, offering the tray to him. “Byron’s passed out drunk. Cyrus made the others go on an errand. I think they’re supposed to bring back her brother.” She glanced at the woman. “You can rest.”

  He took the food, slipping the fork under the slice of bread, and smiled. “Sleep would be nice. And food.” He held up the slice of turkey and bread he’d swiped. “Thanks.”

  “I don’t like how they treat you, not that they care what I think.” She smiled at him, biting her lower lip. “You should know, not all of us are threatened by your pack, you know? That killing your pack is the answer. Cyrus keeps saying he’ll have answers soon, now that he has someone on the inside.” She shrugged. “Some of us hope there’s a chance for peace. There’s room for us to coexist. Maybe even become allies.”

  Mal paused then. Someone on the inside? With Finn and the pack? He had to stay calm, had to think. Peace? Was she kidding? As long as Cyrus lived, that would be impossible. And killing off a pack’s Alpha hardly fostered pack unity. It was more likely to lead to outright war. Since all he cared about was ripping them to shreds, a war sounded fine to him. Not that he was going to argue with her. She’d helped him, even if she didn’t know it. He nodded, keeping his opinion to himself.

  She smiled again and hurried up the stairs, flipping off the lights and closing the door.

  Mal counted to five and got to work. The fork bent and twisted, but the keyhole on the collar was too small. He cussed, focusing on the chain then, sculpting the metal fork until it jimmied the locking mechanism. Slow. Silent—closing his eyes until he nudged the spring pen up and open. Once he’d pulled the bolt from his collar, he rolled his shoulders. He was wearing a silver collar and had a four-inch silver blade in his shoulder, but he wasn’t going to let that slow him down. There was no time to get the blade out now. He had to move.

  The cage door lock was old. It didn’t take much effort to get it open.

  He stood staring at the stairs, unable to move because of his wolf. It wasn’t leaving without the woman. He growled, wishing there was a way to muzzle the damn thing. Now was not the time for the wolf to get territorial. She was just a woman, for fuck’s sake, nothing more. He had enough slowing him down without taking her with him.

  He wasn’t going to do it. But his wolf wouldn’t go. Flashes of his own pack leaving him were all the reminder he needed. He yanked open her door, his fury giving him the strength he needed.

  He stooped, growling, “Wake up.”

  She shook her head.

  “Now, dammit.”

  She frowned, her eyes heavy-lidded and swollen. When she saw him, she slammed her eyes shut.

  “We’re leaving,” he said. “Can you walk?”

  Her eyes went round, then. “What?”

  “Walk?” he repeated, glancing at the door.

  She pushed up, taking the hand he offered and letting him pull her to her feet. She swayed, tried to take a step, and crumpled. He caught her.

  “Right,” he snapped, swinging her over his bad shoulder. “Fuck, shit, dammit.” He shifted her to his other side.

  “I can walk,” she argue
d, wriggling and twisting on his shoulder.

  “No, you can’t.” He stared around the room, looking for something he could use as a weapon. Anything. “Keep still and be quiet.” There was nothing. He scaled the steps, remembering that the fifteenth stair squeaked and avoiding it. The door wasn’t locked, making him hesitate. Was the girl setting him up? This woman? It wouldn’t be the first time they’d done this. He almost shrugged the woman off his shoulder and left her behind. But his wolf didn’t budge, and time was ticking away. There wasn’t much he could do about it now. He’d gotten this far, he wasn’t about to turn back now.

  The door opened on silent hinges. They were in a hallway, and the scent of pizza, beer, and dish soap flooded his nostrils. He glanced both ways, relieved the woman over his shoulder had gone limp. Maybe he was lucky and she’d passed out. At one end of the hall was what looked like a kitchen; the other was the front door. The front door was too obvious, so he headed toward the kitchen. Byron probably wasn’t sleeping it off in the kitchen.

  He walked as softly as he could, aware that the woman was moving. He squeezed her thigh and she went still.

  A quick inspection revealed a dated and tiny kitchen—and a back door. Escape with no hint of trouble? It was too fucking good to be true. His senses sharpened, reaching out, looking for threats.

  The girl was humming, washing dishes at the sink. She had the radio playing, softly. As nice as she’d been to him, she wouldn’t let him leave—they all feared Cyrus too much. He didn’t hesitate. He approached quickly, picking up a coffee cup and bringing it down on the back of the head. She crumpled, but he caught her, laying her on the ground without a sound. He straightened slowly, the silver slowing him down.

  He did a quick search of the kitchen. Duct tape, kitchen towels, and a bottle of whiskey went into a mesh shopping bag. He grabbed cash from a purse hanging on a peg on the wall and a small tool box sitting on the floor by the back door. Damn, but his shoulder was on fire, his body racked with shaking. Time was up. With a quick glance down the hall, he slipped out the back door and into the cold, black night.

  Trees.

  Miles and miles of trees.

  No hint of civilization—no scent of concrete or asphalt, no distant engines on a highway or signs of a nearby homestead. Nothing smelled familiar… Just clean, fresh, cold air and nature. He hurried into the tree line, farther into the woods. He didn’t know how much longer they’d have before their escape was discovered, but he wanted as many miles between them as possible.

  After a few hours of running, he scented pursuit. They were being trailed. Not by werewolves—but wolves, moving quickly. The local wolves might not be as welcoming as the ones on his pack’s reserve. They’d find out soon enough. He needed to rest before that happened.

  “You’re bleeding,” the woman’s voice was slurred and unsteady.

  “So are you,” he answered.

  “You’re naked,” she said.

  “Enjoy the view.” He needed to find cover.

  “I grabbed this.” She reached around his side.

  “A coat?”

  “It’s cold.” Her arm wavered, then dropped. “And…it was all I could reach.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t knock anything off or make noise.” His eyes swept the forest, his pace slowing.

  “Does that mean, ‘No, thanks then’? Or, ‘Wow, how considerate. Thank you.’” Her irritation was amusing. “Or even, ‘I appreciate the offer.’”

  He chuckled.

  “You’re not cold? It’s really cold. I can’t feel my fingers or my toes.”

  He thought she’d been shivering because of her injury. “Adrenaline, I guess.” That and the whole werewolf thing.

  “Guess I don’t have any.” She poked his side. “Not trying to be ungrateful for breaking me out, but any chance of a break? My head is going to burst.”

  He didn’t answer. She was hurting. He was hurting. He needed all his strength if the pack tracking them decided not to be friendly. He moved deeper into the woods, shifting her into his arms as he pushed into a patch of thorns and shrubs. She groaned, her head lolling back against his chest and her eyes pressed shut.

  “Everything’s spinning,” she murmured.

  He waited for her to open her eyes then set her on her feet, propping her against a tree and taking the coat she’d carried. The coat was massive, probably motherfucking Byron’s. He spread it out on the ground then looked at her. “Better?”

  She nodded, pressing her hand to her head. “Still dizzy.”

  His attention swept the trees. The wolves were closing in—he could smell them. “Sit down.” He pulled the tool box from the bag. A pair of needle-nose pliers. Good. He looked her way—she leaned against the tree, eyes shut, breathing shallow. “Sit?” he repeated.

  “No,” she said, not moving. “Okay. In a minute.”

  He gripped the needle-nose pliers, took a deep breath, and slid the long metal pinchers into the cut on his shoulder. Numb Nuts had done a good job this time. He had to dig, damaging more tissue before he gripped the blade with the pliers.

  “Oh. My. God.” Her voice was soft. “What are you doing?”

  He gritted his teeth and pulled, groaning as the blade slid free. The pliers and knife blade fell onto the coat with a wet splat, his blood scenting the air. He was already feeling better. The healing was slower, thanks to the collar, but he would recover. Which was good because the wolves were here.

  ...

  Olivia clung to the tree. If she let go, she’d wind up face-first on the ground. She was dizzy, her leg was on fire, and now this—watching this complete stranger dig in his shoulder with a pair of pliers. Blood poured over his back in thick ribbons, but he didn’t pause. She saw him tense, then the clean, quick pull of his arm, and the horrific sight of a jagged blade emerging from the gash. He dropped the tool and deadly looking weapon on the coat, sinking down—shaking.

  She hugged the tree tighter, sucking in long slow breaths. Now was not the time to fall apart. So she didn’t know what was going on, or who these people were, or what, exactly, they wanted with her. But the more immediate question was, what was happening? And this guy? He’d rescued her but…why had he been chained to his cage? Was he that bad? Or were their captors just perverts?

  Should she be freaking out? Because she was, even though she was too weak to run. And even if she could, where would she go? Home no longer seemed like a safe option.

  “Come here.” It wasn’t a request.

  She shook her head, then stopped, the world tilting and swaying.

  He sighed, stood, and crossed to her. Her hold on the tree tightened—a fact he didn’t miss. His brow arched. “We’re not alone. I need you with me.” He tugged her arms free and swung her up in his arms.

  “I can walk.” She tried to wriggle free, his recent makeshift surgical procedure vivid in her mind.

  “No, you can’t,” he argued, carrying her to the center of the coat. He set her down, tilting her head back and looking in her eyes. “You’re running a fever.” He sighed, his gaze sweeping her face. “How do you feel?”

  Was he serious? She shook her head.

  “Bad?” he asked.

  She glanced at his shoulder, blinking. “Worse than I thought.” She stared harder. “I thought—I’m delusional.” There was a cut on his shoulder, but there was no way the blade she’d seen had been inside it.

  A snap in the trees made him spin to stand in front of her.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d been face-to-face with his butt. Hanging upside down over his shoulder, she’d had nothing else to look at on their trek to freedom. It was impressive. But then, so was the rest of him. His muscles were intimidating, the number of scars on his body assuring her they weren’t purely for looks. Her gaze traveled up, taking in the mess that was his back. A scar ran along his side, between his shoulder blades, and below his waist. Maybe he’d had a skin graft? Whatever the reason, the man had been through serious trauma.
<
br />   Tonight included.

  Her head was pounding. Her accelerated pulse thrummed in her ears, so deafening she almost missed the nearby howl of a wolf. His words came back to her then. We’re not alone. Was it too much to ask for a break? And a nap? And maybe some antibiotics or something? Like a blanket. “When you say we’re not alone—you mean wolves?” she whispered, terrified once more.

  “They’re curious,” he murmured back, as if it was no big deal.

  She peered into the dark that surrounded them, her heart coming to an abrupt halt at the dozens of round eyes staring back at her. She shifted closer to him, petrified. But the slight effort stole her strength. Resting against his leg hadn’t been the plan, but he was solid and warm and oddly comforting. Even if he was naked. And wearing a silver collar. This was the most peculiar night of her life.

  She shivered. “I don’t want to be eaten,” she mumbled.

  He chuckled. “I’ll try to remember that.”

  Her arm twined around his leg, her vision wavering. “Why aren’t you scared?” she asked. She was scared. Of…everything.

  “They don’t want to hurt us. They want to make sure we won’t hurt them.” His hand brushed the top of her head.

  “No threat here,” she murmured. “Promise.” She blinked once, then again, so weak she couldn’t stay upright. Her arms slipped free, and she fell back on the coat. She stared up at the stars, shivering, the world spinning. Pressing her eyes shut didn’t help. Snatches of the last few days flickered. Her brother Chase being beaten to a pulp. Throwing herself between her brother and the giant. The blade cutting through her thigh and slicing up. Her brother leaving her. Where was Chase? Was he safe? “I need to find my brother,” she said, opening her eyes.

  The man grunted, standing over her—a gorgeous naked sentry. “The one that left you?”

  Good point. “He’s in danger,” she added, unable to tear her gaze from him. She’d never seen a naked man before. Being a virgin these days was a rarity, but her love life was cursed, with a dead boyfriend and a dead fiancé to prove it. It didn’t help that her brother was super-protective.