Blood of the Wolf

  Somehow that made her even more tense. She knew he wouldn't do anything to her in front of his men... but she didn't trust him alone.

  Her fear made her angry, and her anger made her bolder. “Still following me, huh?” she growled, glaring at the back of his head. “You're wasting your time.”

  He stopped, so abruptly that she slammed face-first into his back. A second later she was looking up at him, his hands gripping her upper arms tightly. His eyes were smoldering, burning with an emotion she couldn't recognize. It scared her.

  “No, little girl,” he growled. “You are wasting my time.”

  Her mouth dropped. A large part of her was terrified of him, but another part — perhaps the larger part — wanted to scream in outrage. She barred her teeth, snarling silently. “Oh, excuse me, I didn't realize we were on a schedule!”

  He blinked, then snarled in return, whirling violently and dragging her behind him. Jaime stumbled forward, crying out in pain and tripping at his heels. She almost fell to her knees.

  He paused. When she finally caught her balance, she found him staring down at her, his expression one of belated comprehension.

  “Of course,” he muttered, his gaze calculating. Then he turned, yanking her to the right, dragging her at the same brisk pace to a “No Parking” sign at the border of the bus station. She couldn't stop the tiny grunts of pain in the back of her throat; every step was excruciating and her muscles were exhausted. She wished she had more energy to stop him, to fight back somehow, or at least make the pretense of resisting... but it was useless. She had nowhere left to run; he had anticipated her every move, read her perfectly. He hadn't won... but it sure as hell felt like it.

  When they reached the metal sign, he grabbed her sleeve and pulled out the cuffs. She opened her mouth to protest, but he cuffed her solidly to the pole, giving the chain an extra-hard yank to make sure it was secure.

  “Sit,” he told her, pointing to the ground. “Stay.”

  “Fuck you!” she hissed, glaring at him. “You idiot, every cop in this fucking town is after me! You think they won't see me here? I'm sitting bait!”

  “Better get low then,” he grunted, already turning his back. He picked up her backpack from the ground, unzipping it and looking through her things. “That's exactly why we can't have you going into the bus station. What were you going to do, buy a ticket?”

  Jaime's jaw dropped in amazement; was he making fun of her? A thousand replies ran through her head, but she was too outraged to speak. Instead, she watched him rummage through her backpack as though he owned it, and by all means, he did... She was helpless. Powerless. Nothing more than a prisoner.

  The Alpha paused, a lacy pair of panties dangling from his hand. He glanced at her, one dark eyebrow raised. He didn't need to speak.

  She snarled silently at him, trying to put all of her hatred into her glare. He dropped them back into the bag and laughed, then pocketed the money before shouldering her backpack. “I'll see you in them soon enough, don't you worry. Be back in a minute, love.”

  “Fuck off,” she growled again.

  He just chuckled, shaking his head as though it was all some big joke. She glared at his back, her eyes tracing his strong muscles, imagining her teeth sinking into his flesh.... She wondered what he would taste like. She was abruptly reminded of his lips on hers, of the powerful way he had taken her mouth....

  She blinked, shaking her head, shivering as a cold wind blew. The beginning of raindrops started to fall around her. What was she thinking? Why did her body respond so powerfully around him, as though she had no control at all? It left her disgusted, exposed and all too vulnerable.

  “Ugh, it's starting to rain,” she moaned, ducking her head down as the drops fell harder. God was laughing at her. That had to be the only explanation.

  * * * *

  “Two tickets to Davenport,” he said once he'd gotten to the teller box. The college student behind the glass was pimply and haggard, his straw-colored hair pushed down under a blue cap.

  “Thirty bucks,” he said, his voice nasally. “Leaves in fifteen minutes.”

  “Thank you... and uh, is there any sort of liquor store close by?”

  “Across the street, a block that way.” The kid nodded to his right.

  Sirus paid with his credit card and took the tickets, immediately starting in the direction of the store. He moved into a run as soon as he was out of sight, dodging into the open street, avoiding an oncoming vehicle and cutting to the opposite side. He could already see the sign that read Larry's Liquor, a small place next to a gas station — thankfully it was still open. His thoughts turned to Jaime, to the way she had stumbled and cried after him, almost falling from her wounded leg. He had been so overcome by her scent, by the warmth of her body and the feel of her flesh, that he had gotten carried away. The animal inside of him had been desperate with frustration; he wanted her so badly that he could barely contain himself.

  But he had to fix that leg. The wound had reopened itself and would continue to bleed until she got professional help... and he was as professional as they came. His training assured that he knew all about stitching up wounds, especially with bare minimum supplies. Alcohol would go a long way to clean out the gash and distract her while he sewed her back up.

  He reached the liquor store and bought a flask of rum, then a small Pepsi in case she needed something to help it go down... though somehow he doubted she would have any trouble. Luckily, he was able to find a small sewing kit in the far aisle. As a last-minute thought he added in a bag of chips. Something told him that she would be extremely hungry, if she wasn't already.

  Bag of supplies in hand, he headed back to the bus station, ducking his head against the sudden onslaught of rain. Ah, so the storm had finally decided to start; a good thing that a bus was leaving soon. They would arrive in the city before dawn, which was a relief. He had sent Darren and Aiden ahead to alert the Davenport pack of their arrival. Once he had Jaime, he could go and meet with the man who would make his claim to the Paxton territory official... until then, he had opted to travel alone with her. He needed to know her better. To see if she could handle being Alpha by his side.

  He jingled the keys to the handcuffs in his pocket thoughtfully, wondering if his young mate had found a way to escape again. She seemed to have an uncanny knack for it.... He smiled, remembering her fierce temper. He would tame that one... and it would be a pleasure.

  * * * *

  Jaime didn't look up at her captor when he knelt above her. He reached down and unlocked her from the pole. He tugged on the chain, pulling her hand into the air, a silent command to stand... as though she were on a leash.

  “So is this what it comes to? I'm your future mate, and you're going to treat me like a dog?” she grunted.

  “Like a pet.”

  She shot a glare at him. “I'm nobody's pet.”

  “Correction — you're my pet.” He looked down at her, his eyes pale and cold. “Now stand up, or I will carry you.”

  Jaime gathered her feet beneath her, assured that she didn't have a choice, and used the pole to climb her way to a standing position. There she wavered, looking blearily through the dark rain, the Alpha's eyes shining back at her. She tested her weight on her leg. He had backed up a few paces and stood watching her, about six feet away.

  “Walk to me,” he said quietly.

  “What, am I being trained now?” she growled. “Fuck that.”

  His brow grew darker. “I want to see if you can walk.”

  “I can walk!” she snapped, and let go of the pole, taking a determined step forward. “See? I can— uhn!”

  Jaime paused, wavering, biting down hard on her lip. The pain that coursed through her leg was almost unbearable, and the limb wouldn't hold her weight. She stared helplessly at him, hating him for looking at her so openly, for seeing her so weak. He watched her expressionlessly... then he held out his arm. “Take it.”

  Jaime stared at him, surprised for
the hundredth time. “What?”

  “Take it. I will help you walk.”

  She couldn't believe her ears. She glowered at him, then wobbled slightly, her one good leg almost collapsing from weariness... she couldn't lie to herself. She would never make it to the bus. It was only a short distance to his side, and it was much more appealing than being carried. At least this way she could retain some dignity.

  Head held high, trying not to grimace in pain, she struggled to his side. She tried to move quickly and smoothly, but it was impossible... she stumbled twice in the short distance, fiercely ignoring his gaze.

  She reached his arm and grabbed it — as much as she hated him, she knew she had no other choice. His muscles bulged beneath her grasp. They didn't surprise her; she had always known he was strong, though his warmth was startling. His entire presence was uncomfortably familiar... the wind shifted, bringing his scent to her nose, a heady spice of cologne and aftershave, and something distinctly masculine. She was abruptly reminded of their mad dash through the impound lot, the bullets whizzing past them, how he had forced her over the fence....

  They walked slowly and steadily to the bus stop. He didn't push her this time. She wondered at that, how he could seem so uncaring one second, so gentle the next. What was he playing at? Trying to get on her good side? Well, it wasn't going to work. He was her one and only enemy, the man who had ruined her life; her only reason for living was to kill him. She had to remember that.

  Sirus didn't ask permission when they reached the bus, but rather gripped her around the waist and heaved her lightly up the steps, leaping up behind her and offering the tickets to the driver. It was an older gentlemen with a thick mustache, who glanced at them disinterestedly and handed back their ticket stubs.

  Jaime couldn't resist his hands — he pushed and prodded her down the rows of seats, passing only an elderly woman and two middle-aged men, one wearing a business suit while the other was huddled down in an old coat, shaggy hair poking out from under a cotton beanie. Her escort didn't allow her to sit until they reached the end of the bus, then he cornered her into one of the rear seats, trapping her next to the window. She glared at him and let go of his arm, turning away and huddling against the glass, looking determinedly out at the rain. The lights were off in the bus and everything was illuminated in a wet, silvery glow.

  He sat next to her and started going through his bag; she looked at it curiously, wondering where he had bought their new supplies — there wasn't any convenience store in the bus station. Her captor surprised her by pulling out a bag of chips, a lighter, and....

  “Rum?” she grunted, raising an eyebrow. He glanced at her.

  The bus rumbled to life as she looked at him, the driver having decided to finally get going. “Next stop, Davenport. If you're on the wrong bus, get off now,” the croaky voice said over the speakers. The gears screeched and crunched, then the bus jolted forward, pulling away from the curb. Jaime turned back to her captor.

  “What? Are you going to get me drunk? If you think that's going to make me want you—”

  He cut her off. “I didn't buy this for fun.”

  She frowned at him. “What?”

  Sirus reached into the pocket of his dark brown jacket and pulled out a needle and a length of white thread. He took the lighter and flicked it on, working low so the light wasn't visible to the bus driver, holding the needle over it. Jaime watched, a feeling of dread coming over her. She bit her lip.

  “Got holes in your socks?” she said weakly.

  He looked at her, and she thought she saw a glint of amusement in his eyes. His expression was solemn, though. “I need to stitch your wound.”

  She felt her face pale; had she heard him right? “Stitch...?”

  He continued to hold her gaze, sterilizing the needle, and she suddenly felt the urge to faint, like the world was tipping beneath her. She sat back, stunned, then looked back down at the alcohol... to the leg of her pants. A small blood stain was already beginning to form, leaking through the paper towels.

  “Here?”

  He nodded, then handed her the bottle. “You may want this.”

  “But what if I scream?”

  “You're not going to scream.”

  “How the hell do you know that?!”

  “Shh!” he hushed her. She glowered at him, watching as he glanced around the bus. He sat for a moment, then started adjusting himself in the chair — it took her a moment to realize he was taking his jacket off. He thrust the material in her hands, and she found herself swamped by his smell; it came off the material like a strong cologne.

  “Bite on this,” he said. “I don't care if you make holes in it—”

  “That's the best you can do?”

  “Hey!” he growled, grabbing her arm suddenly; the strength in his grip made her pause, hesitating in fear. “You're the one who ran away. I could have done all of this in a warm house, but you forfeited that option. So shut up and drink this.”

  Jaime took the rum from his hand, realizing that she didn't have any other choice. She knew she was in need of stitches, and if she went to a hospital, they would ask for her insurance and ID. If the bus station had been alerted, then surely all of the local hospitals had been updated as well. They would recognize her and turn her in to the cops.

  “Are you sure you know what you're doing?” she murmured, sitting back in defeat and taking one deep, burning swig from the bottle. It left a trail of warmth all the way to her belly. She choked down a second one for good measure, refusing the soda he handed her. The burn of the alcohol brought tears to her eyes, but she knew she needed it.

  He took the bottle from her hand and grabbed her leg, lifting it into his lap. She blushed and turned away, trying to ignore his touch as he carefully rolled up her pant leg. His rough hands made her tingle with unknown heat, and she had to force her body to stop responding — dammit, even in this situation she couldn't suppress the drive of the wolf-moon. If he noticed the sudden surge of her heart, he didn't say anything.

  Her captor didn't show any squeamishness as he inspected the wound, though the oozing blood and red, angry flesh made her want to moan. The liquor helped, but her leg still throbbed with each pulse, and she knew she couldn't get too drunk or else it would only hurt worse.

  “Bite this,” he said, raising the jacket to her mouth. She took hold of it and he immediately dumped the bottle on her leg, splashing a good amount of the alcohol over the wound. She gasped and clamped her teeth down hard on the suede, feeling her fangs elongate and pierce through the material. The pain was sharp and sudden, but she was already hurting so much that it didn't make too big a difference.

  He handed her what was left in the bottle, ignoring the alcohol that was now spilled over the back seats and floor. Jaime wondered if the smell was as strong throughout the bus as it was in the back rows, but nobody turned around or made any comment; maybe nobody cared. She took the bottle and started gulping it, concentrating on the harsh fluid burning down her throat, suppressing the urge to choke it all up. She could see out of the corner of her eye that he was threading the needle.

  His hand touched her leg near the edge of the wound, making her flinch. It was a long gash, almost a full six inches. She saw him put the needle to the skin.

  “Don't worry,” he said. “You'll be fine.”

  She nodded, tears already streaming down her eyes. Gritting her teeth, she concentrated on the rum, on the dizzy, drunken rush that was overtaking her brain.

  When he started working, she had to stuff the coat so deep in her mouth that she gagged on it; it was a struggle to keep down the contents of her stomach. Her groans and whimpers couldn't be stopped completely though, and she tried to look away, tried to focus on anything but the pierce and tug of flesh. Her fingers shook. Her head swam.

  After a while she drifted into a strange haze, no longer able to think.

  Chapter 7

  She came to, realizing that she hadn't exactly been asleep, just... absent
.

  The rhythmic pouring of the rain was the first sound to reach her ears. Her forehead was hot against the cold window, her breathing fast and steady, and she could see tiny rivulets of water streaming down the glass. Besides the bump and sway of the bus, everything was quiet and still. She shifted, her back sore and stiff, and looked down at her injured limb.

  Her leg was still stretched across his lap. It burned intensely, throbbing worse than anything she had ever felt before... but her pant leg had been pulled down and the limb appeared securely bandaged. The pain was invasive and persistent, making it impossible for her to sleep, for her to do anything other than doze uncomfortably. Another good reason to wake up.

  She turned to the man next to her. His head was tipped back against the seat, eyes closed. She took a moment to study him in the moonlight, in the shadows that shifted across his face... he was dangerously handsome, severe and beautiful all at once, even in his sleep. His dark hair trailed over his ears, brushing casually across his forehead in a wet, tussled mess. Heat surged to life inside of her and she felt her blood race, warm and pounding. She cursed her body, her hormones and the animal inside that was only concerned with mating. The beast inside didn't care about her past, didn't care about her losses — it only wanted a strong mate, one that would provide healthy pups and reliable protection. An Alpha of any kind was more than eligible, but something about this Alpha's energy was especially magnetic... it made it hard for her to think, for her to remember that she wanted him dead....

  “Something wrong?” he asked, not opening his eyes.