Page 3 of Alpha Bond
“What is it?” The guard steps closer to the door.
“Uh…it’s personal…” I fumble for a reason to get him to come in. “I…um…have a need. Please…” I lace the word with desperation.
He chuckles darkly. “Rack’s little box of tricks got you all in a froth to come play with us tonight, pretty?”
Box of tricks?
Keys jangle. I cringe, though his words confirm my suspicions about my unnatural response to the man. Something is off. They’ve done something to me. Not drugs. It’s the tracker. It has to be.
Fucking pigs!
The guard is still talking, though my mind is racing too fast for me to be paying much attention.
“Thinking of getting a sample of what you can expect from being a pack bitch?” he says now.
“Maybe…” I say because what I have in mind has nothing to do with any kind of pack activity. What I’m planning involves some one-on-one action between my knee and his groin. I release a breath as I hear the key turning in the lock.
“You’ll need to keep this just between us, though, huh?” the guard says. “What Rack don’t know won’t hurt him.”
Yeah, but it’ll hurt you, dickhead!
I brace myself as the door opens, and the burly male steps through, his hand already working the top of his pants. Thankfully, he’s completely underestimated me because when I leap on him, slashing at his face, he’s totally unprepared. I may not be as big as he is, but I have adrenaline and desperation on my side.
“You bitch!” he snarls as realization dawns. Not the brightest bulb in the socket, but he’s finally realized he’s been played. I feel a glancing pain as his fist connects with my jaw, but I forge forward anyway. I get a pang of satisfaction as I feel the sharp glass connect with something soft and meaty. I hear him choke out a sound and then gurgle. Somehow, I’ve managed to slash his throat. It could only be the hand of Fate on my side because I’d had no real plan when I’d called him in here.
Except to survive.
He clutches his neck, blood bubbling past his fingers. For a human, it would be a fatal injury, but a wolf… I’ve probably got five minutes tops before he’s on his feet again. I leap over his writhing form and make my way into the corridor beyond my prison cell.
From my previous escapes, I know they’ve been holding me in a warehouse of some kind. My cell was probably once a storage area. I slide along the wall, snatching glances in both directions as I make my way to the entrance I managed to get to on my last attempt.
There are voices from behind me. If I don’t get beyond that door, I’m screwed.
And then it occurs to me that I’m still holding the blood-covered chip.
Shit!
They’re going to know I’m on the move. I make a mad dash to the door to the world beyond, then pause and look around. The yard outside is abandoned, but it won’t be for long. I raise my hand and fling the tracker as far as I can from the doorway. Knowing that it’s coated in my own blood turns my stomach. But if I can get them searching in the opposite direction, maybe I’ll have a chance to get free this time.
Free before my so-called mate reaches me…and turns me into a toy for his pack of animals.
Chapter 2
Jagger
“You’re up, Law.” Callum Carter’s voice always has a rough edge to it that makes whatever he’s saying sound like a command. It generally is. Now, it barks out, interrupting the grunts, curses, and rumbled mutters of the team training session. I drop the dumbbell I’ve been lifting. The sound crashes harshly around the small, cluttered room we use for working out between shifts. I sit up, flex my wrists, and roll my shoulders.
“Jesus, Jagger! What the fuck? Why not just set it down like a regular person?” Casey grumbles from nearby. My patrol mate is working her calf muscles on a bench behind me and scowling.
“I’m not a regular person.” I get to my feet and reach for a towel. She rolls her eyes at me as I wipe my wet face and damp throat. I like working up a sweat before going out on patrol. Doesn’t help to get out there smelling of soap and civilization. You never know what you’re going to run into.
“True,” she agrees with me, “you’re a dick.” She adds more weight to the calf press machine. “I don’t know why you won’t let me come out today.”
“You know why, Stone,” I respond, not bothering to glance back over my shoulder as I head to the changing room, where my fatigues are stowed in a locker. My teammate tore a rotator cuff during a drill a couple of days ago. Shifters heal fast, but when it comes to joint injuries, we don’t mess around. They take time to mend properly, and the stubborn female who normally backs me up is grinding her teeth in frustration. By the time I’ve splashed my face and finished changing, she’s moved to a rowing machine, cranking out reps like she’s possessed.
“Look!” She flexes a muscle. “I’m practically good as new. Let me come out with you.” Even as she says the words, I see her grasp slip and the rowing bar slide from her fist. It shoots away and hits the console with a clang that almost matches my own commotion earlier.
“Yeah, right,” I mutter. “You’ll get us both killed out there. No can do, Stone. You need rest. I don’t even know why you’re here now – it’s barely dawn. You should be getting some shuteye. You’ll never heal if you don’t take some downtime.”