A snarl worked out of her throat.
Turning her back to it, she studied the rest of the room. The windows had been blocked up—wouldn’t want the captive female to jump to her death before they violated her, would they? There was a huge triple wardrobe across one wall, literally taking up the whole thing, and she strode to it, curling her fingers through the handles and ripping the doors open.
Empty. No clothes.
Wouldn’t want clothes to get in the way.
The interior was big enough for her to sleep in, quite comfortably. It was warm, dark and safe, if she could make it so.
A dressing table and high-backed chair—for what? she thought bitterly. Were they expecting her to sit and primp in front of the mirror for them before they tore her to pieces? Fucking idiots.
That was it for the bedroom. The door leading to the bathroom was ajar, and she pushed it open with a sour laugh. They’d gone all out in here—towels, shampoo, body wash, conditioner...whatever her female heart could possibly desire for personal care, it was in this room.
Raine made a vow not to use any of it.
The bath was big enough for three, the shower just as roomy. A pedestal sink and toilet. They’d even propped a pretty picture of a deer grazing beside a lake on the wall.
She slammed the door shut.
Fingers trembling, Raine bared her shoulder and struggled with the tiny pouches sewn into her bra strap, extracting all six blades with just a couple cuts. She laid them out on the bed, staring at the shiny silver weapons before picking one up. Lethally sharp. One good slash down the length of her forearm and she would be dead before they realized she was gone.
Fifteen minutes later, she had a rash of hesitation marks but couldn’t find the courage to open the vein. Tempted to cry at her cowardice, Raine dropped her head in her hands. Dying hadn’t been on her list of to-do’s for the day; neither had pursuit and capture by wolves.
Now she’d lived through one and was left with two choices: die or wish she could.
Six razor blades and an extending baton was all she had left, although the glass in the mirror on the dressing table would come in handy.
Finn would come back before long, and she was unprepared. Torn between fight and flight—although flight in this instance had a different meaning. If she couldn’t escape through death, she would damn well make their lives painful.
First of all, she jammed the chair beneath the door handle. It wouldn’t hold for long, nothing would against the sheer strength of the wolves, but it would give her precious time. They wanted to lock her in, she would lock them out.
Next, the bed was stripped, and the cover ripped off the duvet. Pillows from cases. She gathered the goose-down comforter and pillows and tossed them into the wardrobe. Sleeping on the bed where they were going to rape her held zero appeal, and damned if she’d let them use furnishings as a way to buffer their guilt. Throw cushions and pretty quilt covers weren’t going to soften her up.
The handles on the wardrobes were interesting, and very good for her plans. Some genius had installed the same grip-style handles on the inside as well as out. Tearing a pillow case into thick strips, she looped a piece of material around the jamb of wood between the single door and the double doors and tied it through the internal handle. Several violent tugs didn’t shift it when she tried.
It took too much time and concentration, but she used the razor blades to gouge thin slices from the underside of the handles, thin enough to keep the blades in place but deep enough to lodge them in. Two blades per handle.
Her hands were a mess by the time she was done, slippery with blood. Thick red droplets splattered over the light brown carpet swathed over the floor, a tribute to her efforts.
Something inside told her time was counting down. Minutes, and not many. Running to the bathroom, she washed her hands quickly and grabbed a towel to staunch the bleeding, bolting back to her nest. At the end of the wardrobe was a heap of pillows to replicate a mattress and the duvet was ready to curl under.
Her baton was hidden under where her head would rest.
With three strips of material in her hands, she froze at the sound of the key in the door. Hell was on the verge of breaking loose, she knew, but couldn’t help watching to see if the chair held.
It did, surprisingly.
“Raine? Come on, Raine.” Finn’s voice rumbled in annoyance.
Raine bolted into the wardrobe, clicking the double doors closed and tying them closed from the inside with three strips of pillowcase as an added precaution. She dropped into her nest and snatched at the baton, keeping it tight in her hand as she drew the duvet up to her nose.
Her heart boomed like a kettle drum, driven by terror as Finn brayed his fists on the door. Well, first his fists and then what sounded like his body. And the horrible creaks and snaps of the chair breaking beneath the force of his attack were perfectly clear through the wooden walls of her sanctuary.
“Goddamn it, Raine. Why are you making this so difficult? If you’d just give in to us, we could make it good for you. We will make it good for you,” he promised, then broke off. “Is that blood? Jesus,” he snapped—the Irish so pronounced she imagined his words turning the air green—and shouted for his brothers. “What the hell did you do, little one?”
She winced inwardly. Somehow she hadn’t considered he’d call for backup. Keeping her mouth shut, trying to keep her breathing slow and even, she braced for the fallout.
“What you shouting about, Finn?” Was that Malachi? She thought it was.
“Where’s the goddamn woman?” Fuck, that was Dubhlainn.
“Quiet. Listen.” Detective Wolf was definitely Quinn, the jackass.
“Close the door. I’ll check the bathroom.” Cabhan’s voice was low, barely a murmur. “Mal, check under the bed. Dubh and Quinn, take the wardrobe. She hasn’t gotten out of here, so she’s hiding.”
Raine took a long, slow inhale and waited. It took ten seconds before both Quinn and Dubhlainn shouted impressive profanity, but the wardrobe barely moved. For now, she was safe. They couldn’t put enough pressure on the handles to break the ties, not without annihilating their hands on the razor blades.
“She fucking booby-trapped the doors!” Dubh shouted, outraged.
“She’s done more than that,” Cabhan commented. “Where’s all the shit off the bed? The quilt and pillows and shit? They weren’t in the bathroom and they’re not in here. They’re in there with her. She’s hunkered down, boys.”
“I’ll give her hunkered down,” Dubh growled, and she shivered. Of them all, he was the one she feared more than anything. The biggest, brashest monster beneath the bed. “She’s got sixty seconds to get her ass out here before I rip the wardrobe apart.”
Finn sighed. “Try asking nicely, Dubh. She’s just protecting herself.”
Raine got to her feet slowly, letting the quilt fall to the floor. As quietly as she could, she snapped the baton free. It wasn’t quite the formidable weapon a normal-sized baton would be, but at two feet long and with the diameter of a cane, it was capable of some serious damage if wielded right.
She just didn’t have a lot of room to get bone-breaking force behind her blows. But someone risked losing their hands if they tried to pry her out of her nest. This was her private sanctum, and they were not allowed in it.
“I’m not pussy-footing around with her. She needs to learn her place.”
“Asshole!” she shouted at him, then clapped her hand over her mouth. Shit.
“Well, guess that’s an affirmative she’s in there. How do we get her out?” Malachi asked with a short laugh. “I can’t believe she’s rigged a wardrobe and got five of us stumped. Almost literally, given the state of those fingers,” he said almost gleefully.
“Quiet, all of you.” Quinn’s voice thundered through the wood, seemed to shake the wardrobe. “Raine, sweetheart, would you please come out and talk to us? I know we’re intimidating but we’re not going to harm you. I promise.”
>
“Liar. You’re all liars!”
Finn interjected before anyone else could. His gentle tone seeped into her haven like gas slipped through vents, almost succeeding in lulling her into compliance. “Are you hurt, little one? There’s blood on the floor. Why don’t you let me have a look, see if I can help?”
Deep in her belly, something tugged. Nothing firm or insistent, just a twinge behind her belly button. Raine clutched the baton in both hands, blood slicking her palms again. They were playing good cop-bad cop with her. Quinn and Finn as the good, supportive cops with Dubhlainn and Cabhan stepping up as the bad. Malachi, it seemed, swung both ways.
“I’ll lay this straight for you, sweetheart.” Quinn again. “When your heat strikes, we’re not going to be able to control ourselves when we get your scent. Anything that stands in our way—clothes, for example—will be ruined. If you want to keep what you’re wearing, you need to come out and take them off so we store them safely for you.”
Anything that stood in their way would be ruined? What if she stood in their way? She shook her head despite the fact they couldn’t see her. She’d starve to death in her cocoon of goose-feathers before she willingly ventured back into that room.
“That didn’t help matters,” Finn hissed. “What on God’s green earth possessed you to say that, you dolt? Get out, all of you, and let me see if I can fix this without giving the girl a heart attack.”
“No. She instigated this. She had the smarts and the impetus to set it up, so she’d gonna pay the consequences.” Something hit the far end of the wardrobe with a vicious crack; Raine jumped and pressed herself into the corner. “The consequences for this fucking mess is being stripped and that ass of hers spanked until it’s red and glowing.”
Another crack and this time, a huge fist plowed through the wood with an implosion of splinters. She couldn’t stop the alarmed whimper as the hand searched for the flimsy material holding the door closed. As fingers touched the strip of pillowcase, she refused to cower in the dark.
She leaped forward, smashing the baton across the back of the hand, eliciting a war cry from Dubh. “What the hell has she got in there? Did you idiots even check her for weapons like I told you to? Obviously fucking not,” Dubhlainn roared as he ripped the door off its hinges, “seeing as she armed herself with razor blades and—for fuck’s sake, is that a baton? A goddamn police baton?”
She whipped it at his head, nicely framed in the doorway, and danced back when she missed him. Praying he couldn’t get his six-six bull frame into her space, she stayed near her nest, guarding her peaceful area with everything she had.
“Dubh, stop. Don’t go in there. Haven’t you realized what she’s done, by herself?” Finn’s low murmurs made her strain to catch them. “She’s nearly in estrus. Stripping the bed, using the materials to build herself a cozy little fortress in there, protecting it with her life? A couple more hours and she’ll come to us of her own accord, she won’t be able to stop herself.”
Raine’s heart stopped. No, no that wasn’t possible. Her brain wanted no part of this, none at all. She’d chain herself to the pipes in the bathroom before she allowed herself to present her body for mounting by these Irish pricks.
She wondered if they’d decided who would be her first. Who would change her life forever? Inch by inch, she crept along the length of the wardrobe to the broken door—there was no hope of fixing it, and that made her sanctuary null and void. She refused to think of it as a nest, not after what Finn said, and it was no longer safe.
Peeping around the corner, she didn’t expect a huge hand to grab her by the hair and haul her from her ruined haven. She yelped as her scalp burned, then the grip transferred from her hair to her nape, the grip of Dubhlainn’s fingers as effective as a bite designed to make a female wolf submit to an Alpha.
Such a shame she wasn’t submissive, wasn’t a wolf.
Discarding her fears of estrus and the possibility of presenting herself willingly for mating, Raine took action. There was more room for the baton to move now, and she took full advantage.
Bringing it down, she caught Dubhlainn across the thigh with a sharp blow that made his leg drop from the shock of it. Twisting away from him, she swung hard, aiming for his chest but laying a wicked red welt across his palms as he tried to catch the lethal weapon.
Dodging Cabhan’s lunge, she whacked him across the shoulders, leaving another welt, and spun in time to lash out and whip Quinn across the kneecaps. Finn and Malachi were more careful, studying how she moved, stalking her as she retreated to find something to put her back against.
She hit the wall.
“Now that’s a weapon and a half, little one. Where’d you be hiding that, now?” Finn crooned to her, all green-suited leprechauns and pots of gold coming from his mouth. Irish as Irish could be. “You’re a sneaky little thing.”
“Should’ve checked me for weapons,” Raine mocked and cocked the baton. “I warned you, Finn. More than once, and you just had to push me. You broke my sanctuary,” she spat at Dubh as he gained his feet, tested his leg gingerly. “It’s useless now.”
“We’ll fix your nest, poppet,” Malachi soothed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Dubhlainn will fix it for you. Why don’t you go with Quinn, have a shower and calm down while we mend what the big oaf broke?”
Just like that, Raine knew. Her blood-slicked fingers juggled the baton as trepidation filled her, and she almost dropped it. Five pairs of eyes watched intently to see if she would drop it and leave herself defenseless against them.
She met Quinn’s gaze, saw the acknowledgement of her fate, and shook her head in denial. Her bottom lip quivered, reality kicking in and becoming suddenly, horribly real. “It can’t be fixed. None of it can. Burn the fucking thing.”
“Raine.”
“Stop saying my name!” she screamed the words, lashing out furiously with the baton when Malachi eased forward. Her aim was miles off, distorted by tears, but the warning was clear enough.
Do. Not. Touch.
“Guys, I’d appreciate if you’d give me and the lass some time. I believe we have some things to discuss.” Quinn winced as he took a few steps forward, holding his hand out for the baton with perfect calm. He hissed when she gave him a fast, stinging blow. “I’ll get her into the shower while you try repair the damage.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” That was a lie actually; she eyed up the door casually, trying to decide whether or not they’d locked it in their haste to enter. She kept Malachi and Cabhan at bay with wild swings, while Dubhlainn nursed his wounds sulkily and Finn studied her with a compassionate gaze.
Quinn grunted and stomped toward her, muscles rippling and face set in determined lines. There were tiny crinkles around his eyes, she noted, then berated herself for caring. What did it matter to her if he wore marks of stress or age?
He came within whacking range, into her personal space, and simply let the baton slap sharply into his palm this time, teeth baring as he absorbed the sting of pain, fingers wrapping around the stem and yanking it from her hands. With a sigh of disgust, he tossed the weapon to Malachi and hauled Raine up and over his shoulder effortlessly.
She hammered her fists on his spine, aiming for his kidneys, his tender spots, but his hand just rested on her ass, giving it a gentle pat as he carried her into the bathroom and closed the door.
His hands were on her waist, sliding her down the ridiculously long length of his body until she stood on her feet. “If you leave this room, they will catch you and shove you back in,” he said conversationally. “Calm down, take a few minutes to think while I get the shower running, and then we can clear up some of these misconceptions.”
“Misconceptions? The five of you are going to fuck me against my will,” she spat angrily, folding her arms protectively over her chest as Quinn opened the shower door and set the water streaming onto white tile. “I don’t even get a say in which one of you fucks me first.” She laughed bitterly, realizing the abs
urdity of the statement.
“We haven’t given you a say because you don’t know how each of us fucks,” Quinn told her honestly, coming back to her and looming over her with a sad smile. “We do, and we’ve had to discuss who the group as a whole deemed the right man for your...initiation.”
Raine scoffed. “And you are the chosen one? Lucky you.”
“Not by choice. My brothers have more faith in me than I have in myself; for me, I’d hand you over to Finn. It’s not going to matter anyway, Raine. Once the heat has you in its grip, nothing will but being filled by one of us.” He reached out to toy with the hem of her shirt. “Arms up, sweetheart. Let me take care of you before the madness hits.”
Raine bared her teeth and slapped his hands away, biting back a cry as her sushi fingers made connect with hard flesh. Cradling them to her chest, she angled away from him. “I don’t want you to touch me. Ever. I don’t care if the fucking heat turns me into a nymphomaniac, humping every piece of furniture I can find. I’m saying no, Quinn. Yet again. No, no, no. Whatever you do, it’s not with my consent.”
“You’re hurt,” he muttered and grabbed her wrists, studying the bloody mess. “Jesus, what a mess. Was it worth it, doing this to yourself?” Without waiting for a reply, he had her shirt whipped off over her head and then just stared at the cuts on her left arm with a profound sadness she didn’t understand. “You’re that desperate to fight us that you’d do this?”
Chapter Five
Quinn
He felt as though someone—probably Raine if the day’s events were any indication—had punched him in the gut and sucked every last bit of air from his lungs. Fitting, really, given his treatment of her earlier. His heart ached for her as he stroked fingertips over the cuts littering her pale skin, ignoring how she tried to jerk her arm free.
Raine was beautiful. Her torso was covered in creamy skin, part and parcel of her redhead complexion. The black sports bra she wore hugged her breasts, stopped them from jiggling too much as her breathing grew faster and anxious.
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