Blood of the Wolf

by T. L. Shreffler

  When he spoke, his voice was soft, a murmur, as though not meant for her ears. “So beautiful.”

  It was unexpected. Jaime's eyes widened, then narrowed. “You can save the flattery. It won't work.”

  “Is that so?” His words were dark and taunting. She remembered the rumble in his throat; the coarseness to his voice. “What would you have me say?”

  “The truth,” she growled. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came here to collect you.”

  “You what-?”

  “Shh. The guard will be back any minute.”

  She couldn't believe it. She shut her mouth, outraged and terrified, trying not to submit, to duck down and lower her body. He was an Alpha male; the scent was all over him, an intoxicating, heavy spice that made her skin tingle. He could read her like a book; maybe her face was drawn into a defiant line, but her heart was pounding. Her fear permeated the air, a thick saltiness, partly hormonal. She could already see the effect it was having on him; whether he realized it or not, her scent was making his muscles clench, his jaw stiffen. That was why he was staring at her, unmoving, his eyes intense in the darkness. He was taking her in, smelling her, reading her and learning her. This was the first time they had met face to face, after all... not in almost four years.

  “You followed me,” she whispered. Fear made her voice weak; she hated it.

  “You move around a lot,” he replied, and stepped closer to the bars. He leaned his head against them, as though he was tired, gazing sideways at her. It was still too dark to discern his features clearly. “Come stand next to me,” he said.

  “No.”

  Wham!

  The hit was sudden. He smashed his hand against the bars, startling her and disrupting the silence. She was certain that the cop upstairs had heard. Even worse, it made her tremble. She flinched, leaning back, her sensitive ears ringing from the harsh sound.

  “Here are the keys, kid,” he said, his voice dangerously smooth. He held his hand out through the bars. She saw the brass ring dangling from it, a few keys clinking temptingly. She recognized the one with her cell number. “You can let yourself out. I'm sure one will undo your handcuffs, too. Take them. They're right here.”

  Jaime hesitated, eyeing his stance. “Throw them,” she said.

  He blinked, his gaze steady. She couldn't tell his eye color in the shadows, only the glint of light from their depths, feral and dangerous.

  “Come take them,” he repeated steadily.

  Jaime heard the strain in his voice. She had a quick decision to make. Was the cop on his way? She couldn't wait around and find out. She would be in even bigger trouble if the cops showed up and this guy was hanging around. Should she go with him? Definitely not, but she couldn't make a successful escape if she couldn't even get out of her cell. She needed those keys... but she didn't want to get close to him. Maybe she could outsmart him.

  She moved to her feet, uncomfortable in the rough, itchy jumpsuit. She hadn't been allowed shoes or socks. She padded barefoot to the bars, keeping a careful distance between herself and his hand, but slowly narrowing the gap. She was looking for a weakness, any unexpected way to distract him and get the keys. Once she had them, she could unlock her cuffs, open the cell, run... maybe get the cops on her side... he was a murderer, after all. Surely he was a wanted criminal, too?

  But how to distract him?

  She had to think quick. An idea popped into her head... it was the most obvious one, but not one best suited for a virgin. She thought back to her adventure in the park, at the boy's hand slipping under her skirt, inching up her leg. She bit her lip, hesitating. It was worth a shot. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and she needed to escape... or rip him to shreds.

  She reached up to where the zipper stopped at her neckline. She saw him frown. It was impossible to tell his age in the darkness, though his voice didn't sound too old.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  She started pulling the zipper down a little ways until the top of her cleavage was visible. Then she pouted, making her eyes big at him, stepping up closer to his hand. She thrust her chest out in front of her. “How do I know I can trust you?” she pleaded, trying to look vulnerable. She swayed her hips slightly when she walked, flaunting the scent of her coming wolf-moon, her month of ripeness. She saw his nostrils flair suddenly and his eyes dilate. What color were they? Gray? She tried to remember, but it was blocked by hatred. The thought of what she was doing left a sick taste in her mouth; she wanted to retch.

  She was only a little ways from his hand now. It hovered between the bars and she didn't dare get any closer. She leaned to one side, folding her arms in front of her, pressing up her cleavage. She saw his eyes flicker over her.

  “Promise me,” she whispered.

  “Promise you what?” his voice was quiet.

  “Promise me you won't hurt me.”

  He frowned at her, though his eyes were now lingering on her cleavage, not on her face. She could see that he was distracted and pushed her breasts up a little further. Her left breast threatened to spill out completely, barely contained by the course fabric.

  “I...” his voice faded. “I....”

  She made her move. Deftly, so fast that it was almost imperceptible, she swiped at the keys. Her fingers touched the cold metal and a soft jingling met her ears. She would have had them, too. She would have, except that the cuffs slowed her down, and maybe... maybe an Alpha wolf wasn't as easily tricked as a regular man.

  He snatched her in mid air; grabbed her by the chain between her wrists and twisted her arms upward, making her gasp. She winced as she smashed against the bars, her ribs banging against hard metal; she was held up on her toes by the enemy's hands. He twisted her again before she got the chance to recover, and then she was trapped with her back to him, her butt up against the bars and her breasts jutting outward, her hands held high above her head.

  She couldn't see him; he was behind her. Her eyes searched the cell wildly for anything to help her, but she found nothing, just a blanket and a bare toilet.

  He stretched her body out, silent, his face close to the back of her neck. The minute stretched on indefinitely, neither of them making a sound. She could feel his breath, but that was all. It was as though he was waiting for something.

  Jaime finally tried to pull away; she tested his grip but he was strong, powerful, like steel... impossible to break. Each time she started to fight, he would shake her, dangling her easily like a leaf, and she would go limp. After the third time he finally laughed, and she writhed in his grasp, trying to wrench free. He grabbed her harder, boosting her up against him through the bars. His lips were next to her ear.

  “I promise nothing,” he murmured to her. Then he ran his hand up her body, and she gasped, arching backwards, her nipples jutting forward against the rough gray material. He smelled like an Alpha, heady and exciting, spreading warmth across her skin. He was male and potent, in his prime — it made her mouth water. Made her drip between her legs.

  Did he know her reaction? How could he?

  “Good,” he finally murmured, and partially released her. He still held her with one hand and she heard the lock jingle. The door clicked open. He reached around and grabbed her quickly, then dragged her out of the cell, bodily shoving her in front of him so he could close the door behind her. He turned to look at her, snatching her chained wrists when she tried to make a run for it.

  Jaime didn't hesitate—if she couldn't run, then she could sure as hell fight.

  “Die!” she screamed, tackling him. She launched herself at him, ignoring her handcuffs and letting out a shriek of outrage. Her skin burned everywhere his hands had touched, and she hated her body's reaction. All she could think about was ripping his face off, tearing him apart limb by limb. She wanted to taste his blood. She must have caught him off-guard because he stumbled backward under her weight, letting out a grunt as she slammed her shackled fists against him, ripping and tearing
and snarling. “I'll fucking kill you!” she howled, raking her nails across his cheek, striking out wildly.

  Within seconds everything changed. He grabbed her handcuffs and pulled her past him, using her own momentum to fling her to the ground. She hit the cement floor hard, taking the impact on her shoulder and rolling a few feet before she could get her legs beneath her. She crouched, trembling from pain, adrenaline coursing through her as her teeth elongated in her mouth. Her heart pounded, her breath short. She bared her fangs and growled.

  He was a dark shadow standing above her, calm and still after her sudden attack. He was looking at her, but his back was to the thin light from the door, and she couldn't see his eyes. She backed up an inch instinctively, feeling the wall behind her, ready to launch at his throat.

  She watched warily as he reached up a hand and touched his cheek. She could tell by the blood under her nails that she had wounded him. He didn't seem too concerned by it, though.

  “So this is how it's going to be?” he said softly.

  Jaime wanted to scream back at him, to roar and howl until all the pain left her heart, but her rage choked her and all she could do was glare. How else was it supposed to be? He had killed her family, destroyed her pack, taken away any sense of home she would ever have. The memories brought a new surge of power to her muscles, and she launched herself from the floor, losing all control.

  “Aaagh!” she roared, flying at him; she could already taste his blood in her mouth. She could already feel his flesh tearing between her teeth, his screams of pain, the last gurgle of breath from his lungs....

  But he grabbed her again as he had the first time, easily snatching her from the air, and suddenly she found herself slammed up against the wall. He grabbed her by the throat, squeezing tightly, as his other arm trapped her hands. With no effort he slid her up the wall, dangling her above his head.

  “We could play this game all night,” he growled at her, his mouth close to hers, his nose inches away. She still could only make out the vaguest planes of his face, but his voice controlled her, every ounce the Alpha male. She trembled in his grasp, rage and instinctual respect fighting inside of her. “But that would only end in both of us being arrested. The guard will be down here any second. Would you like freedom or bars?”

  “I hate you,” she spat, unable to think of anything else.

  “I know,” he said.

  She opened her mouth to retort, but he suddenly clamped a hand over it. He tilted his head to one side, obviously listening, then hissed to her, “We're out of time. Follow me, or you can stay here.”

  Jaime found herself dropped to the floor. She landed unsteadily on her feet, dizzy and whirling from all of the contradictory emotions, but his words had planted a needle of ice in her spine. The cop upstairs had overheard them; she needed to make a choice–stay here and be prosecuted, or run. If she went through the court system, she would end up with major punishment; this wasn't her first offense, after all. But if she left with him... her life would change forever.

  My whole life has led up to this moment, she reminded herself. Killing him was impossible right now, so did she hide from him again, tuck her tail between her legs? Or did she follow him, and bide her time for revenge?

  She heard voices from the stairwell and made up her mind–but at the same moment his hand landed on the nape of her neck.

  “Stay quiet,” he hissed. With his hand firmly on her nape, he started to lead her forward.

  He was a good foot taller than her and his hand was strong. She followed, suppressing the urge to bristle, telling herself that this was the smart thing to do. She wanted this; the closer she was to him, the more chances she had to kill him. They padded quickly and silently down the corridor until they were in front of the stairwell. Then her captor put his hand more firmly on her throat and pulled her back into the shadows.

  “We wait,” he said.

  There were more voices from above, some laughter, and then the sound of another door slamming. Silence.

  Her captor quietly moved forward and opened the door, listening carefully before he pushed her into the stairwell and up the stairs. He forced her to walk in front of him so it was impossible for her to turn and get a good look at his face. She wished she could remember what he looked like, but her memory was obscured by years of hatred and disturbing dreams. The lights were low in the police station; Jaime guessed it was sometime in the early hours of the morning. In a big city like Rochester or even Davenport, the police stations were busy 24/7; but here in sleepy Black River, the force was cut in half after midnight, singled down to a few lonely officers and a janitor.

  However, the higher they climbed the stairs, the more voices she heard.

  “Caught him trying to hotwire one of our cruisers!” someone laughed; she thought she recognized the young cop from earlier. “What an idiot!”

  “Hold him down, he's struggling! My, have you ever seen such an energetic drunk?”

  “Could be narcotics, we'll have to drug test him....”

  They reached the top of the stairs and her captor kept a firm hold on her, leaning slightly to see around the corner. She looked up at him and got a side view of his sharp jaw line, then he grabbed her and pulled her back into the shadows of the stairwell; a cop marched past quickly, black shoes clipping against the linoleum.

  “What's going on?” she couldn't help but ask.

  “Darren is distracting them... as soon as they leave the room, we make our get-away.”

  She frowned. “But the security cameras... won't we be seen?”

  “We've already taken care of that.”

  Jaime wondered what he meant, but kept her mouth shut. The tension in the air made her eyes dilate with excitement. They held their position until the voices from the main room died down and the sounds of struggle faded. Another door slammed shut.

  “Now.” Her captor grabbed her hard by her cuffed wrists and started forward, so fast that she almost fell. Instead he dragged her to her feet and kept moving, pushing them through the lobby of the police station and into the corridor leading to the front doors. Jaime was sweating from anxiety. They were making a bold move, leaving out the front of the station. Anyone could show up and see them. There were cameras everywhere....

  The corridor stretched before them, lined by offices and dark windows. At the end of it was a pair of glass sliding doors that led out into the night. But then Jaime saw it — the flash of red and blue lights. A cop car pulling up in front of the station, its siren off, barely discernible through the dark windows to her left.

  She dug her heels into the carpet.

  “We can't go that way!” she hissed, resisting her captor's pull. “There's a cop parking right outside the door!”

  “Quiet, just keep moving-”

  “No! I am not letting you fuck this up!” She tried to wrench her wrists free. She knew where the back door was; just a quick dash down the opposite hall and out into the rear car lot. Outside, she could climb one of the impounded cars and jump the fence, then slip into the shadows of the abandoned field behind the station. Once she was in the forest, they would never find her.

  “Stop!” he growled, yanking her wrists toward the floor, as though she was a dog and he meant to rub her nose in the carpet.

  Jaime turned and resisted, trying to break his grip by throwing herself violently backwards. “Let go of me! Agh!” Twisting and writhing, she finally slipped away from his grasp and dove for the lobby, ready to run to the back door. His quiet cursing followed her but she ignored him, stumbling at first and then gaining momentum. She was not going to be caught escaping through the front doors of a police station!

  She had just entered the rear hallway when- “Oof!” A body slammed into her, taking her off-guard and carrying her to the carpet. She bit back a scream and rolled, trying to fight him off of her, kicking and biting at anything that came into range. They scuffled on the floor silently as he tried to pin her down. She continually slipped out from under h
im, twisting from his grasp. The thought occurred to her that maybe now was the time for revenge. Maybe she could find a gun and shoot him straight through his evil heart....

  “Hey! What's going on here?”

  The voice was sudden and loud, causing both of them to freeze in place. Jaime looked around wildly, just to find a cop standing at a door to the side of the room, a cup in one hand that looked suspiciously like urine. His face was red and chubby, his jowls wobbling as his mouth opened in shock. At that moment she heard the slide and hiss of the front doors opening.

  The chubby cop turned, eyes bugging out of his head. “Dave! We have a break-out!”

  “What?” a new voice shouted. “Quick! Phone for backup!” Her wolf-hearing could pick up the man's heavy footsteps thundering down the corridor towards them. She heard the safety on his gun click.

  “I didn't want it to come to this,” her captor said softly above her. Jaime looked up, surprised, and found herself met by a shockingly blue gaze. It momentarily took her breath away.

  Then he released her, reached down, and pulled a gun from under his jacket. Grabbing her firmly, he rolled to one side and leveled the gun at the ceiling, wrapping an arm around her head and pushing her hard into his chest. “Cover your ears!” he yelled.

  Bam! Bam!

  Two gun-shots and an explosion of glass. It rained down upon her in sharp, tiny shards. Everything flickered and went black. Jaime's heart pounded, overwhelmed by terror; her ears were ringing and vibrating from the roar of the gun, and she couldn't hear anything. It was as though she was under water, all direction blurred except for the warm body next to her.

  There was shouting and yelling, more gun shots, flashes of light as bullets whizzed through the air; the cops were returning fire. She didn't know who was shooting at what, and she covered her head with her arms, screaming at the top of her lungs. What the hell was going on? When a hand grabbed her by the arm and dragged her upward, she could only shakily obey. She gathered her legs under her and ran, still screaming, more guns firing — was she shot? She couldn't tell.

  More running and stumbling, feeling her way down a pitch-black hallway, no idea of where she was going. Tripping over something — a chair? Someone gripped her cruelly and yanked her forward. Her hands slammed against the wall, and she continued to scramble sideways until she found herself gripping a door handle. Locked.