by Rebecca Main
“Hello there,” he says smoothly.
The wolves around him still and come to attention. My heart gives a strange rattle in my chest as I gasp once more. His grin widens, the moment between us hanging precariously before I finally snap into action, turning and sprinting away as fast as I can. I ignore the terrible spiking pain running across my leg and cast a fearful look over my shoulder. If by some miracle I make it home, Gran is going to kill me.
– Chapter 3 –
Sealed
It’s a shame time travel isn’t a real thing. Although, if people can turn into wolves, I’ll wager a guess time travel isn’t completely off the table. If it is, now would be the perfect time to wield it. Then I wouldn't be in my current predicament. My heart is ready to burst out of my chest, hyperaware of the damp and suffocating forest air, and of course, the threat of wolves and strange men that surround me.
Not that I can see any of them.
Once caught by that devilish man, I am quickly restrained, my clothing adjusted and straightened, and blindfolded. I wiggle my hands uncomfortably in front of me. They are roped together with the pretty boy’s belt, and it digs unpleasantly into my skin. Thankfully my legs are left unrestrained. Not that that helps me. Any chance of outrunning the men and wolves are comically slim, and we all know it. I stifle a groan as the metal buckle sinks itself deeper into my flesh. It hurts like a sonofabitch. More than it reasonably should. Both of my arms ache painfully the longer I am made to wait for their next move. An ache that travels throughout the rest of my body, and slowly but surely, begins to make me feel faint.
I try to keep my anger and energy in reserve, hustling both to the distant corner of my heart where they shiver and quake in anticipation. Stupid legs. Stupid wolves. Stupid aunts and Gran. If it weren’t for them this entire night would have played out much, much differently.
Bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt.
“Ah yes, let me just—” Leaves crunch under foreign footfall, and then hands are quickly unfastening my phone from my arm.
Bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt.
“It seems as though you have a missed a call from your… grandmother. Adorable,” pretty boy says. I want to ring his neck, for he chased me down and caught me. He had pinned me easily enough, but just when I thought he would go in for the kill, he stopped.
And now—well, now I’m getting impatient.
“If you’re going to kill me, just do it.” My voice hardly quivers. Good. I need to show a strong front. I refuse to die a coward.
His laughter sounds close by, with hints of malice tainting the undertone of his delivery. “Fear not. I have no such plans for you tonight.” I want to sigh in relief or cry, but his fingers brush along my collarbone like a phantom. I flinch, pitching myself back against the tree I’m made to stand before. “Ah, ah, ah,” he scolds mockingly. “Do calm down, and keep any notions of running away out of that pretty little head of yours, will you? It will only excite them more. And I’d hate to have them ruin the surprise I have in store for my brother. And you will be a marvelous surprise.”
The wolves that surround me let off a chorus of subdued snarls that makes my skin prickle uncomfortably. They might not kill me, but there are worse things than dying. I grit my teeth and experience something coiled and stinging hot inside of me begin to crack at the seams. A primal, but foreign cry to take a stand. One we all possess. I take a deep breath, trying valiantly to still my shaking nerves. There’s no way I’m going down without a fight.
“Playing with your food again, Ryatt? I thought we had spoken about this, brother.” I straighten at the new voice. It’s… different. Strong and heavy. His tone leaves nothing to the imagination. This man expects to be obeyed. His words roll over the forest like a heavy shroud, calling not just me, but everyone and everything to attention.
Hope swells inside my chest. Maybe he can talk some sense into these strange men. I will swear to forget this night and return home without a scratch. Well, without a scratch from them.
No one responds. It stalls my breath, and in the falling silence, I hear it all. The wolves stop their pacing. The insects and birds cease their chatter. Even the breeze seems to fade. And it’s all for him. With every step he takes, I feel my resolve crumble. My hope diminishes. That coil inside me sizzles and pulls away as a sob threatens to sound from my trembling lips.
Maybe Ryatt and his merry band of wolves are just saving me for him.
“We have!” Ryatt exclaims boisterously after another long beat of silence. “I was merely out to teach these pups how to hunt when we bumped into our new friend here. You see, she saw a bit too much and tried running off. I chased her down—she’s remarkably quick—but when I caught her, I saw something very peculiar. A way back into your good graces, brother.”
“Enough, Ryatt. Kill the girl and be done with it,” he replies gruffly. “Make it clean.” Fear strikes at my heart.
“What!” I cry, “No! No way. This is absurd! You can't just go around kidnapping and killing random joggers. This was all just a misunderstanding. I was just—mmph!”
A warm hand firmly plants itself over my mouth, cutting off my frantic plea.
“I’m afraid I must side with the young woman here, Aleksandr. You’d be very unhappy with me if I did. She bares a soulmark, one of the pack’s... your soulmark, specifically.” The smugness in Ryatt’s voice is grating, and the forest waits with bated breath for his brother to respond. As do I. The hand slips from my face, and a shuffling of feet sounds.
The blindfold, a ratty T-shirt, is pulled from my eyes and tossed to the ground a second later. I jerk to the side, crowding up against the tree for balance as I stare around wide-eyed.
The newcomer stands close to me, his eyes a mossy green against caramel skin. His hair is in disarray, his dark curls falling in waves carelessly in front of his eyes. He rakes back the long fringe without a thought, his muscles rippling in response to the casual action: abs, chest, arms. He’s shirtless, of-fucking-course, and my eyes are helpless to resist trailing downward. Dark hair twines together over his muscled chest and down, down, down. I inhale sharply and quickly avert my eyes.
Bastard.
Kidnappers do not get to look so—so sexy. They definitely aren’t supposed to have been allotted sinful abs or hair that trails down from chest to naval to… well…. He reaches out to touch me, running his fingers along the underside of my chin almost reverently. Almost. By the smug look he sports, one eerily similar to Ryatt’s, I close my mouth with a snap and level him with my best glare.
“Don't touch me,” I snarl, feet itching to take me further back. But going back isn’t an option. Not with the tree pressing so snugly against me now. I side step again, hardly gaining ground, but it's something. His wolfish grin dips deeper for just a second and a dimple appears. I hold my breath, heart beating painfully against my chest as I watch both grin and dimple disappear behind his stoic facade once more.
“Well, then, let’s see it.”
“It’s just below her collarbone. You’ll have to adjust her shirt to see it,” Ryatt tells him cheerily. The green-eyed nods resolutely and crowds closer. Startled, I awkwardly attempt to side step, but he is swift to counter and traps me. One brawny arm bars either side of my head. His eyes sweep over my form, lingering on the belt that binds my wrists. “Iron?” The man tilts a look at his brother, who watches intently from the sidelines.
"But of course. Don’t you recognize her, brother? It’s Diana’s granddaughter, the littlest witch—”
“Excuse me?” I utter impulsively. “What did you just call me?” The brothers share a look I almost miss, fleeting confusion, before the man’s gaze returns to my chest. “Hey!” I shriek, “Eyes up here, asshole!”
Ryatt laughs as his brother flushes from my reprimand. But then his eyes harden, and one warm hand trails down my side to my waist, straightening and tugging down my shirt a few inches. Something akin to a growl rolls deeply through his throat. I c
an't help the cold fear striking at my belly, nor the way it quickly spreads.
Tears swim at the edge of my vision before he shushes me absentmindedly. He stares at my birthmark, now revealed. The little, curved sliver of pale-pink skin resembles a crescent moon. Green eyes meet brown, and he gives a smile that seemingly is meant to be reassuring but does quite the opposite.
This man is the real danger of the night. The one Gran had warned about.
His other arm drops as he leans forward, fingers caressing the bruises and welts that cradle the belt wrapped round my wrists. “Iron,” he tells me, smile slanting just enough to become patronizing, “and witches do not mix well.”
“I’m not a witch,” I whisper back, ensnared by his intense gaze.
“I’d beg to differ.”
Our glares collide in a standoff. Just as I prepare to defend my claim, he concedes, dropping his eyes to my wrists once more. His fingers quickly undo my binds, letting the belt fall to the forest floor with a soft thud. I groan in relief, eyes drifting shut in a semblance of peace as the ache in my bones begins to recede.
Manners ingrained in me long ago beg me to thank my captor, but common sense points out the obvious; my captor will receive no thanks from me.
When his fingers languidly intertwine with my own, I buckle in shock and stare at him in astonishment. Words lost to his casual demeanor. The move is intentional, no doubt to stun me, and he takes advantage of my bewilderment slipping one steel-banded arm around my waist and pressing against me. I suck in a harried breath.
“This might be… unpleasant for you.” He tells me, eyes half-mast as his gaze focuses steadily on my birthmark. “They say the sealing of a soulmark can be quite… intense. But what kind of pleasure is without its own pain? Hmm?” He releases my hand to scorch a trail upward and across my breast.
“Please.” My voice cracks pathetically as his fingers inch toward my birthmark. “You're wrong. It’s just a birthmark.” My heart continues its erratic dance, but queerer still is the wild pulse now coming from my birthmark. “Don’t!” But it’s too late.
The point of his middle finger brushes against the mark, and I am gasping. Reeling. Hurtling toward darkness.
And then everything is gone.
Only he and I remain among the stars and trees and earth and air. A crushing wave of emotion and energy surges inside me. Finds every nook and cranny left unattended and takes root. Rocks my fucking world. Nothing has ever made me feel so... alive. It is as if my body is reclaiming some lost part of myself, and the soul-searing experience takes my breath away. All that's left in its wake is a sudden and all-consuming burning. A need. A hunger. I gasp, feel lightning strike at my very core, and watch helplessly as my entire world is turned and flipped. Wind whips around me. Rushes through me. Fills me so completely, I feel I might burst.
“Let it be known that thee are found,” he whispers roughly, his head tipping to rest against mine as his hand presses flush against the birthmark, “and my soul awakened. The stars incline us”—we share a shuddering breath, eyes boldly meeting one another—“and so we are sealed.” I stagger forward. Choke on the rush of power and heat as they barrel into me. Mercilessly. His scent and touch flood my senses. I feel him. Everywhere. Inside and out.
I push away from his embrace, breaking the blazing contact that is his hand to my heart. No. Not heart. Birthmark. The bark scrapes against my skin, reminding me of reality, but all I can hear is my blood as it pumps through my veins—screaming at me to move closer to this man. He leans forward. I cringe back.
“Don’t,” comes my hoarse reply. My breath sounds harshly against the night air as beads of sweat drip down my back. “What did you do?” He takes a step away from me, releasing me completely from his hold and my knees buckle comically in response. He remains near as I try to collect myself. As I try to douse the fire raging inside of me. Fill my lungs with air. Let my bones tremble in relief as the onslaught desists. But the blood that courses through my veins remains on fire. And the birthmark yearns for his touch.
I raise my eyes to his, and all I see is me. Right at their very center.
Faintly I feel my birthmark pulse with two beats instead of one. Somehow, I know—without a doubt—that the other beat belongs to him. Tears burst forth before I can stop them, and I hardly notice the way his hands find their way back to me in my distress. He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring as he watches me, a thousand emotions swirling behind his green eyes.
“What did you do?” I whisper roughly as I slump toward the ground, my energy leaving me in one fell swoop. My words are greeted with a frown and downward flick of his mouth. Before I drift into unconsciousness, his words sound a soft echo in my mind.
“I've got you.”
+++
I never suffered a migraine before, but there is a very solid chance I am experiencing one now. Tiny hammers pound relentlessly against the back of my eyes. Scratch that, big hammers, and ones that mean business with bitsy little skulls imprinted on their sides in red. My brain is also attempting to tear itself loose from my skull and damn near succeeding.
Nausea rests at the back of my throat as I stare dumbly around my new surroundings. The room I’m in is not my own, but the bed is achingly soft, and I whimper from the small comfort it provides.
“You’re awake.” Oh, God. Not him. I find him easily, sitting in a chair at the opposite end of the room. His head is slightly bent, those mossy green eyes staring at me through half-mast lids. His dark shaggy hair casts shadows over his Roman nose and full lips.
“You’re a kidnapper,” I murmur, cringing at the sound of my voice, raspy and rough.
“There’s tea just there. It should help.”
I pull myself upright, battling down the bile threatening to rise, and lean weakly back against the pillows and headboard behind me. The tea to my right lazily billows steam. The smell is familiar—surprisingly so—and I take hold of it with both hands. A cautious sniff and delicate sip bring a pleased hum to my lips. It is familiar; it’s one of the aunt’s creations. I ignore the way it scalds my tongue and throat on the way down and relax into the almost instant relief it provides against the pounding in my head.
He's still staring at me. “Better?”
I clear my throat, setting down the cup. “I’ll be better once I’m home.”
He gives me a wry smile, “I’m afraid we need to have a small chat before you can see your grandmother. I hope that’s not too much to ask?”
I hesitate to reply. I want desperately to refuse him but know that I’m not the one with the upper hand. With chagrin, I find I cannot read his body language. Everything about him reads false, with his put upon casual demeanor and smooth confidence. My fingers itch to reach for my necklace and draw comfort and strength from it, but I hold still.
Green eyes darken in my continued silence, and he stands, walking over to the end of the bed. When he smiles his dimples appear once more, yet still his expression is unreadable. “Xander.”
He says it like an offering, waiting expectantly for me to respond in kind. We stay that way for some time until a cramp begins to form in my lower back. I adjust my seating, grimacing at the soreness that seems to pulse from my bones. Speaking of sore... my eyes flit down to my chest. The crescent moon birthmark seems much darker than before, more pronounced. I catch his expression as his eyes dip toward the mark as well, then back to my face. He seems… anxious.
“Zoelle, but everyone calls me Zoe.”
“You bear my mark.” Xander’s voice is quiet but steady, and I find my hand traveling to just above my heart to shield the birthmark that lies there.
