Wolf's Mate

by Celia Kyle

  Birch shook his head. “It won’t last through the swim. We’ll regroup at the office and try to salvage this op. Let’s call in a team to tail her. You know the newbies need field time. Let them chase her down.”

  A flush of rage attacked Declan. The wolf didn’t want anyone else near Abby.

  Declan grinned. “You think her shit isn’t going to be water resistant? It’s gotta be instinctual by now.” He shook his head. “Ten will get you twenty that our girl makes sure her gadgets will make it through a dip or two. A new toy came on the market not long ago.”

  “Our girl?” Now Birch raised both eyebrows.

  Declan ignored the bear—and his knowing smirk. Asshole.

  Chapter Six

  So. That happened.

  Holy fuck a duck with a truck that happened.

  Abby’s heart pounded so hard it threatened to break through her rib cage, but she didn’t have time to die. She was too busy trying to swim to safety. As in, somewhere very, very far from Port St. James.

  Abby jerked and twisted, muscles and bone stretching and contracting. Familiar pain assaulted her, an experience she’d endured for years, as parts of the cougar overtook her human body. When she’d first shifted, her screams could be heard throughout the state. Now she reacted with no more than a small shudder. Her new shape ripped her clothes; bits of thread and cloth drifted from her body, portions of her skirt suit lost in the ocean’s currents.

  She pushed harder, flexed, and spun. Rather than fighting the flow, she moved with it, allowing herself to be dragged down the coast.

  The tablet clenched between her teeth wiggled, and she tightened her bite. She couldn’t lose it now, not after what she’d gone through to get it out of the building. The shifter council needed to see it, look over the evidence, and then send in their bogeymen to do whatever it was they did. She didn’t want to think about how they did their jobs. She just wanted FosCo and Eric Foster to not exist any longer.

  Buh-bye.

  God, her fear was making her even more sarcastic than usual.

  Fear of being caught. Fear of being killed. Fear of the tablet not getting into the right hands.

  Fear of that blue-eyed stranger who’d saved her. The one who’d known her name.

  And if he knew her name, he had to know where she lived.

  She couldn’t get caught. Not with the device in her possession. She had to hide it before she ventured onto land.

  Abby twisted and bolted away from the beach, racing for Palm Island. No one would think to look there. It would be safe. It had to be safe.

  Her destination came into sight, and she put on a last burst of speed, racing to the rocky gathering of coral and stone. Less than ten feet from the outcropping, she dove beneath the rolling waves, down and down until she reached the opening she sought.

  She ducked into the pure darkness and used her claws to climb the interior walls of the small cave. Cool water enveloped her fully, the black encroaching on her like a monster from her nightmares. Her cougar pushed the panic aside, reminding her this was a safe place, a welcome place. Her cat loved the cave or running on four paws across the island—a place closed to humans.

  Abby burst past the surface of the water, sucking in a breath of air. She placed her palms on the stone edge surrounding the cave opening and heaved herself onto a small ledge. She rolled to her back, laid one arm across her eyes, and pulled the tablet from her mouth with her free hand.

  She fought to recover from the mile-long swim to the middle of the bay, preparing her body to do it all over again and get her home. Her cougar wanted to wait for a little while. It wasn’t ready to venture back into a world of being chased.

  They didn’t have a choice. The tablet was safe. Now she had to nut up or shut up. It was one of her foster father’s favorite sayings and one he’d often repeated when she’d hesitated to dive into the frigid waters off the coast of Alaska. “I don’t have a thick layer of fat like the rest of the family” was not a good excuse for avoiding swims with the other seals. Neither were the polar bears that had tried to eat her. Or the killer whales. Or the bull moose. Those suckers didn’t play.

  Abby squared her shoulders and huffed, taking a deep breath before diving headfirst back into the inky sea.

  Now she needed to swim home, get clothes, and disappear. Go somewhere and call someone, and when things weren’t so hot, she’d come back and—

  Look at her, sounding all gangster and like a criminal. When things weren’t so hot…

  Some of her fear floated away with her swim back to shore, exhaustion replacing the rapid race of panic and terror. The adrenaline that’d powered her every move no longer filled her veins, and her heart gradually slowed to a regular beat. Which, yay for calming down, but she needed the panic to keep her going. Abby dug deep, refusing to let the adrenaline crash sap all her strength. She’d do this. Home. Run. Call.

  Abby lifted her head and scanned the beach, searching for landmarks, and sighed in relief. She was home. Or as close as she could get with the hundred yards of sand separating the waves and her building.

  The hundred yards she’d have to walk half naked.

  Great.

  The night was just fan-fucking-tasmagorical.

  Abby gulped and breathed deep, preparing herself for her cat’s retreat. It was bad enough she’d come limping out of the ocean. She couldn’t sport claws, fangs, and fur as she emerged. Then she repeated the slow, deep breathing for good measure, bracing herself as best she could.

  Right. No screaming.

  Her fur retreated first, her bones snapping and reshaping at the same time. The claws retracted and fangs receded. Her muzzle and whiskers were last, gold and dark brown replaced by her pale skin.

  She was back to her human form, and she reached for her side, hand slapped over her wound. It hurt like a killer-whale bite—firsthand experience at sixteen, don’t ask—but a quick glance told her it wasn’t all that bad.

  The cougar disagreed. Between the bullet wound, her black eye, and her limp, it believed it was dying—dying.

  Chest deep in the water, she eyed the shore once more, searching for any hint of someone watching her. She stared into the shadows, trying to see past the darkness that filled the corners. She didn’t see anything, but…

  Abby had no time for “but.” She had to get her ass moving.

  She trudged through the water, feet sucked down by the sand, as if the ocean was trying to keep her. Like it knew what stupidity she was walking into and wanted to save her from herself.

  With the water at her knees, she stumbled forward, falling to the sand and catching herself with her free hand. She shoved herself to her feet once again, strength all but gone. When she looked down at her injury, she was kinda thankful for the sea water. The blood didn’t stand a chance against the waves, brushed away before she could realize the wound was a little worse than she’d originally decided.

  The ocean lapped at her feet, and then she stood on dry land, the sand shifting beneath her soles. She was close now. The glowing lights of her building loomed, and she forced herself forward. Her body tightened and jerked with each step, muscles and skin around her injury pulling with her movements.

  Thanks to the awesomeness of spandex, at least her bra and panties had survived the impromptu swim.

  It hurt to breathe, to think, to do anything but hopefully trudge in the right direction. She knew her cougar worked to heal the damage, but she’d been logging long hours at the office—leaving early and coming home late—and hadn’t been eating properly. Her body was tired before she even got out of bed in the morning, and with the injury…

  The cat was doing the best it could, but it couldn’t do much.

  The entry to her building came into sight, the glowing door a beacon to her exhausted body. She pushed herself, determined to do this.

  She could.

  She would.

  Suddenly fabric enveloped her head and wrapped around her body, swallowing her in darkness. St
rong arms kept her in place, holding her immobile. A large body aligned with hers, her captor’s front against her back.

  “Got you.”

  Chapter Seven

  Abby was dead. Done. Ex-living, un-living, once upon a living, and now heaven and hell fought over her soaking-wet, shivering, miserable corpse. Apparently, her soul wasn’t worth having because she still seemed to have that along with parts of her deluded mind.

  Wait. It wasn’t heaven and hell fighting over her wretched body. It was a couple of men. Maybe three? It could be a hundred for all she knew. The scent of the sea, briny and tinged with a hint of eau de fish, filled her nose. It obscured the different flavors in the air, and she couldn’t figure out who—what—surrounded her. She could only go by voices and sounds coming from her captors. The baritones, scratchy rasps, and deep breathing echoed around her, bouncing off the metal walls.

  She frowned and tilted her head, urging her cougar to come forward and give her a hand, er, paw. The persnickety feline hissed at her, reminding Abby she was the reason they were in this mess and she could be the one to get them out.

  As if they weren’t one and the same. She mentally groaned. Stupid, stupid cat.

  Giving up on her cougar, she focused on the world around her. Her vision was masked by the thick blanket over her head, but she could tell she was in a vehicle, large and heavy. She sniffled, but only inhaled seawater.

  The cat released a wheezing chuckle.

  Bitch. Just see if she ever bought catnip at the pet store. Just see.

  That assumed she made it out of the hot mess alive so she could go to the pet store. If she had a Magic 8-Ball, her fortune would be “outlook not so good.”

  The voices echoed in the space, muffled by the blanket and too low for her to figure out what they said. So she focused on the tones, the tiny variances in speech patterns and pitch.

  And heat. There was one man close to her, utterly silent but warm. A warmth that chased away the cold and made her forget about the bullet hole in her side. The vehicle swayed, tires rumbling over uneven ground, and she used the rocking motion as an excuse to ease closer to him.

  The van rocked hard to the left and then right. The sudden movement threw her forward and then back, slamming her head against the unpadded wall of the vehicle. A soft whine escaped her.

  A low rumble, no words, just a rolling sound, reached out to her, and a large hand cupped the back of her head. It rubbed her gently, touch easing the throbbing ache, and as quickly as the caress came, it was gone. But it reduced her panic just a little. That meant he cared, right?

  Could she develop Stockholm syndrome after just five minutes?

  She needed to focus on how the hell she was going to get out of this mess. Three men had kidnapped her. Oh, it’d been only one guy to toss a blanket over her head and shove her into the vehicle, but she heard two others. When she got free, they’d all go down and get carted off to jail.

  When. Not if. She had to stay positive. She’d be free and they’d be gone.

  More murmurs, one voice snapping, another snarling, and one that was soft and hard at the same time. One the rest listened to without question.

  The van swayed, and she rocked forward with the rolling motion, losing her balance. She tensed, waiting for the inevitable pain from slamming into the floorboard. But it didn’t come. A thick, strong arm wrapped around her waist, hand settling on her hip as he pulled her closer. His touch slipped from her waist to her shoulder, and a soft tug pulled her against him—Hot Guy.

  “Rest.” The low murmur reached out for her, and Abby was torn between doing as he said and refusing whatever comfort he provided. This had to be some sort of good cop/bad cop scenario. Except his actions had been a mix of the good cop/bad cop behavior. Maybe he didn’t know how to play the game.

  Regardless, resting seemed like a great idea. As adrenaline fled her body, the ache in her side grew, agony increasing with each passing second. She lowered her head to his shoulder and slumped against him, giving her captor her weight. There was no harm in relaxing and conserving her strength.

  Abby beckoned the cat once more, needing its help to heal her wound. If she saw a chance to escape, she’d take it, but her bid for freedom would be hindered by the injury.

  The animal grumbled but pushed forward, the beast’s rapid healing swirling and surrounding her wound. It tingled, a warm rush sliding over the area, followed by the burning itch of knitting flesh.

  She gritted her teeth and trembled against her captor, the pain snatching her control. He tightened his grip, tugging her even closer until their bodies were aligned. They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle sliding into place. As if they were made to complement each other.

  And wasn’t that a screwed-up thought? Exhaustion, pain, and fear were making her crazy.

  “Six minutes out.” A low murmur filled her ear—Hot Guy again. His voice was soothing, and somehow it drove away the sharp edge of pain. Her cat responded to his deep tenor, releasing a low, trilling purr of her own.

  So. Fucked. Up.

  Instead of replying, Abby swallowed hard and nodded. She needed to focus, dammit. These might be the last six minutes of her life.

  The van slowed, rolling to a stop for a moment, and the mechanical hum of a window rolling down filled the space. A few beeps and the sound repeated, window going back up as the vehicle rocked back into motion. Then they were going around and around in what seemed like a never-ending spiral.

  The squeak of tires and the roar of the engine echoed around them, and she took a little comfort in that. The space they drove through sounded empty, a large cavern that only held their vehicle. Maybe she’d only have to face the guys that currently held her and not some big team of baddies.

  The van took one last sharp turn and rocked to a stop, gears thumping when the driver put the vehicle in park before he turned the key and cut the engine. It dropped them into silence for one beat and then two before her captors burst into action. Metal grinded against metal, someone yanking open the side door. That was followed by the heavy thud of boots on a hard surface. Concrete?

  Metal clanged, cloth rustling but not cotton—something else. Nylon? The rasp of Velcro and then a heavy weight thumped beside her. She squeaked and jolted with the sudden sound, and followed that up with a moan. Her wound pulled, what little healing she’d managed now undone by her thoughtless movement.

  Everyone fell silent with her groan, and the heavy weight of their gazes settled on her shoulders. She didn’t know how she knew that they stared; she just knew.

  And didn’t like it one bit.

  Abby bit her lower lip and swallowed any other whimpers and moans that threatened to break free. Being the center of her captors’ attention could never be a good thing.

  Soon their movements picked up again, the jangle of buckles and the metallic rasp of zippers with the occasional grunt and low whispers. They spoke, they moved around, and they left her alone.

  Which was great as far as Abby was concerned.

  Then a large, strong hand wrapped around her biceps, holding her in a punishing grip, and yanked her to the left. She scrambled to gain her feet, silently cursing when her captor jerked and she scraped her knee on the sand-covered, uneven van floor. Now her knee throbbed in time with the pulsing ache in her side.

  Her captor pulled her out of the van, further tearing her wound, and blood flowed free of the cut. What little clothing she wore had dried during the ride and was now soaked in blood.

  “Careful, asshole!” The deep, chocolatey baritone boomed through the cavernous space. It was tinged in rough fury that felt more like a caress to her cat. And hell, she wasn’t sure how a voice could sound like chocolate, but his did.

  All chocolate and smooth and sweet with a hint of hot and…Ahem.

  The tight grip on her arm eased a little. She’d be bruised by the rough handling, but if she had bruises to bitch about, it meant she was alive to do the bitching.

  She’d take it.<
br />
  She listened for everything, counted every step as they led her to what felt like a smaller area. Their footsteps were now muffled—by carpet? The buzz of lights—fluorescent—reached her as well. An office of some sort? With an attached parking garage?

  The three men remained silent during their trek down hallway after hallway. They turned left, then right, then left and two rights? Why did she have to be a number person and not some amazing Tracker chick?

  Soon their pace slowed before they stopped altogether. At least for a moment. Just long enough for one of her captors to…unlock a door? And if it was unlocked, it could then be relocked.

  She might be blind, hurt, and exhausted, but she wasn’t stupid. Okay, maybe a little stupid because she’d already let them take her to a secondary location. Statistically, that meant she was for sure going to be killed.

  Abby was taking a hard pass on going into that room though.

  The man holding her tugged and she tugged back, leaning away and digging her bare heels into the carpet. She shook her head, the blanket still blinding her, and it swung with the rapid movement. A whimper escaped her lips, terror stealing her ability to speak.

  Had she mentioned hard pass?

  The grip on her arm tightened, a growl following the squeeze, but she was already too scared to be even more frightened by the man. “Move.”

  She moaned, fear still forcing her to be silent.

  “Let her go.” The voice was louder, but familiar—Hot Guy. That order was followed by the disappearance of the other man and a deep grunt. Then she found herself lifted from the ground and cradled high against the stranger’s chest. “Got you.”

  The first time he’d said those words, a wave of panic had overtaken her. This time a blanket of something else drifted over her body—calmness. A calmness she didn’t expect to experience again manifested with his touch and murmured words. There was something wrong with her.

  The cat snorted and wondered if her human half had always been so slow.