Tamed by the She-Wolf

by Kristal Hollis

  Sharp pain shot through her jaw as she closed her mouth, the muscles in her face and neck sore from being forced open for an unknown period of time. With no moisture in her mouth, dry-swallowing felt like sharp barbs sliding down her throat.

  Creaking boards distracted her from the pain. She attuned her ears to follow the sound of movement. Booted footfalls seemed to echo from different directions inside the house, as if someone was moving back and forth between rooms. Then silence.

  Angeline tried to quiet her breathing in the eerie quiet. The sunbeam warming the snake faded. Slowly lifting its head, it stuck out a forked tongue to scent the air for danger.

  The footfalls began again. This time in a linear path that seemed headed toward the door to Angeline’s prison. Her heart raced.

  On her knees, with her hands and feet fastened together behind her back, she had no means of self-defense. She couldn’t even count on the snake, a black racer without the tiniest bit of poisonous venom.

  Booted steps stalled at the door. The iron lock wiggled then turned. Slowly, the door creaked open and Damien stepped inside the room.

  “Untie me, right now!” Angeline’s voice cracked from the dryness of her throat.

  “I’m not in the business of taking orders.” His cold, dark gaze flickered over her.

  “You’re a Dogman! You take orders all the time!”

  Madness churned in the arctic depths of his fathomless eyes. “No and no. Not anymore.” His precise enunciation sliced the chilly air.

  “What does that mean? You’re not a Dogman?” In her current predicament, Angeline figured it was best to keep him talking. Maybe she could find a way to reason with him and convince him to let her go.

  “HQ’s quack doctors think I’m...” Damien tapped a finger against his temple. “I’m not. But they cut me from the Program anyway. So the answers to your questions are no and no.”

  Oh, Angeline begged to differ. Damien might not be a Dogman now, but he definitely needed professional intervention.

  “I don’t have any sway with the Program.” She softened her voice, hoping to lure him closer. “Why do this to me?”

  “I don’t give a damn about the Program,” he snarled. “Not anymore.”

  “Then what does this accomplish? Why have you rigged me to a bomb, Damien?”

  He paced a wide berth around her. “Lincoln always believed in his guardian angel. The rest of us thought you were nothing more than one of those photo inserts found in new wallets. Turns out—” he shrugged “—you’re real. And you’re his true mate.”

  Damien stopped in front of her, but far enough away that she couldn’t lunge forward to topple him. “That is why you’re here, Angel. Dogmen don’t have true mates.”

  “Lincoln isn’t a Dogman anymore. He’s retiring.”

  “Aww.” Damien squatted so he was eye level with her. “Is that what he told you?” His toxic laughter made her flinch. “Here’s the truth. Captain Lincoln Adams is part of a team headed to Somalia and his mission is to extract hostages from the rebels’ camp.”

  “You’re lying.” Lincoln promised he wouldn’t be in danger, promised he was only signing paperwork and then would bring Dayax home.

  “I have no reason to lie,” Damien said. “I already have you here and my plan has been set in motion. Lying serves me no purpose.”

  “Except to hurt me.”

  Damien’s mouth twisted into a grotesque smile. “That’s what the bomb is for, Angel.”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  “Never heard you object to Lincoln saying it.”

  “You’re not Lincoln!”

  Damien’s creepy smile faded as he replaced her gag. “And you’re no angel. I checked.” He waggled his hands. “No wings.”

  What she was, was a pissed off she-wolf. And the moment she got loose, Angeline would show him how much of an angel she wasn’t, using nothing but her bared teeth.

  Chapter 28

  Dirty old snow flew past the windows. The truck jostled from the deep potholes on the unpaved road but Lincoln did not let up on the accelerator.

  Within twenty minutes of his call to Brice, the Walker’s Run sentinels had tracked Angeline’s phone using a GPS tracker. Unfortunately the device and her jacket had been found down the embankment of the ravine where her crumpled car rested at the bottom.

  No one believed she’d hit an ice patch and missed the curve at Wiggins Pass. The consensus was that the accident had been staged. Recovery crews hadn’t found a body, but Lincoln knew they wouldn’t because the mate-bond he shared with Angeline had not been severed.

  Periodically, he could sense her during moments of strong emotional reactions. However, he intentionally blocked feeding his emotions back to her, because if Damien knew they were communicating through the mate-bond, he might escalate his plan before Lincoln arrived.

  Which would be within minutes, thanks to Tristan.

  After arriving home from the hospital with his mate and newborn son and getting them settled, Tristan had answered Brice’s text with the picture Lincoln had forwarded.

  Tristan recognized the room where Angeline was being held and had sent a handful of sentinel scouts to the abandoned MacGregor homestead.

  As Lincoln barreled into town, his phone had pinged with photo confirmation that Damien had been sighted at that location and a message that they were still trying to get a visual on Angeline.

  He had responded with a request to pull the sentinels back to at least a half-mile radius. If Damien got wind of any interference, he might simply level the house with Angeline inside.

  Sharply jerking the steering wheel, Lincoln swung the truck onto the overgrown driveway dusted with melting snow. Despite the initial fishtailing of the back tires, he sped toward the dilapidated house overrun with thick ivy vines and hardy weeds.

  Nearing the porch, he slammed on the brakes and cut the wheels to the left while engaging the emergency brake. The truck swung in a complete circle before stopping.

  Lincoln jumped out of the truck and bounded up the porch steps. Not fooling with the lock, he planted his shoulder in the center of the large, double mahogany doors with their rusted hinges and gave a good, hard shove. A second shove with his full weight behind him brought the doors down.

  Angeline’s essence suddenly rushed him. Relief, worry, anger, fear—all of it a tidal wave of emotion that nearly knocked him off balance.

  “I’m here, Angel.” He stood in what once might have been an elegant entryway flanked on both sides by a curved marble staircase leading to the second-floor balcony, which looked like it might collapse at any moment. The row of doors vaguely reminded him of the building in Somalia where he’d been searching for Dayax. No surprise that Damien had picked this place for whatever twisted game he wanted to play.

  “Lincoln! It’s a trap.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I know what I’m doing.” Lincoln cautiously stepped around the jagged remains of a glass chandelier. When this ordeal was over, if he never stepped inside another abandoned building again, it would be too soon.

  “Are you hurt?” Lincoln focused internally, trusting his instinct to lead him to his mate.

  “I’m tied up, but okay.”

  Lincoln began walking down a corridor toward a door on the left. Perhaps once a study or a cigar room off the main floor.

  “I don’t know where Damien is.”

  “I’ll find him once I get you out.” Lincoln rapped his knuckles against the door panel.

  “Someone’s knocking.”

  “It’s me. Do you see any wires running along the door frame?”

  “No!”

  Holding his breath, Lincoln slowly and carefully turned the knob and opened the door. His heart dropped at the sight of Angeline bound and gagged in the center of the room.

  After a quick visua
l inspection to determine there were no trip wires, Lincoln darted to Angeline. Tears shimmered in her big, blue eyes.

  “I will get you out of here.” He pulled the gag from her mouth and she spit out a wad of cloth. “Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head.

  Lincoln lifted the silver-coated wire running from her neck collar to the explosive device. “Did he say anything about the collar? Can we take it off?”

  “No,” she said hoarsely. “He said the bomb would go off.”

  Lincoln carefully ran his finger along the inside of the collar. He didn’t feel a second trigger but wouldn’t tempt fate.

  Pulling out a pocketknife, he sawed through the silver-coated zip ties fastening her hands to her feet. Angeline began to topple forward. Lincoln caught her shoulders and helped her maneuver into a position to maintain her balance.

  “Hang tight.” Lincoln slipped the blade beneath the ties at her ankles. “You’ll be free in a minute.”

  Less than that with any luck.

  “Lincoln! Look out!”

  Damien’s wolf slammed into Lincoln with enough force to knock him across the room and push Angeline to the floor.

  Lincoln shook off the momentary surprise and saw the brindle-colored wolf crouch over Angeline with his teeth bared, growling a challenge.

  “Damien,” Lincoln said, knowing the wolf could understand him. “You’re a Dogman. We don’t hurt innocents.”

  The wolf’s growl got louder.

  “You’re making it hard for me to believe that you don’t want to hurt her.” Lincoln slowly and carefully rose on his hands and knees. “Back away from her.”

  Mouth open, Damien swung his muzzle toward Angeline.

  Lincoln sprang forward, shifting into his wolf at the same time Angeline thrust her knees into Damien’s ribs. As Damien fell back from her self-defense move, Lincoln knocked him clear.

  Both wolves hit the floor and skidded into the wall as a tangled heap. Uninterested in a parlay of bites and scratches to gain dominance, Lincoln immediately lunged for Damien’s neck.

  His mouth filled with fur, but before Lincoln clamped down on the young Dogman’s throat, Damien wrangled free.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Marquez?” Lincoln positioned himself between Damien and Angeline.

  “I’m finally seeing things clearly,” he snarled. “I would’ve followed you anywhere. Hell, I did follow you and lost half of my face.”

  “You’re angry at me because you disobeyed my order and got disfigured in the process?”

  “I would’ve worn this scar like a badge.” The wolf shook his twisted muzzle. “You and me? We could’ve worked together. Lots of packs would’ve taken us on contract. Hell, the one in Miami already made an offer. Do you know how much money we could’ve made? The fun we could’ve had?”

  “You kidnapped the woman I want to claim as my mate because you wanted us to be business partners?” Primal rage rustled in the deep, dark, dangerous recesses of Lincoln’s being. But he needed to rely on his training to resolve the current conflict without unleashing the primitive beast within.

  “I looked up to you,” Damien snarled. “Hell, I was happy that the Program put you back on active duty status. And then you said you were giving it all up for her.” Damien glared at Lincoln. “Traitor!”

  Lincoln anticipated Damien’s launch toward Angeline and intercepted. Both wolves crashed to the ground in a frenzy of gnashing teeth and slicing claws.

  * * *

  Never did Angeline imagine in all the times her brothers had tied her up when they were kids that the experience would one day come in handy.

  Though her hands and feet were still bound, they were no longer tied to each other. Which meant she could wiggle around, working her hands below her feet and...voilà, her hands were now in front of her.

  She sat up, saw the pocketknife Lincoln had dropped and scooted close enough to pick it up.

  Angeline’s bound hands made it awkward to use the knife to saw through the silver zip ties. Lincoln had cut through the first restraints effortlessly. Then again, his hands hadn’t been tied together.

  Lincoln’s and Damien’s growls were no longer warnings. She glanced up as they collided in the air, their bodies tangling as teeth gnashed and claws slashed with deadly intent.

  Crashing to the floor, the wolves wasted no time scrambling to their feet. Lincoln continued to block Damien’s advances. The problem was that once Angeline freed herself, she’d have nowhere to go because Damien was closest to the door.

  She might’ve caught him unawares with a knee to the belly once, but doubted he’d give her a chance to do it again. Continuing to awkwardly saw at her restraints helped to keep her focused on not freaking out. Although she had no idea what to do once her arms and legs were free because the wire to the collar around her neck was connected to a freaking bomb.

  Lincoln will figure it out, she told herself.

  A blood-curdling howl of pain caused her to drop the knife. She jerked in the direction of the fight.

  Missing part of an ear, Damien bled from a gaping shoulder wound and multiple bites and scratches. Lincoln had several deep scratches and two really bad bites, but still had both of his ears.

  Neither wolf moved. Perhaps a temporary truce?

  Angeline fumbled for the pocketknife and continued to work the blade through her wrist bindings.

  Someone barked. Startled, Angeline jerked and the knife sliced across the back of her hand. She clamped down on the cry of pain before it passed her lips, afraid any noise from her would distract Lincoln, who was actively engaged with Damien again.

  She forced her attention from the wolves ripping into each other with their teeth to her own wound. The cut bled freely, but when she wiped her hand against her shirt to clean away the blood, the wound looked shallow and had already started clotting. Holding her hands in front of her face, Angeline studied the marks on the zip ties. Her attempts had barely scratched through the silver coating.

  If she couldn’t get the bindings off, it would do no good to go wolf. Silver morphed in tandem with the shifter’s body, which meant she’d still be bound in her wolf form.

  Clearly, she understood why some animals chewed off a limb when caught in a trap. Sometimes it was the only alternative. However, she had not reached that point of desperation. Yet.

  Picking up the knife, she wedged the handle between her teeth with the sharp edge of the blade safely protruding beyond her lips. Then she positioned her wrists on either side of the blade, pulling downward on the tie as she sawed backed and forth until the binding broke.

  Yes!

  She glanced at the wolves. Blood and spittle matted their coats, puddled on the floor and smeared along the walls.

  Oh, God!

  They would both bleed to death unless they stopped fighting soon.

  Hands now free, Angeline feverishly attacked the binding around her ankles with the knife until they broke. She stretched her legs and wiggled her toes, trying to rush the feeling back into her feet.

  In her peripheral vision, she saw a flicker of movement and looked up to see Lincoln’s hind paw slide into a puddle of blood, causing him to lose his balance. Damien pounced, biting and swiping at Lincoln until he went down.

  “Get the hell away from him!” she screamed.

  Damien swung his muzzle around and his cold, dark, deadly gaze targeted her. She sensed the threat of attack before one muscle flexed to propel him in her direction.

  Instinctively, she flipped the knife so that the handle pointed upward when she raised her hand, then threw it, just like her father had taught her to do.

  The knife sailed toward Damien. The rotation could’ve been better but the weapon struck the target and stuck. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop him. But it did make him angry.

  Angeline’s instinct scr
eamed for her to shift.

  Lincoln’s wolf rose up behind Damien and slammed him to the ground. The force of the landing caused them to slide straight toward her.

  There was no time to get out of the way. Upon impact, she flew in one direction, the two wolves in another.

  Shaking off the daze from the hard landing, Angeline lifted her gaze. The silver wire dangling from the collar around her neck was no longer tethered to the explosive device.

  “Run!” she screamed at Lincoln, who had Damien by the throat in a kill strike.

  She shifted. Darting out of the room, she raced down the corridor, leaped over the broken glass on the foyer floor, bounded across the broken doors at the entryway, skidded across the porch, sailed over the steps and kept running.

  Lincoln shadowed her, barking nonstop. Urging her to run faster.

  Dammit! She was trying.

  At one time, the meandering, oak-lined driveway might’ve been a delight, but covered in melting snow and petrified acorns, it was a bitch to run.

  The first glimpse of the dirt road beyond the property gave her the adrenaline boost she needed. Her speed increased, and Lincoln kept pace.

  They were going to make it. Surely they would.

  Lincoln suddenly slammed into her. She landed in the deep ditch alongside the road with him on top of her.

  The tremble in the cold, wet ground beneath them grew into a seismic force. Only then did she hear the percussive force of the house exploding along with the shatter of glass, the whoosh of debris sailing past and the thud when it dropped to the ground. It was over in seconds, but it felt like an eternity.

  When all fell quiet, she felt the buzz of shift energy as Lincoln returned to his human form, naked and without his prosthetic. He eased his weight from her body.

  “Baby, are you all right?” Uncertainty sharpened his voice as he removed the silver collar around her neck.

  Angeline shifted. “I’m okay.”