Page 6 of Escaping Monsters

Chapter Two

A tear slipped onto my cheek. I couldn’t help it. Blood soaked my vision, and the image of claws and teeth ripping apart flesh flashed through my mind. The fire that raged in my heart when I was on the run sputtered, ready to go dormant for another immeasurable stretch of time. Kane was getting better at controlling me. With this more recent capture, it had been three whole years before I found a way to escape.

“Fuck off, Clive. This werewolf said she wasn’t interested in your mothball vampire fuck club,” a low voice growled from beside me. The werewolf leaned between me and the vampire.

“How good to see you, Jasper,” Clive said over his drink with a lascivious smile. “Just for full transparency, sex is not included in the amenities at the Sanguine Inn, but many of our staff will throw it in at no extra charge. Can I buy a round for the pack? Do you serve drinks with dog food in it, bartender?”

“You can fuck off, Clive,” the werewolf named Jasper growled. His wrist was thick. Even through his leather jacket, I could see that this werewolf was ripped—not that he needed to be to control me. I was an omega. Any fucking wolf could control me. It was why Kane hunted, stalked, and turned me into a werewolf in the first place.

“I’ll catch you all later then.” Clive smiled serenely, turned with a flourish of his hand, and walked away, and I wanted to call after him. Sure, I’d feed him my blood in exchange for a place to stay. I’d give him more than my blood if only he’d help me escape this werewolf, Jasper, and his two werewolf cronies. What was a few pints of blood and one fuck to avoid years of Kane? Nothing.

“Fucking bloodsuckers,” a low, male voice said from behind me. “Hey, are you okay?”

He was talking to me. It probably seemed like I was in shock. My whole body was shaking, and I fucking hated it, but I couldn’t stop either. Any second now, they would dominate me and take me to wherever they’d arranged to meet Kane. My abductions always followed the same script.

Gritting my teeth, I lifted my pint glass and slammed the side down on the counter. Broken shards of glass flew in all directions and cut into my palm, but I pushed the pain down and brought the glass up to Jasper’s throat.

His neck was as muscular as his arm, and I refused to look up into his face as I held the broken glass shard to his Adam’s apple.

“Let’s just all pretend this didn’t happen, okay?” I said as I pressed the broken glass into his skin, making a drop of blood leak down the shiny glass.

Jasper’s hand came down and wrapped around the edge of my barstool as if the werewolf didn’t even notice the broken glass I was cutting into his throat.

“Look into my eyes,” he rumbled, his voice low and resonant.

The order pressed down on me, and my gaze tried to force its way up.

“Fuck you,” I ground out.

The alpha—he had to be an alpha, grabbed my wrist and pushed the broken shard of glass away from his throat.

Why the fuck didn’t I just stab him when I had the chance?

Tears coursed down my cheeks, and I hated myself for every single drop of saltwater I lost for these worthless assholes who controlled my life, but there it was.

“Look into my eyes, wolf,” he said, and the order pressed down on me like a vice. My gaze slid up, and I saw blue eyes, dark hair, a broken nose, and a split lip.

When any werewolf gave me a direct order, my omega magic gave them a powerful high. My old alpha had described it as the feeling of becoming truly invincible for a few precious minutes.

As soon as Jasper ordered me to look into his eyes, my power surged into him, creating a link between us, and his emotions flowed straight back into me. This alpha emitted the familiar soaring, weightless and heady feeling from my omega magic, but beneath it, was a nearly painful yearning. He wanted me so much that he ached, and that strange desire troubled him.

It troubled me too. Nothing good ever came of an alpha desiring me.

“You’ve hurt yourself,” Jasper said. “Drop the glass, so Lucas can look at your wound.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I whispered, but my numb fingers obeyed his order. They didn’t have a choice. There was a tinkling as my glass collided with the bar floor, and then the alpha kicked the broken shards away with his boot.

“Put that glass on the pack’s tab,” the werewolf beside Jasper said with a wink at the bartender. He didn’t look anything like the alpha. He had to be almost seven feet tall and built like a quarterback. Tattoos peeked out from his collar and around his wrists. A giant cross decorated one side of his neck. He looked the age most people assumed I was, around twenty-five or so, which could mean anything with a werewolf. His hair was dark and buzzed short, and he wore a thick canvas jacket and his jeans were worn and embedded with dirt in the knees. His steel-toed suede boots had seen the kind of use you only earned with hard labor.

“If you mean that I’m going to pay for that glass out of my tips, then I already know that, Asshole,” the sexy-nerdy bartender growled, but it was in a tone you’d use to growl at your brother. Then his words sunk in.

Had I—actually—strolled up and asked a werewolf bartender for a job? I almost deserved to be caught—not that anyone deserved the hell that I would soon endure. But I had never failed so abysmally before. This town had fucked my senses sideways. It was a trap set by that cruel bitch fate, and I had walked straight into it.

“I would be Lucas,” the third werewolf surrounding me said in a calm, soothing voice. Lucas looked several years older than my real age. His hair had patches of gray around the temples, and his beard was salt and pepper. His face looked early-forties. Laugh lines were permanently etched on his cheeks, but he wasn’t smiling now. “Mind if I take a look at your hand?”

When I didn’t move, the alpha growled, “Show Lucas your wound, wolf. We’re not going to let you bleed out here in a filthy bar.”

“It’s only filthy when Chad is singing,” Sexy-Nerdy said as he leaned his forearms onto the bar. “Show Lucas your wrists. He’s a vet.”