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Chapter One
“Fuck,” Mal growled as they slammed him against the stone wall, making every shredded muscle and broken bone throb with pain. His wolf paced, wanting to fight—to make Mal fight. But now, in human form, it wouldn’t be much of one.
“You look like shit, Mal,” Dickhead was laughing.
“Yeah, get some sleep man,” Numb Nuts added.
“Can’t. Got a date.” He spit the blood from his mouth.
“Date?” Dickhead glared.
“You think you’re funny?” Numb Nuts asked, sighing.
“Depends. Is it your sister or your mate that’s bringing me dinner? Didn’t notice it takes her a while?” He smiled at Numb Nuts.
“Shut the fuck up.” Numb Nuts slammed his fist into his face.
Mal shook his head, still smiling, ignoring the pop of cartilage. His nose was broken. Again. Not that it mattered. The blade buried in his shoulder was the problem. He needed to dig it out. The silver was already weakening him. But, damn, he couldn’t resist taunting the stupid sons of bitches when he had the chance. His wolf needed it, too. They wanted to break him. But they needed to know that was never going to happen.
“Leave him.” Dickhead pushed Numb Nuts back.
Mal kept on grinning, knowing that baited the other more than anything. “You wouldn’t want to upset the man in charge.” Mal nodded, even though the motion radiated pain down his spine until he saw stars.
Numb Nuts was growling, his pupils dilated, his jaw locked. He shook off the hands Dickhead placed on his arm, fastened the thick silver collar around Mal’s neck, and stormed out of the cell. Dickhead followed, pulling the cage door shut behind him. “Have fun digging that out,” he said.
Mal flipped him off, still grinning.
He waited until the fluorescent lights cut off, glaring at the single bulb in the corner. He’d almost rather it was dark. His wolf could see better in total darkness. And that’s why Cyrus and his pack of wannabe badasses kept the light on. Anything to get under his skin, anything to weaken his resolve, or make his loyalty to Finn and his pack waver.
“Fucker,” he mumbled, shoving thoughts of Finn and the others aside. He didn’t want to be loyal to them, not anymore. They’d left him for dead, left him with the enemy—made every day since a pain-filled torture-fest courtesy of Cyrus’s sick-as-fuck wolves. But one of the joys of being a werewolf: no choices. A pack was a pack, and Finn was his Alpha. Even if Mal wanted to rip his throat out and challenge that right.
The faint burn of the silver collar around his neck was nothing compared to the fire in his shoulder. The blade had to come out, now. He probed the wound along the ball of the joint, sucked in a deep breath, gritted his jaw, and slid his forefinger and thumb into the severed muscle. The blade had slid deep before they’d broken it off. Now the jagged edge sliced through his fingertips, making it harder to grip the metal and almost impossible to hold.
It helped to imagine sliding the blade into one of the Others. It didn’t matter which. But if he could pick, it’d be their motherfucking Alpha, Cyrus. Not his chest. No way that asshole had a heart. Maybe his neck. Or his eye. His eyes were soulless—evil. They haunted Mal when he was sleeping. His eye would be good.
He dropped the blade on the floor and sagged against the stone wall, swallowing back the bile that choked him.
The stairwell lights flipped on then, bright and relentless after Mal had lived in the gloom so long. He had no idea how long he’d been here, only that he had to get out or he’d lose his mind. Mal braced himself, trying not to react. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
There had to be cameras here, somewhere. They’d be watching him. And now that the silver was out, they’d want to do something else to keep him weak. His gaze wandered around the small room. No sign of any wires or camera, just the damn light in the corner. One room, two large cages. He occupied one. The other had housed four different occupants so far, but none had stayed for long. He was the special one. When they killed him, and he knew they all wanted to, it wasn’t going to be quick and easy. He’d wish he’d bled out hanging upside down in that damn tree—wish the Others had left him there to burn up. Instead, his pack, his brothers, had left him behind. With the enemy.
“Stop kicking,” a voice echoed. “Now, dammit.”
Mal heard another voice, a woman’s voice—garbled and desperate.
He sighed, resting his head. Looks like he had a new roommate. Sucks to be them.
The Big Guy, a wall of a man with a piss-poor attitude and brick punch, appeared. A woman hung under his arm, kicking and flailing and trying her best to scream past the rag shoved in her mouth.
The Big Guy kicked open the stall next to Mal, tossed the woman in, and slammed it shut.
The woman lay there, no doubt stunned from the impact. She was human, he and his wolf could tell that much. A woman that smelled good. Clean.
She tugged the rag from her mouth. “Jerk!”
The Big Guy snorted and headed back up the stairs.
Mal laughed then. Jerk? She had no idea what the hell was about to happen to her. Unlike the other four… Three. One had been a plant—an attempt to stir some sort of inner hero-complex. It had almost worked. He closed his eyes, shutting out everything else. Healing was all the mattered. The silver was out, but the goddamn collar would still slow things down. And he didn’t know how much time he had until they came back for him. He had to get his shit together before then.
The lights flipped off, the door shut, and there was silence.
“Hello?” she asked.
He didn’t say a thing.
“I saw you, so I know you’re there.” She sat up, hi
ssing and covering her leg with both hands.
He glanced her way, the waver of her breath and unsteady beat of her heart too real to be a ploy. She was in pain. And scared. And not his problem.
“No chance you’re a doctor?” she asked.
He was no doctor. He shut his eyes again, but his wolf… His wolf refused to shut her out. Dammit.
“My leg’s bleeding.” She tried to move and cried out, the sound echoing off the walls. “Bad.”
His wolf paced, wanting him to do something. He ignored the wolf and the girl, his only focus on healing his nose. Then the gouge in his shoulder. The muscles along his side had been pummeled repeatedly, bruising the tissue fibers and crushing the nerve endings. It would be easier if he could change—his wolf form would heal quickly—and come back stronger. But if he could shift, he wouldn’t be here, stuck in a cage. It wasn’t the cage or the chain holding him, it was the silver. If he could be silver-free, he could get out. His wolf was too strong to be held. And Cyrus knew as much.
“Fine. Okay. I’m bleeding, and I have no idea where I am.” Her voice dropped, the words spilling out of her like a stream of consciousness. She slid into the light, her breathing accelerating. She sagged against the bars, sucking air deep into her lungs before lifting her hands off her leg. “This is bad.” Panic edged her voice. “Too much blood.”
The wolf prodded him until he gave up. His eyes popped open, assessing the woman. The effect she had on his wolf was too potent. Maybe he’d been in the dark too long, away from women and life and soap… But her scent grabbed him and his wolf by the throat and shook his senses awake. It had been a long time since he’d felt something other than fury or pain. Too long. She didn’t fit here, didn’t belong. The others had an air of futility about them, a loss of fight or hope. But she wasn’t broken yet, even if she was bleeding out all over the floor. Even with a bruised face, she was something to look at.
He sniffed, the scent of her blood flooding him. “Your thigh?” he asked.
She jumped, sniffing, pressing her hand over her thigh then hissing. “Y-yes.”
A tourniquet. She needed something to stop the bleeding. Soon. “Are you wearing a belt?” he asked.
“What?” She blinked, trying to see him.
