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“Let me go.” I pour all of my wolf’s calming energy into trying to convince the feral to stop this. “You don’t have to do this. Let me go. Please.”
In response, the feral reaches down, grabbing his dick by the base. He pumps it once, twice, then shakes his head.
“Nothing doing. You think I’d do that after all these weeks of watching that pack wolf sniff around my den? Pissing on my territory, marking it for himself… I knew he was hiding something in here. I just never expected to find a fresh female waiting for me. He left you, little wolf. He left you for me.”
He didn’t.
He wouldn’t.
Too bad that doesn’t change the reality of my situation.
He’s moving toward me, treating me like skittish prey. I’m sure that’s how I look, trembling in place as he continues to stroke himself. One wrong move and he’ll be on me…
…so I’m just going to have to make sure the move I make isn’t the wrong one.
Okay. I can’t bolt for the door, but maybe I can hide somewhere else. In the cabin, there’s a bathroom, a kitchen, this front room, and the room that I’ve made mine. Scared out of my Luna damned mind, my wolf seeks safety.
I run to my territory because, in my panic, it seems like the safest spot for me. Maybe I can smash the window and escape through it or… or…
I don’t know. I don’t know what to do, and I flee because it’s the only thing that makes sense as the feral licks his lips and breaks for me.
He’s quick. I pray to the Luna I’m just a little bit quicker.
Speed’s the only thing I have on my side. I’m not like the other females in my pack. I’m not defiant like Quinn, or quietly strong like Sofia. I’ve seen Marcia challenge Tucker when he was getting on her nerves. She wiped the floor with him, and Tucker was ribbed for weeks over how easily Marcia’s tiny brindled wolf kicked the much larger white wolf’s ass.
And then there’s me. The pack princess, there was no reason for me to learn how to defend myself. I have the same instincts all she-wolves do, but no idea how to use any of them. That’s why I was raised to believe that I’d need a dominant male to protect me.
But I told the one wolf who would to go away because he—rightly—called me out for giving him false hope. Once again, prim, perfect Helene screwed everything up, and now I’m going to pay for it.
I bolt. He follows. Letting out a whoop, I realize that I messed up again. Male shifters love the chase. If he wasn’t already planning on taking me before, he will now.
He’s on me within seconds. Just as I cross the threshold to the bedroom, he grabs me by my waist, tossing me to the floor. My knees hit first, then my belly, then my chin. It’s like I bounced before I slammed back on the hard wood. It rattles my head, jostling my teeth, but the pain is nothing compared to the fear racing through me.
It gets even worse when he launches himself at me. Covering my body with his, he uses his claw to rip through my dress, jabbing me in the side, yanking me up so that I’m on all fours beneath him.
No doubt in my mind what he intends to do with me. In this position, he’s going to use that monstrous cock to rip me apart. And when he’s done? He might decide to use his claws next.
Unless I shift first.
Despite shifters having two distinct forms, when it comes to mating, it’s only ever done in our skin. That’s just how it’s always been done. Our wolves hunt, while our human halves fuck. If I shift to my wolf, he can attack me all he wants, but at least he won’t force me to mate him.
He knows what I’m going to do. From the way I hold myself stiff for a moment, ready to shift, he can sense it change a split second before I can go through with it.
His laugh is closer to a bark. Rusty,unused, it skitters down my spine like nails on the chalkboard as he rears back, resting on his heels. Releasing me, he lays his massive paw on the middle of my back before trailing it all the way down the curve of my ass.
The instant he laid his paw on me, I froze. My she-wolf quails, tail between her legs, whining as the feral’s darkness is a bigger threat to her than his oversized body is to me. His broken mind is terrorizing my wolf, making it hard for me to tap into her and give her control.
And then he speaks, and I realize it’s pointless to even try.
“Go right ahead,” he rasps. “You think going fur will stop me and my beast? I’m more animal now than you’ll ever be. Wolves rut. Humans rut. I’ll take you no matter what shape you are.”
No.
I’d rather die than let this feral touch me like that. I’ve heard too many horror stories in the pack circle about broken male shifters who see a female andtake. They’ll mount her, breed her,rutlike a wild beast if that’s what their wolf wants. When they finish, some ferals leave the female as twisted as they are. She-wolves are killed during the mating, or slaughtered when he’s finished. Riding high on lust, they go for blood.
Ferals are worse than rogue vampires. With a vamp, at least I know I’m dealing with an enemy. The feral is enoughwolfto leave my wolf confused, trying to figure out why a fellow predator is treating her like the most enticing of prey.
If I thought letting him mate me would save me, I would let him. Shifters are built to survive, but this brute isn’t anything like Quinn’s feral. I’m meat to him. Flesh. I won’t survive whatever he has planned for me, which means I have nothing to lose when I lash out with my heel.
