Authors: Janet MacDonald
As beautiful and
rare as the sight was, they couldn’t have real wolves there. They had a
tendency to go after the pack’s livestock or mate with his pack. In their wolf
forms a female in heat was irresistible to a male and vice versa. It didn’t
matter then if it was werewolf or wolf. The offspring of such a union never
survived, being born too deformed to live more than a few hours. A tragic end
to the coupling, and it was not one Dante wanted for anyone in his pack.
It was his duty
to ensure the pack’s viability, which meant he had to kill the graceful-looking
creature. With a heavy heart, he raised his rifle and took aim, making sure his
sights were centered on the animal’s head. He didn’t want it to suffer.
Preparing to squeeze the trigger, he heard a branch crack from where Memphis
was. The animal didn’t even look up, it just bolted for the back where a small
cave-in had left a hole just big enough for her small frame to get out. Not
daring to fire and only injure it, he stopped his finger from moving.
All Dante
afforded his young cohort was a hard glare as he bolted back out the way he’d
come in. It was just in time to see the fleeting form of ghostly white racing
down the path. They both took off after her, making for their horses and then giving
chase. Memphis had his rifle in one hand and held the reins in the other, as
did Dante. The chase led them toward the old overgrown field just before the
bay. Dante’s horse was ahead of the other man’s, and he saw the wolf come into
sight as they broke through the small trees, then heard the rifle blast from
behind him.
A tuft of white
fur flew through the air, and the animal ran in a more zigzag motion before
leaping over a fallen tree. It went over the bank, nevertheless. They could
still easily see it from their vantage point atop their mounts. The animal wasn’t
acting like an animal anymore. Its evasive measures, and the fact it made a run
for the bay, told him it was a werewolf. Pulling hard on his reins to bring his
horse to a stop, he knew they had scared her enough she would never come back.
Before he got a chance to order Memphis not to fire again, the little female
made a leap toward the water. The evening air exploded with the discharge from the
rifle. An agonizing yelp told him his young pack member had hit her.
He steered his
horse down the embankment, then urged it into the small swells of the waves.
His stallion plowed through the salt water until it was up to its breast. Dante
saw the white furred shape beginning to go under, struggling to stay above the
surf, and he moved his mount toward the floundering interloper. The sea foam
from the bay was turning a strange pink color from where Memphis had shot her.
He truly hoped it wasn’t a wound that would prove fatal.
He reached down
and grabbed the fur on the back of her neck and hauled the limp form out and
across his stallion’s back. In a matter of only a few moments there lay a
wounded, naked young woman in front of him. Her backside faced him, and he
could easily see the bleeding wound in her hip. The bullet had exited near the
center of her back. To him it looked as if it could have been a fatal shot. He
reached down to her throat to feel for a pulse and was relieved to find one.
Chapter Two
The smells of
smoke assaulted her senses, and Anya tried to focus on it. Slowly she opened
her eyes, blinking a little. In the soft glow of candlelight, she saw she was
covered in a handmade quilt, lying on a very itchy, lumpy mattress without a
pillow. The last thing she remembered was breathing in salt water, then nothing
else. Her mind tried to sort through the events, but it was all muddled. She’d
snuck off from her pack, but where had she gone?
Looking around,
tension filled her. She had no idea where she was. The rough log walls to the
left of her where the bed sat lengthwise to it were bare of even a window. Anya
turned to her right and saw a small side table. It looked handmade, the
unrefined cuts visible in the wood. On that sat three fat oddly formed candles,
and the smoke coming off them reminded her of burning beef fat.
A door was only
ten feet away from where her bed sat. It too looked to be made from rough
timber planks. It had a wooden latch-style handle, and it looked very much like
something from a different time period. There was nothing else in the room,
except for the dusty cobwebs that adorned the corners. The walls, floor and
ceiling were reminiscent of some sort of hand-built tiny cabin. Anya knew one
thing for sure. This was not her home, and the smell of a man she didn’t
recognize was all about the room.
As she attempted
to move, fear washed over her. She couldn’t feel her legs. The memories slammed
into her then. She’d snuck across the bay, had entered enemy territory and had
been hunted down. They’d shot her and now she had no doubt she was a prisoner
of the Temple Island pack.
The bullet must
have injured her back, but it would heal. As a werewolf, she healed from some
pretty amazing injuries. However, she doubted the enemy would allow her to live
long enough for that to happen. If she was anywhere else, within a week she’d
be back on her feet, but there, she doubted she’d live more than a day. Panic
slowly seeped into her at the direness of the situation.
The sounds of
heavy boots on wooden steps filtered into the tiny room, driving the feeling of
dread higher in her. The sound stopped for a moment, then she heard something
being unlocked and the rattling of a chain. Slowly the door creaked open. The
small amount of light from the candles illuminated the imposing figure in the
doorway, and her heart caught in her throat. As the enormous man stepped
inside, she saw his eyes were a near golden -yellow.
His face was
hard chiseled lines, his lips pressed together tightly as he glared at her. The
dark complexion of his skin reminded her of a deep bronze suntan. He was rather
tall and wide, and it added to the menace she felt as he took a step inside and
closed the door. He tilted his head and eyed her. It didn’t help the feeling of
fear she was becoming overwhelmed with.
“Silverback,” he
said with a snarl.
Too afraid, Anya
said nothing as he glared at her. His temple pulsed where a long scar ran along
his black hair. The pounding in her chest hurt. She knew instinctively this was
the Temple Island pack’s alpha, and the hairs on the nape of her neck stood on
end.
“What is your
name?” he demanded. Anya did not answer. She simply stared at him. Her own fear
had taken her voice.
He moved closer,
standing right beside the bed, looming over her. His large muscles strained
against his denim-clad legs and his burly chest heaved slightly as he sniffed
the air. Anya swallowed. She just now realized how thirsty she was.
“Tell me your
name, Silverback,” he said with a growl. This time his words echoed in the
small room.
“Anya,” she
whispered hoarsely. She hadn’t meant for it sound so meek, it was never good to
show fear to an enemy.
He raised an
eyebrow, a look of keen interest showing on his face. She knew she’d made a
mistake telling him her name as an almost evil smile crossed his lips.
“The alpha’s
baby sister. Well, well, it looks as if you just made yourself into an
invaluable guest.” He eyed her face, the look changing from a hard glare to
something Anya couldn’t quite fathom.
“I’ll send for
some food and water,” he said still smiling. “Then you and I are going to have
a nice long talk.”
Tears welled in
her eyes after he turned and walked out the door. She heard the chain again and
a lock sliding into place. There was no doubt if her brother found out she’d
disobeyed him, he would be furious. But right now there was a bigger problem to
worry about. This was not the outcome she’d wanted on this excursion. Having
always been the sneakiest wolf within her pack, she’d never thought she would
get caught. But after finding the pool she’d become so absorbed in all the
tales she’d heard, her mind had been distracted it had left her vulnerable.
When she’d left her
small village that morning, she’d lied to Mitch, saying she was going hunting.
Being nearly fifteen years younger than her brother had made her life a lot
harder than it had for most. Mitch had been left to care for both her and her
twin, Alex, when their mother had passed away ten years ago. He acted at times
more like a father, a very overprotective one at that. She’d never known her
dad. Mitch was the one who had enacted that role.
Mitch had warned
her not to go out hunting alone. He knew she was a bit too curious for her own
good. That inquisitiveness had led her to the island, to see if the tales of an
ancient temple to the Wolf Lord were genuine. She’d heard the stories all her
life. It was supposed to be the birth place to their kind. It was rumored if
you drink from the water that lay still in the center of the altar of the
temple you would find your true mate. Silly old tales, but ones she’d very much
hoped were real.
That was the
reason she’d taken her brother’s small boat out there to the island across the
bay. This was a forbidden place for her people as it was also enemy territory.
However, she didn’t care. At twenty-one years old, Anya still had not found a
mate. Her alpha brother had tried to introduce her to a couple available
werewolves who he approved of. Nevertheless, she wasn’t attracted to any of
them. To young, too old or too arrogant, none seeing her as an equal only as a
possession they craved to acquire. She would have none of it.
Anya longed for
a mate. Her insides went cold when she saw others who had found theirs, and she
was jealous. Mitch would never understand. He had Kari, and they were soon
expecting their fifth child. Still living in the family house with her brother,
Kari and the kids, it only added to Anya’s loneliness. Coming there she’d hoped
to drink the water in the ancient temple, and hoped beyond all hope that the
legends were true.
* * * *
The attractive
young woman lying in the bed had stared at him with fearful eyes. He’d smelled
how scared she’d been as it lay heavy in the room. He needed her scared, needed
her to think the worst. It would make getting the answers he needed easier. As alpha,
he would do whatever it took to protect his pack, including killing interlopers.
However, he really had no intentions of killing the lovely young woman. He
would have let her escape had it not been for Memphis shooting her.
Dante walked to
his brother’s cabin, his mind filled by the image of his helpless captive. The
enemy’s little sister made one hell of a mistake coming there. Surely to god,
she’d known the consequence if she were to get caught, he thought. She’d
forfeited her rights to be protected by the laws set out that all werewolves obeyed
just by trespassing on another pack’s territory.
As he stepped up
to his brother’s home, he had to wonder why she would do such a foolhardy
thing. Dante knocked on the door, and it was answered almost immediately,
bringing his attention to the woman in front of him. His sister-in-law, Beth,
stood there practically filling the doorway,
“I knew you’d be
by,” she told him with a smirk.
“I need you to
bring food, water and clean clothes to the prisoner. She may need some help
getting cleaned up, and could you also recheck her wounds.”
“Just give me a
few minutes to find something she can put on,” she said and gestured for him to
come in.
“Oh, I’m not staying.
I need to do a few things before I go back to talk with the girl. Come get me
as soon as you’re done,” he said. “Here is the key to the padlock.” Dante
passed it to her, and Beth gave him an odd look as she took it. He knew that expression
all too well and hoped his interest in their guest hadn’t been that noticeable.
Dante left and
headed to his cabin. He had a strange urge to bathe and put better clothes on.
A smile slid over his lips as he walked into his place. He wondered if her mate
would be upset if he stole her for himself. He had little doubt her brother
would be in an uproar if he took her, but that didn’t bother Dante. After what
the Silverbacks had done to his family, any revenge would be only a small
compensation. There would be nothing her mate or brother could do, she now belonged
to him, and he had every right to do as he saw fit with his prisoner.
While he heated
a pot of water on the wood stove, Dante rummaged in his closet for something to
wear and then he changed his mind. Why the hell did he need to impress the enemy?
Nonetheless, he did wash up and even shaved. He had needed to do that anyway,
and he told himself it wasn’t because of the girl. His mind kept drifting back
to her, though. She was so very attractive with her long, blonde hair, piercing
blue eyes and slender frame. He hadn’t caught the smell of her mate about her,
but if she swam there, that scent would have been washed away.
As he splashed
some spicy-smelling cologne onto his face, he heard the soft knock at his door.
“Come on in,” he
yelled while he exited his small bedroom.
As Beth stepped
inside, her brown-eyed gaze darted over his home, and she scowled. He knew she
would be back tomorrow to clean it up. The woman hated a mess, and Dante wasn’t
much for keeping his place tidy.
“We have a
little problem,” Beth said.
“What kind of problem?”
he asked, trying to pull her attention away from the small mountain of laundry
he’d told himself earlier he was going to wash.
“The girl can’t
move her legs.”
He stared at her
for a moment. The bullet had entered her upper hip and exited near the middle
of her back, but he hadn’t thought about it paralyzing her.
“Is she in
pain?” he asked. It struck him as a little odd. She hadn’t shown him any signs
of it when he’d been in there.
“No, she can’t
feel anything from her waist down. I imagine she’ll be fine within the week.”
“Is she cleaned
up and dressed?” he asked. She would heal, but still it bothered him that
Memphis had injured her so badly.
“Yes. What do
you plan to do with her?” Beth asked as she stood there eyeing him.
His sister-in-law
was an imposing woman, standing nearly six feet tall. Her long, black hair was
kept back in a braid. Her rounding tummy was full of life, and it had only made
her harder to deal with. Strong-willed and obstinate, she could bring most men
to their knees with her sharp tongue and dominate stature. She stood there with
her hand on her hip. She cast a suspicious look at him. Her gaze held his,
nearly demanding him to tell her.
“I’m not sure
yet, but whatever it is, it’s none of your concern, Beth. She’s an enemy,” he
stated sternly.
Dante knew what
he wanted to do, although he seriously doubted Anya would be willing, and he
couldn’t do that to a woman.
“Well, you
should know then she’s not mated.” Dante nearly groaned out loud. Beth already
had an idea of his intentions, and by her tone, she wasn’t pleased.
“How do you know
that?” he asked.
“I asked her.”
“Oh.” Dante
never thought about asking the girl if she had a mate. He’d just assumed she
had one.
“Now I need to
get home to get my bread rising for the morning. I’ll be over after lunch to
clean this up,” she said with a light snort and turned and left him standing
there.
When he had
learned that Anya had no mate, it did strange things to Dante’s insides. The
feeling left him perplexed, just as much as why the hell she would come there.
An unmated werewolf female of his enemy’s pack had practically delivered
herself right to him. He forced the smile off his face as he left his cabin and
made for the tiny shack they held the girl in. She was definitely a prize and
one he needed to use very carefully to get the full benefits. If he were a
vengeful man, he would have killed her, but he couldn’t do that. Mating her
would be a more fitting revenge after what her family had done.
To mate her all
he had to do was to bed her. It was just that simple. Wolves would stay
together for life unless their mate was stolen or killed. Although, unmated
werewolves still could have sex with humans, there was no connection that
formed between them. It was only created when two werewolves mated. Dante
himself at one time had a small string of human female lovers in his youth
before he’d been mated.