Page 36 of Possessive Mate

“Fuck!” he growled through gritted teeth, trying to move only to realize that he had taken Elena’s place. Chained with his back to the pillar, the chains wrapped tightly around his chest as if they believed him much more of a threat than she had ever been, he found himself alone in the barn.

His only comfort was her scent and the knowledge that she had escaped with her brother. He hoped. He had to hold onto that hope, for it was all he had left now. He was naked as the day he was born, his clothing torn to shreds when he had shifted behind the barn.

He couldn’t leave it like this. He couldn’t stay here and wait for death. The scent of Elena reminded him of that more than anything. He needed to get back to her, if only to tell her how he truly felt.

He struggled and fought and struggled some more, feeling the silver burn so deeply into his wrists and chest that it started to bury itself in him.

“You know, if you continue like that, it’ll eventually cut itself all the way in and then you’ll never get it back out,” a voice said from the doorway that Hanson hadn’t even heard opening in his eagerness to get away.

“Fuck you!” Hanson snarled back at him, spitting on the floor at Christopher’s feet as he entered.

“Is that any way to treat your host?” Christopher scoffed, kicking dirt over Hanson’s spit.

“If this is how you treat guests, I’d hate to see how you treat hostages!” Hanson spat back at him, snarling with bared teeth. “If you think these chains are going to keep me down for long, you’re wrong!”

His muscles bulged as his wolf started to rise to the surface. The sheer fury he felt at seeing the face of the man who had caused so much trouble to his pack, and so much pain to Elena, made him want to tear himself free, no matter the cost to himself, just to get to him. He would rip his damn throat out if he managed to get his hands on him, no matter how weak he was.

“You’re almost as feisty as that little blonde bitch we had in here this morning,” Christopher laughed haughtily. “Shame we caught her on her way into the woods.”

For just a second, Hanson almost believed him, but he wasn’t some civilian to be manipulated that easily. He knew how to look for tics. And Christopher had a huge one. He lifted his hand to tug on his earlobe as if he had an itch.

“What’s the matter, Chris? Got an itch?” Hanson chuckled at him, showing no emotion toward his little tidbit of news.

His lack of belief clearly pissed Christopher off—or maybe it was merely his calling him Chris that had done it, because he rushed forward and planted a boot in Hanson’s chest.

With a grunt and a groan, Hanson sat himself up straight, spitting blood onto the floor beside him.

“Nice. Strong,” he said, giving him a grimacing smile that only seemed to vex him further.

“If you know what's good for you, you'll wipe that stupid look off your face,” Christopher growled low in his throat, “and answer a few of my questions.”

“I never was any good at knowing what was good for me,” Hanson scoffed. He braced himself as Christopher's boot came at him again. Blood filled his mouth once more. These silver chains really weren't doing him any favors.

“You know, if you kick me too hard, you'll probably burst something, and with these chains I'll likely never heal,” Hanson grumbled. It was becoming painful to talk. “Then you won't be getting answers from anyone, will you?”

“Maybe it's you who should be thinking about that fact?” Christopher countered. “That is, if you want to see your little blonde friend again.”

Against his better judgment, Hanson tensed at the mention of her.

Christopher crouched low, drawing close, just out of headbutting range. His smirk grew from ear to ear.

“Do I sense a little attraction there?”

Hanson bared his teeth. “You have eyes, don't you?”

“Well, I suggest if you want to be using yours on her anytime soon, you answer my questions,” Christopher probed, meeting Hanson's gaze with a dead one of his own. “How many wolves are there in Nightstar? How many stinking humans and other rotten supers has that filthy Blackwell let in since he took over? What do I have to do to put an end to him?”

Hanson couldn't stop himself. He laughed hard, harder than ever before, and it hurt like hell. He was sure Christopher had broken more than one of his ribs.

This time, when Christopher grew angry, he aimed his fist directly at Hanson's nose. The audible pop and consequential pain told Hanson he had broken it. It wouldn't be the first time he had a broken nose, but damn it didn't half make his eyes water.

“You won't get any answers from me,” Hanson said, struggling not to gag on the blood in his throat. Without meaning to, he spat it out and felt warm, thick bloody spittle ooze down his chin onto his chest. “You may as well kill me now. This isn't my first time being beaten to a pulp. You should see the last guy who tried it.”

He smirked, knowing his teeth were bloody and his nose was flattened to his face. It'd heal as soon as he got out of these damn chains. Or it wouldn't, and he would die here. Either way, he wasn't giving this idiot anything he might be able to use against Elena, Jack or any of the others, including Eddie, no matter how much of a prick he had been lately.

“You're a stubborn one,” Christopher sighed deeply, dropping down onto his ass to cross his legs, clearly making himself comfortable. “I'll give you that much.”

“Thanks,” Hanson grunted.

---