Page 23 of Craved By a Wolf

“Good luck breaking these ones.” She casually flicked her messy blue hair over her shoulder, regarding him with a cool stare as he fought harder and harder, sweat dotting his brow as the chains refused to give.

They had to give.

His breaths shortened, his lungs feeling too tight as his struggle made zero impact on his bonds.

She waved her hand and the door behind him repaired itself.

Kin moved a step back, turned towards the door and the anchor point and gripped the chains. He heaved backwards, gritting his teeth and growling as he strained. They would give. They would. He exerted all of his strength, his fingers aching as he gripped the chains so fiercely that he felt sure he might break his bones before he broke the metal links holding him.

He bared fangs at Hella as she approached him, curiosity filling her green irises as she looked him over.

“Why do you think I’m your mate?” Her soft voice teased his ears, rousing the fierce ache for her for a moment before fear overwhelmed it, pushing it back out again. She canted her head to her right and frowned at him. “Why are you so insistent on having me?”

He refused to answer those questions, kept up his assault on the chains, sure they would weaken and give way if he only kept at it. He breathed harder as his panic mounted, as his wolf paced and growled, battered the cage of his body. If he shifted, he could escape. He stilled and focused, breathed through the fear and summoned the shift.

“No escape that way. The cuffs will morph to fit the size of your paws if you shift.” She said that in a far too bright and breezy tone, as if his panic and suffering meant nothing to her.

So he flashed his fangs and snapped them at her, savagely lunging towards her at the same time.

She stumbled backwards into a long wooden display case filled with books, knocking several of them off the shelves as it wobbled.

With renewed focus, he yanked on the chains and heaved backwards, his body arching towards the ceiling as he growled. Every muscle screamed in protest, but he refused to give up, even when he knew it was pointless. The witch was right. There was no escaping these bonds.

“Fuckin’ witches,” he snarled and struggled to keep breathing as the panic really set in, as his mind ventured down dark paths that would only lead to oblivion and the lid on the shadowy box containing memories of his past began to vibrate and lift. Any moment now they would hit him. He needed to escape before it happened. Needed to break his bonds before he was left at the mercy of a witch who had none. He sneered at her. “I hope you both burn in Hell.”

Hella arched an eyebrow at him. “What other witch deserves a curse from you?”

He glared at her and spat, “The one who cursed me.”

His breaths quickened, heart labouring as he pulled at the chains, the manacles cutting into his wrists to spill blood down his hands and make his grip slippery.

Her green eyes darted to his bloodied hands, her brow furrowing as she saw them. “You need to calm down.”

“No,” he bit out, not because he refused to do as she had ordered but because he couldn’t. His breaths shortened again, his chest constricting. He recalled what the witch who had cursed him had said—he would die if Hella didn’t accept him. He tried to focus through the riot in his mind. Forced a shaky smile in her direction. He could be charming. Females liked a charming male. “Be a nice lass now and unchain me.”

She shook her head.

He lunged for her again, the chains tightening to yank him back before he could reach her. “Ye have no bloody right to be chaining me!”

“Call it self-defence,” she snapped back at him.

He narrowed his eyes on her. “Ye liked that kiss o’mine, wee witch. Ye cannae deny it. I felt it. Your wee body was begging for mine.”

She slapped him hard enough that his cheek stung.

MacKinnon snapped fangs at her again, his wolf side lunging to the fore to have fur sweeping over his skin as he realised she wasn’t going to let him go. He growled and attacked the chains again. Smelled hot wax. Heard the crack of a whip. The cry that burst from his own lips as fire arced down his spine. He snarled and fought to focus, to purge the memories before they fully hit, but he was too far gone. They seized hold of him, shadowy hands that dragged him down into the darkness.

Into despair.

Laughter echoed around him as he desperately tried to escape.

Shame swept through him as he was forced to entertain them, so desperate for a scrap of food that he had been willing to do anything, had swallowed his tattered pride and done whatever he could to please them.

Whatever they asked.

They had broken him so easily.

His vision came and went, his hands flickering between manly and those of a boy, the shackles he wore switching between bright silver and rusty.