Page 25 of His Mate

Eighteen.

My blood ran cold at the thought, the realization that women even younger than me would soon be dragged into this nightmare, stripped of whatever small pieces of themselves they still had left, that Mariah and Lia could be taken even sooner than they anticipated.

It wasn’t fair.

“This is wrong,” I spat out, my voice trembling with anger, with fear. “You can’t just?—”

The first man shot me a bored look, then turned back to his partner as if I hadn’t even spoken. “Either way, it’s not our problem. We just do the job we’re paid for, right?”

“Yeah,” the second man agreed, pushing himself off the wall. “We just do the job.”

And with that, they walked out, leaving me bound to the sawhorse, the door slamming shut behind them, the sound echoing in the empty room like a final, damning death sentence.

I lay there, facedown, my skin prickling against the cold air, the rough wood biting through the fabric of my dress into my stomach. I tried to steady my breathing, tried to focus on something—anything—other than the helplessness of my situation, but it was truly impossible.

My clit pulsed and I tried to ignore it.

The straps dug into my wrists and ankles, and with every tiny movement, the leather chafed against my skin, a constant reminder that there was no escaping this.

Outside the door, I could hear muffled voices, the clatter of boots on concrete, and the faint hum of machinery from somewhere deep within the facility. Occasionally, laughter would cutthrough the noise, coarse and unfeeling, and I felt my nails dig into my palms, my fingers curling into fists as I fought to keep my emotions in check. I had no idea how long I’d been lying there—minutes, hours. Time had lost all meaning in this place.

Then the door creaked open.

I tensed, straining against the straps, but they didn’t budge. My heart pounded in my ears as I tried to turn my head, to see who had come in, but the way I was bound made it impossible. I was left staring at the floor, at the pattern of dust and dirt that covered the concrete, as I listened to the heavy footfalls approaching, slow and deliberate.

I could smell him before I saw him—something foul, musty, and tinged with sweat. It was sharper than the others, more animalistic, and I felt my pulse quicken, my throat tightening with fear.

In an instant, I knew it wasn’t the same wolf that had come for me before.

“Well, look at what they’ve left for me,” a low, gravelly voice drawled from behind me. There was a roughness to it, a growl that sent a shiver down my spine.

I didn’t recognize it.

I felt my stomach twist, my muscles tensing as I fought the urge to struggle. It wouldn’t help, I knew that, but every instinct screamed at me to fight, to run, to do something. But I couldn’t. All I could do was lie there, completely exposed and vulnerable, all while his presence loomed behind me.

Shame billowed up from the very depths of my core.

I heard him move toward me, felt the warmth of his breath as he leaned in close, just inches from my skin.

“They told me you’ve been giving them some trouble,” he muttered, his tone amused, like he found my defiance funny, like it was some kind of joke. “Is that true? You think you’re something special, hmm? Think you’re worth more than the others?”

I clenched my jaw, refusing to answer, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But he chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made my blood turn to ice.

“I’ve seen dozens like you,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if sharing some dark, intimate secret. “Girls who think they’re different. Who think they’re not just another piece of meat to be bred. But you’ll learn.”

His hand brushed against the back of my leg, and I flinched, a gasp escaping before I could stop it. He paused, and I could feel him smirk, could sense the satisfaction radiating off him like heat.

“You’re nothing more than a breeder,” he said, and there was no mistaking the hunger in his voice now, the way it deepened.

And he was right…

I waited for the inevitable.

Then, suddenly, there was a noise outside the door—a dull, thudding sound, followed by a muffled shout. I strained to listen, to make sense of what was happening, but all I could hear was the rising commotion outside, voices raised in alarm, footsteps pounding against the concrete floor.

“What the hell?” the man behind me muttered, his attention shifting away from me for the first time since he’d entered the room. My pulse quickened, fear curling in my gut, and I swallowed hard, every instinct screaming that something was wrong, that something was about to happen.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall, and I twisted my head as far as the straps would allow, trying to see who it was and what was happening. But all I could make out was the indistinct outline of a figure, the light behind them turning them into a silhouette, shadowed and hazy.

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