Page 152 of Ruled By The Alpha

“That’s good,” he sighed, his magical eyes drifting closed. “I’m fine, Mama, just let me rest.”

“No!” The word shot out of her mouth, surprising herself and Toby, who whined in protest.

The mention of his mother endeared him to her in an instant. Someone out there loved this man, but for whatever reason, he was in these woods alone.

Like her.

That fact, as fanciful and romantic as Papa would judge it to be, cemented that under no circumstance would she be leaving him to die.

Screwing the lid back on the canteen, she glanced at the sky. It was early yet, she had time, but she’d need something to drag him on, her stubborn donkey’s cooperation, and no run-ins with bears.

Reaching over his broad chest, she pushed his shredded clothing aside and checked his wound. Deep slash marks filleted his skin open, the gruesome edges filthy with dried blood and dirt, but absent any bright red of active bleeding. One small blessing, at least.

Carefully she resettled his head on the ground, and with much grunting and heaving, dragged him a few feet away from the water, breaking a sweat for her effort. Toby danced around her feet, supportive yet useless. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Pulling her coat off, she tucked it around his torso and gave his cheek a gentle pat. “I’m going to get some things, but I’m coming back. Can you hear me? I’m coming back. Just…” Her voice shook with a sudden welling of fear. “…don’t die.”

Rising, Rosemary snapped her fingers at Toby. “C’mon, Tobes, we’ve got work to do.”

Chapter 2

Samson

All things considered, death wasn’t so bad.

His mouth was full of sand, he was pretty sure his entire left side had been set on fire, and his head throbbed like Naomi had bashed it on her anvil a few dozen times. But other than that, not too bad. Best of all, for the first time in weeks, softness and warmth surrounded him like he was floating in a bath. Very nice indeed.

Groggy memories flitted through his head: lost in his own thoughts, half-starved, navigating toward some mythical tribe he wasn’t even sure existed, he’d surprised the baby bear by the stream. Its mother barreled directly toward him, and his attempt to stand his ground and scare her off had only resulted in a swipe of her giant paw. Hampered by hunger and fatigue, his Alpha reflexes had failed him.

And then falling, falling, falling… Had he hit his head? Is that why it throbbed even as he lay there, trying to enjoy his afterlife?

Instinctively his hand sought the source of his headache, only…pinned fast to his side, his arm wouldn’t move. No… his armcouldn’tmove.Neitherof his arms could move.

Memories of confinement and submission and searing, intimate pain humiliatingly poured into his awareness. No, that wasn’t happening again. He’d gotten away from the Pack, he’descaped.

Panic hurtled his hazy consciousness into full awareness and his eyes shot open. Broad straps fastened him tight to a bed, trapping him from shoulders to ankles with only the barest of wiggle room. He wasn’t dead, but fully immobilized, and that was possibly worse.

“What the fuck,” he grunted, his abdominal wound screeching as he tried to twist himself free.

“Stop it, you’ll hurt yourself,” a female voice commanded, followed by a cool palm pressed to his face. Despite himself, Samson settled and blinked hard, his grainy vision resisting focus.

“What the fuck is going on?” The words scraped across his throat like shards of broken glass, emerging weak and hoarse where he’d intended force. He wasAlpha, for fuck’s sake. Why was he so weak?

The woman, her outline blurry, tilted her head. “You were attacked by a bear. I found you in the woods.”

Her words—recognizable, but spoken in a strange, lilting accent—washed over him, imparting both too much and too little information. All of that could be true, yet none of it explained whythe fuckhe was tied up. Squinting, he made out white-gold hair unlike any he’d ever seen cascading over the woman’s shoulders. But combined with his hazy eyes and the fire glowing at her back, shadows concealed her face.

“Looks like your fever broke,” she continued, “but if you’re not careful, you’ll reopen your wounds.”

“Are you an angel?” he breathed, cursing himself for the idiocy of the question. Of course she wasn’t an angel. Shewas,however, the number one suspect for who’d restrained him to this bed, situating her much closer todevil.

The woman giggled—an honest-to-God tinkling, musical giggle—that made her sound much more like a young girl than a cruel captor. The laughter colored her voice as she said slowly,“No, I’m Rosemary.” She hummed a serious, contemplative tone. “Maybe youareaddled.”

“Addl—”

“Here, drink this.”

She thrust a cup against his lips with one hand while lifting his head gently with the other, giving him absolutely no chance to protest. While it irked him to have this woman commandeer his body, he went along, gulping mouthful after mouthful of tepid, bitter liquid. It tasted disgusting, but he was thirsty.

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