Page 26 of Kidnapped By the Wolf

Because Cassie would never accept me.

After her experience growing up in Clint’s pack and Sebastian’s stupid-ass plan, she’ll never see me as anything other than another male trying to control her.

“The bond trumps blood, and you know it.”

I shake my head, dragging a hand through my hair. My skin is itching with the urge to shift — to run. I need to turn off my fucking brain so I can sort out this mess.

“I’ve gotta go,” I say, turning to leave.

I don’t know why I even came here. Part of me thought it might make me feel better to rip Sebastian a new one, but another part — a bigger part, perhaps — just needed to talk to someone.

It’s lonely being an alpha because I can’t afford to make mistakes.

“Have you told her?” Sebastian calls after me.

“Of course not.”

He lets out a judgmental rumble that makes me want to put his head through a wall. “Don’t wait too long, mate. It’ll drive your wolf insane. None of us wants to start over with another bloody alpha.”

CHAPTER TEN

CASSIE

The sun is alreadylow in the sky by the time Adrian pulls up. I took a long shower after he left and examined my busted ukulele to see if there was any hope of fixing it. There wasn’t. Then I had a snack and combed through every drawer, closet, and cupboard in the place.

All I managed to learn is that Adrian is fastidiously clean, that he has a thing for merino wool socks, and that he prefers boxer briefs over traditional boxers. I wouldn’t normally snoop through someone’s house this way, but since Adrian kidnapped me and has given me no option other than to live with his pack forever, I felt it was important to know who I was dealing with.

I’m just starting to get hungry again when I hear him speaking with someone outside — presumably relieving Remy of guard duty. Then I hear footsteps outside the front door and busy myself with filling the kettle.

I already know that Adrian keeps a box of earl gray on the second shelf above the coffee maker, but I make a show of rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, stretching up on tiptoe to grab the tea just as he walks in.

Adrian stops inside the doorway, and I strain my neck to look over my shoulder. He’s staring at me like a jackal that’s caught the scent of another animal’s kill, and his eyes are flecked with gold.

His gaze tracks down my ribs to my toes and back up again. That’s when I remember that I’m wearing his T-shirt and a pair of his sweatpants. Everything is enormous on me, of course, but I made do by rolling down the waistband of the sweats.

“Oh. I, uh . . . helped myself to some clean clothes,” I explain. “My other ones were getting a bit ripe.”

Serves him right. If he didn’t want me borrowing his stuff, he should have brought me some out of my bus.

Adrian’s throat bobs as he swallows. He gives a jerky half nod and stalks into the kitchen, a bag of groceries in his arms.

I watch in silence as he starts unloading the food: three enormous ribeye steaks, baking potatoes, vegetables, and a bottle of red wine.

“Are you . . . expecting someone?” I ask, eyeing the extra steak.

“No.” His tone is clipped and a bit ragged, and I get the sudden paranoid inkling that he knows I went through his stuff.

“Oh. Okay . . .” I trail off awkwardly and rock back on my heels, fiddling with the box of tea.

So much for our talk this morning. Despite his being a total psycho and holding me hostage in his cabin, I really felt as though we connected earlier. His offer to make me part of his pack had seemed genuine, at least. Well, genuinelyinsane.

His movements are stiff and jerky as he pulls open a drawer and grabs a potato peeler. He keeps his back to me as he washes the vegetables and starts shaving the potato skins into the sink.

“Is something wrong?” I ask. It’s a stupid question. There’s definitely something wrong with him keeping me here againstmy will, but I can tell that his mood has shifted since this morning.

“No.” His voice is hoarse — almost pained.

The room fills with the sound of him peeling potatoes, but then he stops and grips the edge of the sink.

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