Page 5 of Kidnapped By the Wolf

“I don’t think so,” he rumbles, not bothering to hide his delight. “I just caught you trespassin’ on our land. I think I should take it up with the chief.”

At those words, all the blood drains from the girl’s tanned face.

The male gives a smug chuckle. “Your daddy’s not all that happy with you right now, darlin’. I’m not sure he’s gonna welcome you back.” His eyes narrow in contemplation. “What should I do with you?”

“Go tohell, Dane.”

“I’d be a little nicer if I was you, princess.” He leans in and runs the bridge of his nose along the column of her neck. “A few minutes inside that camper, and you might be able to convince me to ask him to go easy on you for runnin’ out on us like you did.”

My stomach twists into knots.

Even through a computer monitor, I can sense the bastard’s lust. I’ve crossed paths with more sick fucks than the average wolf, and I know he has every intention of dragging that poor girl back into the camper.

“We could be great, you and me,” he goes on in a cajoling tone. “It’s what Clint wants, after all . . . his ungrateful mutt of a daughter mated to the most powerful male in the pack.”

“I’llnevermate with you,” the human growls, glaring up at the bear shifter with a level of boldness I can’t help but admire.

The male lets out a huff of humorless laughter. “You talk as though you have a choice.”

I grind my back molars together so hard that my jaw pops. I know what’s coming next.

It’s the worst part of this job, by far — having to watch without being able to intervene.

But then the shifter’s face goes slack. He doubles over, holding his groin, and the girl darts out of the frame.

“Yes!” I hiss, fist pumping the air in my empty shed.

Relief floods my body but then ebbs away, replaced by grim resolve.

The girl might not have fallen prey to the bear, but she’s about to become a pawn.

Clint McGregor’s worthless second-in-command just gave me the leverage Adrian needs to make these assholes fall in line.

CHAPTER THREE

CASSIE

My heart isin my throat when I reach my bus and jam the key into the ignition. I’m not sure if Dane followed me or sounded the alarm to the rest of the pack. If so, I might have two dozen angry bear shifters after me.

“Come on, come on, come on,” I coax, turning the key and willing the sixty-year-old engine to start.

Finally, the bus roars to life, and relief floods my body. I hit the gas and peel away from my father’s camp just as Dane appears between the trees.

“Fuck!” I hiss, biting my thumb as I think of how close I came to being a prisoner in my father’s pack — mated to Dane for life.

I never should have gone back.

Before, Dane and my father might have chalked up my departure to me being an ungrateful human mutt — an outcast among shifters. Now I’ve hurt Dane’s pride and given the sick fuck a reason to come after me and assert his dominance.

My body is still humming with nervous energy as I pull up at the art walk. Main Street is blocked off for the event, and there’s a bottleneck of traffic from people making their way downtown.

I take my usual detour along a side street and park behind the crystal store, struggling to keep the rising panic in my chest at bay. It feels strange going about my business after my run-in with Dane, but I don’t know what else to do.

Being in a crowd seems safer than retreating to my makeshift campsite right now, and there are so many wolf shifters with businesses on Main that I doubt any of my father’s bears would make an appearance.

Still, I can’t help looking over my shoulder as I unload the wheeled suitcase I use to transport my jewelry. I find a sunny spot between a wood carver and an oil painter and lay out a brightly colored Mexican blanket on the sidewalk.

My hands shake slightly as I unwrap bundles of necklaces and spread out my wares. The crystals glint in the late-October sun, and I get a little tingle of pride as I take in my display.

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