Page 9 of Kidnapped By the Wolf

They look like the sort of windows that don’t actually open. A sliding door leads out onto an enormous deck with sprawling views of the woods beyond. There’s only one other exit I can see — the door my chair is facing.

The cabin furnishings are high end but simple. There’s a bed and a couch along one wall — a tiny kitchen and dining area along the other. There’s not a scrap of art in the place, unless you count the huge silvery pelt lying in front of the hearth.

Everything is either wood or the same bland shade of charcoal: classy but boring. The cabin is also immaculately clean.

It probably belongs to a serial killer.

Panic claws its way up my chest, but just then, the front door bursts open, ushering in a cold gust of air.

A huge man stands framed in the doorway, his dark eyes narrowed in a hard look that sends a shiver down my spine.

Unlike the British guy who grabbed me, this man strikes me as ex-military: short haircut, practical boots, tight-fitting utility pants. The only part of him that doesn’t fit the bill is the five o’clock shadow that defines his sharp, chiseled jawline.

Every inch of him looks as though it was hewn from solid stone, from his broad shoulders and pecs to his perfectly sculpted arms. Although it can’t be more than forty degrees outside, he’s dressed in a light-blue T-shirt that sets off his bronzed skin.

He has to be a shifter.

Shifters don’t feel the cold the way humans do.

That’s when I realize that I’m in deep shit. The man who grabbed me, this guy — they’re both wolves. And if there’s one thing of value my father taught me, it’s that wolf shifters are fucking dangerous.

“Who are you?” I growl, baring my teeth.

He doesn’t answer me right away, though a muscle in his jaw ticks.

I glance at the British guy, who’s standing in the doorway a few paces behind him. British guy looks frustrated, and I get the feeling the two of them were just arguing.

Maybe they were arguing about what to do with me.

My stomach turns sour at the thought. I’m Clint McGregor’s daughter, and these guys are wolf shifters. Whatever they have planned, it can’t be good.

“What do you want?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady. I won’t give these two the satisfaction of thinking I’m scared — even if I am. “Money?”

Military guy’s expression is completely unreadable, but the British dude gives an audible snort.

So it’s not money they’re after. That sick feeling in my stomach intensifies.

I’m guessing they kidnapped me to send some kind of message, but I decide to keep my mouth shut. There’s a chance, however small, that they don’t know who my father is.

“Right,” says the British guy, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Leave him towhat? I wonder.

That muscle in military guy’s jaw clenches harder, and my curiosity intensifies. He takes a step inside and shuts the door in the other shifter’s face.

Panic swamps me. He’s standing between me and the exit, and he looks angry.

“What are you going to do with me?” I ask. This time, I’m unable to keep the slight tremor out of my voice.

Military guy doesn’t answer. He strides past me toward the wood stove, opening the door to tamp down the coals inside before adding another couple of logs.

Then he straightens up, and I realize for the first time just how tall he is. Tall and lean. The man is pure muscle and power — a terrifying combination for an already lethal shifter.

“Have you eaten?” he asks, not meeting my gaze.

I blink. Of all the things I’d been expecting, the shifter inquiring about my last meal wasn’t one of them.

“I’m not hungry.”

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