Page 9 of Taken By the Alpha Priest

“It’s me,” he says cautiously, like he’s trying not to spook a cornered animal. “Are there any others?”

The bushes rustle, and I catch Grant’s scent before he steps into view, rifle ready. He glances between me and her, his expression flipping between confusion and alarm.

“No,” I grind out, the word coming rough, heavy. “Three are dead. The last one ran off.”

Will’s eyes flick toward the trees, where the horses are still tied up. They’re restless, their nervous whinnies cutting through the quiet. “Well, at least they left us these,” he mutters, jerking his head toward the horses. “Could be useful.”

I barely hear him. My focus is locked on my mate’s pale face, on the blood soaking into the dirt beneath her. Her chest rises and falls so faintly it’s like she’s already half gone. “Will, she needs help.”

His brow furrows. “Reyes, she’s one of them. Why would?—”

I’m on him before he can finish, my hand slamming around his throat as I pin him to the nearest tree. His growl is automatic, reflexive, but I squash it with one of my own. The Alpha Prime in me rises to the surface, dominance rolling off me in waves.

“Get her help,” I growl, my voice razor-sharp.

Grant steps forward, pale but steady. “I’ll get Suyin,” he says, already moving. “She’s in the den. I’ll bring her out.”

“Now,” I snap, releasing Will. “And Will—scan the area. Make sure we’re clear.”

Will hesitates, his jaw tight, but he nods and disappears into the shadows.

And then it’s just me and her again.

I kneel beside her, pressing my ear to her chest. Her heartbeat is faint, too faint. My hand shakes as I brush a strand of blood-matted chestnut hair from her face, fallen loose from a long braid. She’s bleeding so much that it’s drenched her clothes, her dark hair… “Don’t you dare give up on me,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

Every second drags, each breath a fragile thread holding her to life. My logical mind screams that this is a bad idea, that doing what my wolf wants risks everything I’ve worked for. But none of that matters. Not right now.

I close my eyes and breathe her in. Her scent—blackberries and leather—feeds the restless wolf clawing at the edges of my mind. This isn’t a fight I can win with logic.

This is instinct. Pure, primal instinct.

“Forgive me,” I murmur, my voice low and hoarse, unsure if I’m asking God or my mate.

And then I sink my teeth into her hip.

The moment my teeth break her skin, the world sharpens. Her blood is hot and…fuck, it’s delicious, her flavor coursing through me like wildfire. My wolf howls in triumph, surging forward, clawing at the edges of control. For a second, it’s like I’m drowning in her—her scent, her taste, her essence.

Everything about her screamsmine.

I release my clamped jaws and brush messy kisses around the fringes of the wound, giving into every wild impulse. Here in the light of the full moon…this feels right. Touching her, kissing her, claiming her.

Her body jerks under me, a faint gasp escaping her lips, and I freeze. She’s still alive–barely–but the bond is taking hold. My venom will work fast, pushing her body to heal itself, infecting her with lycanthropy. I pull back to see that the bleeding has already slowed, my bite mark almost fully healed as her skin knits itself back together.

It won’t be immediate, but she’s not going to die.

I pull back, licking the blood from my lips, and for a second, I just look at her. Her face is pale, her breaths shallow, but she’s still here. Still fighting.

I swear under my breath and scoop her up, cradling her against my chest. She’s too light, her weight barely registering against me. Her blood has soaked into my skin, into my hair, and the scent of it—ofher—follows me like a shadow.

The others are going to lose their shit when they find out about this. A crusader in the den? One withmy markon her? Yeah, that’ll go over well. But I don’t care. I’ll deal with the fallout later.

Right now, she’s the only thing that matters.

I break into a sprint, moving faster than I should with her in my arms, the terrain blurring around me. The pack will be gathered at the den, and I can already hear the murmurs, the laughter, the low growls of wolves in heat. It grates against me, this reminder of what I’ve denied myself, but it also stokes a fire. My wolf is restless, pacing in the back of my mind, ready to tear apart anyone who so much as looks at her wrong.

And when she’s healed…

I shake my head to dispel those sinful thoughts as I walk past the perimeter fence and the old sign for Inner Space Caverns. The den comes into view, a sprawling network of tunnels and rooms carved into the earth. A crowd has gathered at the entrance, their eyes narrowing as they catch sight of me. I must look like hell—bloodied, naked, with a dying crusader in my arms—but I don’t slow down.

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