Page 47 of Knot Quite Ready

The car takes a sharp turn, tossing me around before speeding up and making another sharp turn. I can’t right myself with my hands cuffed behind my back, and as I flail around like a baby giraffe, I throw up again.

“Ugh, can you do something to stop the bitch being sick all over my car?” The driver asks with derision.

Casimir’s father slaps the back of his head. “Just concentrate on getting us there, and stop with the stupid comments.”

“Sorry, Casemiro,” the guy mumbles but doesn’t say anything else. This must be his beta.

Yeah, focus on getting us there so I don’t have to slide around in vomit…wait…

“Where the fuck are you taking…” I trail off as he turns around and snarls in my face. Truly, an impressive snarl; the perfect amount of spittle with just a slight hint of ‘I watch you while you pee’ vibes. If I weren’t his prisoner, I would ask for a tutorial—the snarl, not the urination stalking. I have to have some type of morals.

I’m losing it. It must be the lack of steak.

“Listen here, little bitch. You need to shut that mouth and keep quiet. There is so much I could do to you that by the end, you will long for death. Don’t. test. me.” He swivels around to the front and laughs happily. I blink.What in the ever-loving fuck?

If I weren’t already sure that I was in a precarious position, the fact that he is quick to jump from ‘my omega’ to murderous fuck, to ‘Chuckle The Clown’ removes any doubt.

I give myself a few minutes to have a mini breakdown as I bite back a sob. Visions of my new family disintegrate before my eyes. The thoughts of big Christmases with baby horses and wolves disappear in a cloud of chloroform-scented smoke. If this motherfuckers idea of warm and cuddly is a quick kidnapping and a ride through darkness, I don’t fucking want it.Check, please.

The rest of the journey is made in tense silence, punctuated by Casemiro’s quiet, off-tune humming of ‘Who Let The Dogs Out.’ But it’s not the song choice that worries me, although ruining the Baha Men is a sin in itself, no, it’s the way his body tenses and relaxes randomly with a slight twitch in between that sets me on edge. Then I finally pick up the slight tang of addiction in the stale air, and panic unfurls in my belly. Not only is this kidnapping asshole a song-butchering psycho of epic proportions, but he’s an addict as well. Drugs and shifters just don’t mix. But an Alpha Wolf and drugs? Fucking disaster.

“We’re here, Little Wolf, no need to panic. You’re home,” Casemiro sings happily when the car rolls to a stop. I try and breathe through the mounting fear when he gets out and opens the door, hauling me out like I’m a ragdoll. He takes a huge sniff of my neck, and a low chuckle rumbles through his chest. “I’m going to enjoy having you here.”

I snarl at his proximity, feeling Agatha push past the silver restraints, her protective instincts rearing, “How about you let me out of these restraints, and I’ll help you enjoy the afterlife.” My eyes flash, and I feel my claws extend.

He frowns, and while I echo his confusion, I smirk. In all honesty, the silver should have prevented any change. My wolf should be shoved so deep inside that there would be no hope of her coming out while I was shackled.

“Interesting,” his eyes flicker with something akin to desire, and I shudder in disgust as my wolf fights harder for supremacy, wanting blood and wanting to protect her baby.

He wraps his hand around my throat, squeezing painfully. “Ah, ah, ah. None of that now. You have a baby to protect, after all. ”

My eyes narrow at the implied threat, and I force my breathing under control before I snarl at him, “Casimir will find me, and if my best friend gets her hands on you first, you’ll be fucking begging to be saved.” I squirm against his hold, but it’s no use as his hold on me is like fucking steel.

He moves his hand up my leg, a little too close to my apex for my liking, but it makes me go still. “That’s what I’m counting on. Him finding you, and then we can settle our little family dispute once and for all.” The beta sniffs, but I can’t quite see his expression. “Then, once his head is mounted on a spike, I will enjoy breaking you.”

Miro— I refuse to call him anything, starting with Cas because it makes my stomach rebel with disgust— keeps me held tight against him as we move past a few spaced-out houses that blend in with the forest around it. The trees are more sparse here than at Cabria, but it still seems private—no chance of being seen by anyone that can set off the Bat-Horse-Wolf signal. The very few shifters that are out and about don’t spare us more than the odd curious glance, which makes me think that weird shit goes down here often. For them not to really bat an eye at a pregnant Omega in silver cuffs and a drugged-out Alpha, this must be a relaxed sort of day.

He pauses at the largest cabin/mansion at the end of the pack lands. The outside has a perfect blend of rustic and modern, and it appeals to my tastes… which really offends me. He should be living in a mud shack, not in architectural porn. Fucker.

The beta darts forward and opens the door for Miro, who strides past him without so much as a thank you.

And here is the part I hate; bad decorating. My stomach curdles, and my lip curls in disgust. The foyer is huge, like a hunting lodge, and is covered, and I mean,coveredby animal heads. Miro lets go of my arm, and I force my legs not to give out at the sudden shift. I look around silently because, truly, there are no words that be uttered here other than several spells to summon the spirits of these animals so they can eat Miro. And seeing as how I don’t know any, I stay quiet.

“You like it?” He asks proudly, misinterpreting my silence. “I like to hunt in my wolf form and keep all the kills. I feel like anyone that comes in would see my wolf’s strength in the flesh and second guess about taking me on.”

His words are laced with a threat, but he keeps an amiable expression. I really want to say it makes him look like a raging psycho, but I don’t think it will go down well. Don’t tell a murderer his body collection isn’t pretty—survival 101.

When I stay silent, he continues, “When your pups are grown, they can add to the wall in the library.” He guides me up the stairs, which dominate the middle of the foyer, and takes me up to the second floor. We wander down the hallway and past some doors until he stops at one near the end.

“This is going to be your room for a while. Make yourself at home.” He swings open the door and reveals a huge bedroom, sparsely decorated and filled once again with an array of stuffed animals—birds in particular. Although, I don’t think they would help me clean the room and do laundry if I sang to them. Cinderella-flavored necromancer, I am not.

I find my voice, “No.” I hiss, placing my hands on my hips. “I am not staying here until you tell me what the fuck is going on. I’ve been pretty reasonable, considering I am encrusted in vomit, but now you need to tell me what is happening. I’m pregnant, and you’ve torn me away from my mate, and—”

I let out an annoying squeak as Miro propels me into the wall, holding my throat in his hand. Again. Oh, the joy. It doesn’t hurt, but the threat is apparent that he could easily crush it without a thought.

“Since you would like answers rather than having a rest, I’m benevolent enough to give them to you.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Crazy? Strung-out? Tiny dick syndrome? Yes.

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