Page 2 of Alpha Bond

“Release her,” he says, then turns back to me. “Make yourself presentable. You got fresh clothing on the bench. Water, soap… You’re filthy.”

I scowl at him. As if I’ve had any control over the state I’m in. He’s the one who’s had me stuck in a cage for over a week. The one who dragged me back through the dirt not once but twice to lock me in here. The tiny bowl of water in the corner is barely enough for drinking, let alone washing. I haven’t seen a scrap of food since I arrived, which is probably why I’m so weak. Although I’ve lasted longer without meals before.

Why am I so powerless?

“You will be brought to me tonight, female.” He’s leering as he says it. My stomach churns.

“I don’t want you!” I hiss.

“I don’t care.” He shrugs. “One way or another, that tight little furrow of yours will be plowed today. Whether it’s by me or my males is up to you.”

I stare at him, enraged and disgusted in equal measure. It seems impossible that a male would pass his mate around the way he’s threatening. But I say nothing. When he strides from the room, the guard approaches me carefully, unlocking the cuffs around my ankles and wrists. He backs away quickly and moves to the door.

“A little privacy, please?” I say, rubbing my chafed skin. It’s not a request, though it’s brazen; I’m not really in a position to give commands. He hesitates, then steps outside. I hear the door lock behind him. As I’m left alone, I feel the defiance fade, and I sag.

I have to get out of here.

Have to!

But how? I roughly brush at my neck and shoulder, rubbing away the trail of spit Rack left on my skin. It makes me sick to think of his mouth on me.

And yet it doesn’t.

This is all wrong.

The skin of my throat is sensitive, and my fingers explore the nicks and scratches that are taking too long to heal. It’s been days since they were made. Since they took me. The raid on my village was swift and brutal. There’d barely been time to heed the warning calls before I’d been grabbed by the scruff of my neck and hauled from my feet, a hand over my mouth. And then the darkness descended. Since then, survival has been my primary thought, but pain throbs in my heart.

What happened to the others? My family…?

I drag my thoughts away, frowning as my fingertips run over a bump in my shoulder where his mouth had grazed. I’d found a small wound in my neck when I’d first regained consciousness in this place. A wound that should have healed, yet there’s a hard lump beneath my skin now. I press on it and flinch. It’s unpleasant…but there’s something more. I feel a tug inside that tingles down my spine and then spreads deep into my belly. Into my core. It makes my thighs clench against the emptiness in me.

This isn’t right.

I move to the pile of clothing beside the jug of water and the washrag. Rack has let a small mirror so I can “make myself presentable.”

For him? I’d rather die!

But I use it now to check the lump beneath my skin. The tiny knot of scar tissue he’d run his tongue over. I press it again and feel my thighs press together again.

No…not right. Definitely not right.

Sucking in a breath, I glance at the door, then slam the small mirror against the jug. It shatters easily, leaving a jagged shard in my hand. Clenching my teeth, I hold it against the small bump, sawing through flesh as I try to reach for it. My fingertips encounter something hard, not organic…an implant of some kind. I tug at it blindly. When I pull, there’s resistance, as if it’s wired into me somehow. But now I know more than ever that this thing has to come out.

I tug again, gritting my teeth against the blinding pain that ripples through me. I can feel it dislodging, but it doesn’t want to come free. I grip the object firmly and then wrench it loose, clamping a hand over my mouth to muffle the tiny scream I can’t fight down. When I get my breath back, I stare at what’s in my palm. A small electronic chip attached to blood-slicked tendrils. Tiny wires – maybe silver from the way they’re making my skin throb. This has to have been why I’ve been so weak these past few days. When I see a flickering glow from the chip, it occurs to me that it’s quite likely it’s a tracking device.

Holy shit! They put a tracker in me!

Like livestock.

No wonder they found me so easily. I press my fingers to my neck, trying to stop the bleeding. Removing the device has left my head a little clearer, but it’s left a hole in my flesh that’s strangely deep and ragged, considering the size of the device.

I look around the room quickly, reaching for a rag to hold over the gash I’ve left with the broken glass. Rack has left a dress and shoes – heels too high to be of any use to me, so I ditch them; I’ll run barefoot if I must.

I pull the dress over my head and scowl at how revealing it is. Clingy scarlet satin with crisscrossing straps barely hold up a neckline that plunges past my navel. The back isn’t much better. He’d planned to dress me like some kind of whore. It’s all I have now, though. Along with the rag, which I wind scarf-like around my neck. I’m going to have to tend to the injury at some point. But right now, I need to get out.

I move to the door, the shard of mirror in my hand, and stand beside it, tensing in anticipation.

“Hello?” I call out. “Hello! I need some help in here!”

---