Wolf's Capture (8 page)

“Where is it?”

“Somewhere on my back I assume. I’ve checked every inch of my front and sides. There’s nothing there.” She’d presented the guards with quite the scene as she disrobed a body part at a time, peering at her skin in the harsh light from the UV lights bolted to the ceiling.

She’d examined every inch of flesh, more than once, but never saw even a single suspicious speck. Nor did she find a trace of a scar.

“What’s the farthest you ever made it once you did slip his grasp?”

“More like longest is what you should ask. My record in the last three years was three days and eleven hours.” Eighty-three hours of adrenaline as she ran and evaded bounty hunters sicced to her trail. Ever since the master who wanted her to make his personal zoo pets do stupid circus tricks, she was always watched. Always followed. And she never escaped for long. Someone was always on her trail as soon as she fled, and they made sure she never got too far.

And now she couldn’t escape at all, although she’d done her damnedest in the year since she became the master’s pet. A busy year. Yet, no matter how she fought, how many she killed, or how well she plotted, she remained stuck in her cage.

The worse part? The master laughed at her attempts to escape, and then he punished her.

But she didn’t tell all this to Brody. Divulging her secrets never came to any good.

“That tracker needs to come out,” he stated.

“Well duh.” She rolled her eyes. “Got a knife and some bandages and a way to not have the guards zap us like bugs as soon as you try?”

“Good points. We’ll have to hold off until I’ve fully formulated a plan.”

Such hope. She could almost admire it. “You really think you can escape?”

“It’s not a matter of can. I will. And when I do…” He grinned. “Be ready.”

The smile he sported blazed and totally stole her breath. So handsome and, at the same time, so crazy. What a shame. She knew Brody had to possess a flaw. It appeared optimism in the face of bad odds was one of them.

“Why is it you don’t seem too upset you got dumped here?” Actually, if she were honest, the more Brody seemed to examine their impossible situation, the more energized he became.

“Why would I be upset? Danger. Adventure. A puzzle to solve. Plus, I got to meet you.” He winked and shot her a sensual smile.

She blinked.
Is he seriously flirting with me?
Like hell. “That is the corniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s true. If I’m going to be captured and spend time in a cell, then what better way than with a beautiful woman?”

Astonishment aside, she couldn’t help a spurt of pleasure at his compliment. Then his ploy became clear, and she glared. “I get it now. You’re not really a prisoner. This is all part of a ploy from you accosting me in the clearing to your whole pretend capture. They were all devised plots to make me believe you were a prisoner so I’d feel a bond with you, and then, when you turn your charm on the poor, lonely girl, I’m supposed to melt into a little pile of goo that you could use at your whim.”

“Are you done? Because, wow, that is the most confusing, and utterly false, thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t work for that douchebag. And if I tell a woman she’s pretty, then it’s because she is.”

She frowned. “You mean you were actually flirting?”

“Hell yeah I was. I mean, we’re in a fucking cage. Until I find a way out, we gotta live together. It might help if we became friends.”

Friends? What an odd concept?

One she suddenly longed for desperately.

Apparently, Brody had poured on too much of the charm and the woman caught on. It had been worth a try, especially once it occurred to him that softening Layla toward him would maybe get her to reveal secrets, secrets she didn’t mean to. Anything that might indicate if she was playing him for a fool because, really, the more she told of her story, the more he had to wonder if she pulled his paw.

Prisoner for years? Surely not.

The beautiful woman with the captivating gaze and luscious body appeared anything but a cowed victim. She held pride. Determination. She didn’t seem like someone who’d spent years in custody.

But what about the cage, and the collar?

Were they props for her story? Was this whole thing a ploy to get him to spill his guts or to garner sympathy so he’d feel drawn to her?

As if I need help in that department.

Their tight quarters made it impossible to avoid her presence. Especially her scent.

It wrapped around him in a perfumed gossamer. It roused his wild side. Made it pace.
Hunger.
Not to eat. But for more.

Want more of her scent. Want to rub against her. Mate her. Bite her…

Slap. It wasn’t a physical one, but a mental one. Brody reeled his irrational wolf back in line.

Dude, we are not doing any of those things. For the moment, she is a civilian, and a possible enemy. We know the rules. Observe. Seek out. And, if needed, destroy.

Currently, Layla fell under the observe column. He’d watch, take notes, and, at the same time, befriend her. Right now, she appeared just as suspicious of him as he was of her. If she told the truth about her situation, then she could prove a valuable ally.

She tells the truth.

His beast seemed so certain, but Brody didn’t think it would hurt to gather more Intel. In order to do that, he needed to get closer so she relaxed around him and divulged all her secrets—such as what hid under that gown.

No.

He was not flirting with her to get her to shed her clothes.

Although, he wouldn’t argue if she did. He also probably wouldn’t be able to help himself.

Alas, she did not strip. She dove into her pile of blankets and put even more fabric between them.

A shame.

She also seemed intent on ignoring him, burying her nose in one of her tawdry romance novels.

Hmph. Wasting her time with a cardboard hero when she had the real thing within reach.

No matter. He had more pressing things to do, such as devising a plan of action.

Despite his first perusal, Brody spent some more time examining their prison. How the bars met the floor. The thickness of the welds at the top. He tried thrusting a hand through the tight silver bars to palpate the lock but hissed as the silver scored his skin and, in the end, learned nothing, other than burnt hair stank.

At least singed hair hurt less than a wax strip down the middle of his somewhat furred chest, yanked by a sadistic polar bear. Fucking Gene.

Thinking of Gene made him wonder how the attack on Kodiak Point had turned out.
Did they prevail? Were there casualties?

And did his disappearance garner any notice?

With the chaos of attack, it would take some time for them to decipher the events and realize he never made it back to town. If too much time passed, would they even find his trail in the woods and discover his fate?

Probably not, which meant he was on his own. A solo mission.

For some reason that made him think of Kyle, whose personality quirk—which shrinks insisted on calling a disorder—resulted in him going through life in terms of missions.

My mission? Get my ass out of here. And maybe bring the girl.

Who was he kidding about maybe? Layla was coming with him.

On the surface, he labeled her as a person of interest, someone that Reid would want to meet. But, if Brody dug a little deeper into his intentions, the man—and, yes, his pesky wolf—also wanted to rescue her from this sad fate. To see her eyes shine with appreciation and bask in the warmth of her thanks—naked.

No. Not naked.

He really needed to get his shit together and stop thinking of her as an attractive woman. He tried. He ignored her as best he could, only to get miffed when she paid him not the slightest bit of attention. Not once did he catch her staring.

Must be a good book.

As if words on paper could compare to the real thing.
But what if she’s never experienced anything more than words
? As a captive, her options for socialization, and romance, were limited.

She could very well be innocent. The concept almost dropped him to his knees.

We could teach her.

Oh, now didn’t that bring to mind a bunch of possibilities? Fantasies he quickly squashed.

For now he needed to focus on spotting a weakness. None appeared, but he didn’t give up hope. He’d keep observing.

The guards re-appeared at one point during the day—who knew what time? Without windows and any measure of daylight, he couldn’t have said how much time passed. He did know the guards took sadistic pleasure with zapping him into submission so they could toss more unpalatable crap in their cage. Ugh. MREs. He’d have preferred a can of dog food. Some at least had a palatable gravy.

But food was food. Eventually, he did cave and eat some of the mush because he needed to keep his strength up. Who knew how long he’d spend in this cage until he found a crack in the defense?

With the cage thoroughly explored, it was time to question Layla on her knowledge of what lay beyond the bars. What could he expect at the top of the stairs? How many men were there usually? He’d counted six individuals so far. What kind of weapons did they bear?

And where the fuck were they being held? If he got his paws on a phone, he’d call Reid, or Boris, someone to relay his situation to. It would vastly help to have a general idea of his location.

Forget asking, though, as Layla, without a word to him, had fallen fast asleep in her nest of blankets.

How angelic she appeared in repose. Her dark lashes touching the tops of her cheeks. Her lips soft and inviting. Her hair fanned out around her head.

He couldn’t stop staring at her. It creeped him out, but he couldn’t help himself. She drew his eyes and thoughts.
I am a man obsessed.
Or possessed. Did she have some kind of unknown magic that made him feel this way?

The lights went out so abruptly he saw spots. He blinked at the darkness in an effort to dispel them.

So much for a goodnight warning.

No more investigating—or eyeballing Layla—for the moment. In the pitch-black, he’d more than likely burn himself on the silver bars if he blundered around. He hunkered down to the floor, this time sitting in a Lotus position. The chill of the concrete seeped immediately through the fabric of his jeans.

Brrr.

This wouldn’t do. Not for a second night in a row.
I need a blanket.
He turned his head in the darkness, toward Bait. There were blankets promising warmth just a few feet away, more than enough for two—especially if they shared.

The idea locked into place, and without a second thought, he was in motion. Cautiously, on hands and knees, he crept in the darkness until he hit the mound of sheets. Further groping located a curvy shape under them. Layla didn’t move.

He tugged at the blankets until he held up an edge and could ease into their warm embrace. The squashy air mattress provided a little cushion for his frame, but best of all, it cut the chill of the floor. But what truly heated him was her.

Entering her intimate sleeping space meant inhaling her with every breath. Sensing her. Wanting her.

He blamed it on the small blankets for why he nestled close to her, his body spooning around the curve of her buttocks, fitting against him with maddening perfection. His cock took notice. Every inch of him did actually.

His jeans chafed the erection he couldn’t stop, rubbing against the rough fabric. No underwear because he’d chosen to go commando, knowing all too well how ridiculous a shifter could look if he did a sudden morph and still sported his underwear.

Poor Munroe, he never did live down the time he went barreling after some enemy soldiers in white jockeys. He was forever Wedge.

If Brody were alone, he would have peeled the denim. Yet he’d kept the single layer of clothing, despite his discomfort, to preserve his modesty.

Screech.

Brakes applied, and he reversed.

Wait a second? Nudity didn’t bother him. He liked to let his skin breath, and it truly was more comfortable to shift in the nude.
Holy moon goddess, don’t tell me I kept the pants on to preserve her modesty?

Like Hell. That wouldn’t do at all. He should take them off.

And tempt her into seducing you.

No. He didn’t want seduction. Just a chance to let Johnson breathe. Poor guy was stifled. He also had some oxygen-deprived ideas.

Sleeping with Bait might buy time and get some answers about this master dude who is holding you prisoner.

Getting Intel was a valid reason for seduction, but that wasn’t why he snapped the button fly on his jeans. He already had the best reason to shimmy out of his pants because, if he didn’t, they were going to rub his poor dick raw. His denuding movements, while quick, did not pass unnoticed.

“What are you doing?” Said slowly and with a querying note at the end.

“Getting naked.” And for those who wondered? Yeah, he said it with a naughty, wolfish grin.

She, however, couldn’t see it, nor did she react too well at the words. “For what purpose?”

He could have screwed with her and told her it would ease the amount of undressing needed for the passionate sex they were about to have. However, given the tenseness of the tightly spoken question, he thought it best to not antagonize her further.

“I’m getting naked to sleep.”

“With me?”

“I don’t see another bed. So I guess we’ll have to
share
.” And yes, he did let the implication that he meant something more infuse his words. A man had to have some kind of fun.

She, however, didn’t find it entertaining, or appealing. “Oh no you don’t,” she muttered. She went into motion, throwing back the covers, but before she could rise, he clamped his arm around her waist and tugged her back against him.

“You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.” Not just because he was insulted at her vehement rebuff of him but because now was the perfect time to try and forge some trust. Show her he meant her no harm.

“Let me go.”

He thought about it while she thrashed and struggled. She called him names, some in languages he couldn’t understand but deciphered given their vehemence. When she finally calmed her failed attempts to escape, he said, “Done?” He hoped not because he quite enjoyed the feel of her in his arms and against him.