Saved by Wolves (Shifters Meet Their Mate Book 1) (17 page)

Marcus settled over her, caging her in with his arms on either side of her shoulders, nuzzled her throat, then claimed her lips in a soft, tender kiss. The sweetness of it brought another round of tears to her eyes, and she blinked them away, not willing to let them mar her vision of him.

Her pulse raced as he kissed a path down her neck, over her shoulder, and to her sensitive inner elbow. It wasn’t enough. Twisting, she worked her hands under the waistband of his sweatpants and stroked the hard flesh she found.

Marcus’s hips jerked once, twice, and he tore himself away, rolling off the bed and to his feet in one swift motion. Kirra reached out in protest, but before she could voice her dismay, he was back, naked, pressing her shoulders into the rough wool blanket covering the bed. His fingers burrowed between her thighs, paving the way for his cock, which was an iron rod against her belly.

Moisture flowed, and Kirra dug her fingers into his biceps and rocked her hips when his talented fingers worked her cleft.

He locked eyes with her as he replaced his fingers with his cock, slowly surging forward an inch, then back, going deeper and deeper with each slow, deliberate thrust.

When he was finally seated fully inside her, his cock hit every nerve ending she possessed. Kirra moaned, then bit her lip—the window was open and shifters had exceptional hearing. She turned her head to the side and tried to bury her cries in the pillow. It didn’t work. To her ears, her panting sounded as loud as a freight train.

“Up,” Marcus urged, hooking his hands under her thighs and pushing her knees toward her shoulders. The change in angle allowed him to go deeper. She crossed her ankles behind his neck and tilted her hips to meet his thrusts.

His back arched and he growled, a deep, rumbling sound of satisfaction.

Dimly, the sound of voices and the pounding of feet broke through the haze of pleasure enveloping Kirra.

“Marcus,” she gasped, “what’s—”

He leaned down and nipped at the crook of her neck, cutting off her question and sending a jolt of lust through her.

She was just about there... she could feel it. Another couple hard thrusts and she’d be flying. Just another—

The door crashed open, and a flood of men stormed in. 

K
irra screamed, and Marcus rolled off her to land on the floor, naked, facing the threat. The flood of men, which turned out to be six—the Wolf alpha, Vincent, Lash, Monroe, who was looking worse for the wear, and two others she didn’t recognize—stopped in their tracks, eyes riveted on the bed. Kirra scrambled to get under the covers.

“What the hell?” Marcus demanded, stance wide and hands tense, as if on the brink of shifting. “Watch where you look,” he growled at Jasper. “You’re married to my sister.”

“Get out of the way, pup,” Vincent said. “Your little plaything there is coming with us.”

“I don’t think so,” Marcus said, taking a step in the Cat’s direction. Lash and Monroe ranged to either side of their alpha, teeth bared.

“Do it, Marcus,” the Wolf alpha said, finality in his tone.

“Jasper, what the hell are you thinking? We can’t just hand her over. She’s telling the truth. We need to do something about—”

His alpha gave a sharp hand gesture, and the two strangers surged forward, each clasping one of Marcus’s arms. Marcus’s face contorted, and his fingers grew sharp claws. He was about to fight his own people, plus the Cats, over her. Six to one odds. He’d be torn to shreds.

“Wait,” Kirra said.

They either ignored her faint protest or they didn’t hear it, as the rest of the men began shifting as well.

“Hold on!” she yelled, standing on the mattress with the blanket wrapped around her like a toga. “I’ll go. I’ll go.”

“Get down,” Marcus growled around the canines elongating in his mouth. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Jasper picked her boots and wadded-up clothes off the floor and tossed them on the mattress beside her. She pulled her underwear and pants on under the cover of the blanket, then turned her back for an illusion of privacy as she pulled her shirt over her head.

“I’m afraid she is, Marcus. The decision’s been made. It’s for the best.”

Marcus snarled and fought as the Wolf alpha led her from the room. The last thing she saw through her tears was Marcus going down as Lash and Monroe piled on.

***

“W
here are you taking me?” Kirra asked, dragging her feet to slow their progress down the main street. They were passing the meeting hall, and she strained to see inside, hoping for a glimpse of Jackson, or even Ash or Daisy. Part of her was half expecting a last-minute reprieve.

No one stormed to her rescue. The town wasn’t that big, and they were drawing a lot of attention. Where the heck was Jackson? Had he somehow learned about her and Marcus and written her off? That didn’t make sense, though. It had just happened. He hadn’t had time to find out. And she wasn’t sure he’d care even if he did know.

“You’re a fugitive. We’re just making sure you get to the proper authorities,” Vincent said.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Kirra said. “Blackstone isn’t legit. They kidnap and torture people—and shifters. How can you go along with this?” she asked the Wolf alpha. “You know the truth.”

“I know your version,” he said, ignoring her pleading tone. “They reached the outskirts of town and paused, waiting for something or someone, she wasn’t sure which. She was sweaty, tired, and feeling out of control. And she didn’t have her pack. She wondered if Marcus would have the presence of mind to save it for her. Considering the condition he was in when she’d left, probably not.

Lash and Monroe appeared from around the corner of a building and halted in front of them, breathing labored. Lash had her jacket, which he threw at her. Other than a few bruises she thought were from their earlier run-in, Lash looked fine. Monroe, on the other hand, didn’t. The left sleeve of his tee shirt was hanging by a thread, and when he smiled, blood welled where a tooth should have been. Marcus hadn’t gone down easy.

J
ackson grasped the floor to ceiling bars of the cell, braced himself, and pulled. His arms shook with the strain, but he made progress. The bar on the right moved at least an inch.

“That won’t work,” Marcus slurred from the back of the cell, where he sprawled half on half off a flimsy wooden cot. Enforcers—some their “friends”—had thrown his unconscious ass into the cell not fifteen minutes after they’d thrown Jackson in. He’d been lying there, useless, for hours while Jackson worked.

“If you’d get off your ass and help, it might,” Jackson said. He didn’t bother keeping his voice down. They were locked in the basement of a house on the edge of town, in a cement cage designed to contain shifters who were a threat. The alphas hadn’t bothered posting guards. The door at the top of the stairway to the main floor was locked and barred from the outside, and the vanadium-steel grate door on the cage was essentially a portcullis—when in use, the bars sunk a foot into the cement floor. Set in the wall to the left of the cage, far out of reach, was the wheel used to raise and lower the grate. No one had ever escaped the cage, and a few very determined individuals had tried over the years.

Instead of joining him, Marcus dropped his head to the mattress and began to snore. His sweatpants rode low on his hips, threatening to slide off. Jackson refused to speculate about why he was shirtless and reeked of sex and Kirra. There was no way—she had better taste than that.

He backed up a foot and reassessed the situation. The only light illuminating the basement came from candles in wall sconces outside of the cage. It was enough to see that Marcus was right—pulling the bars was the wrong approach. What he needed was a lever. A bar would act as the fulcrum.

“Get off,” he ordered Marcus, gesturing at the cot.

“Huh?” Marcus cracked one bloodshot eye open.

Grasping the edge of the cot’s frame, Jackson heaved, sending Marcus thudding to the floor.

“Geez, why’d you do that?” Marcus protested. “Now I’m gonna have a bruise on my ass to match the rest of them.” He slowly pointed at the collage of deep bluish-purple bruises covering his ribs.

Jackson flipped the cot upside down, braced it against the wall, and kicked one of the two-foot-long legs off. “For this,” he said, hefting the makeshift lever. Marcus’s eyes were slipping shut again. “What’s the matter with you? You think this is the time for a nap? Kirra’s out there with the Cats. Grab a leg and help me.”

“Lash and Monroe,” Marcus said, struggling to his feet and shaking his head. “Took Kirra and drugged me. Big time.” He squinted. “There are three of you. Get one of the others to help.” He laughed weakly at his own joke and then kicked at the cot. It took three tries, but he finally held a leg in his hand like a baseball bat. “We gonna knock some heads?” He swung, nearly clipping Jackson in the head.

“No, you moron. Get over here.” Jackson positioned Marcus’s lever just below his, so they were working on the same bar.

“Push. Now.”

They pushed. The wood snapped like a toothpick.

“Damn it.” Jackson threw the piece in his hand across the cage.

“We need a new plan,” Marcus said. The slight physical effort seemed to have grounded him a bit. His eyes were more focused, and he wasn’t weaving like a drunk. As much.

Jackson waited, but Marcus didn’t continue. “Well?” he prompted.

“Well, what?”

“What’s your plan?”

Marcus hooked an arm around a bar and leaned against the grate. “Huh? I don’t have a plan. I was just saying that we need one.”

Decking Marcus wouldn’t help the situation. Probably. Jackson relaxed his hands, which had balled into fists all on their own.

“We could call for help,” Marcus offered.

“Brilliant idea. Let’s call out to the people who locked us up. They’re bound to want to help us.”

“You never kn—hey, why are you here anyway? I know why they drugged me, but what’s your excuse?”

Jackson felt a scowl settle on his face and a slight tug in his chest. “I objected to the council’s decision in the meeting hall. They objected to my objection.” He cracked his sore knuckles, remembering the satisfying crack he’d heard when they’d drilled into the jaw of an enforcer who’d made the mistake of coming at him without backup.

“Oh, so the same reason. We’ve got to get out of here. I hate to think of Kirra alone with Lash and Monroe.” Marcus faced the bars and yelled, “Help! Get us out of here! This is a travesty of justice! We’ve been wrongfully—”

“Shut up,” Jackson said. “No one’s going to—”

The thuds of deadbolts being thrown cut him off. The door at the top of the stairs opened, and a familiar head popped around its edge. “You called?” Daisy called down in a sing-song voice. A large shadow loomed behind her—Ash, Jackson guessed.

“See?” Marcus smirked. “You should know not to doubt me by now.”

Daisy took the stairs two at a time, a set of keys jangling in her hand. “As soon as you strolled into town, human in tow, I knew there was going to be trouble,” she said, then flashed a smile. “Lucky for you, I like a bit of trouble. Let’s get you outta there. Your girl needs you.” She unlocked the padlock preventing the wheel that raised the portcullis from being turned. The rusty wheel resisted her first attempt to turn it.

“She does,” Marcus agreed. “You think you can hurry it up?”

Daisy looked up and scowled. “You wanna take over the rescue operation? I’d be happy to step aside.”

Jackson clamped a hand over Marcus’s mouth. “We appreciate you taking this risk for us.”

“Un huh.” Daisy grabbed the wheel and hung from it, legs lifted from the floor so her full body weight was used. Jackson was about to suggest that she trade places with Ash, when the wheel turned and the gate inched up. A minute later, he and Marcus crawled under the raised gate.

Upstairs, Ash stood guard at the front window. Four loaded packs sat at his feet, along with a pair of boots. Jackson recognized his pack and Kirra’s, but not the other two.

“You brought my boots,” Marcus said. “That was so nice of you.” He slung an arm over Ash’s shoulders. “You’re a good friend.”

Ash shrugged off his arm, frowning as Marcus swayed, latched onto Daisy for support, then slid to the floor, where he fumbled his boots on. Ash looked ready to question his sanity, but Jackson caught his eye and shook his head, and Ash let it go. “We’ve got a clear window,” Ash said. “But not for long. Let’s go.” He tossed Jackson’s pack to him, Kirra’s to Marcus, and he and Daisy grabbed the other two.

“You’re not going with us,” Jackson said.

“That’s not what she says.” Ash tilted his head at his partner, who bared her teeth in a smile.

“Your girl’s got guts,” was all she said before pushing open the door and heading left, taking the shortest route to the woods. They followed.

“T
hey’re using you, you know that, right?” Kirra said as she trudged behind Lash. “No matter what kind of a deal you made with Blackstone, they’re going to screw you over in the end. That’s what they do. Use people until they destroy them.” He didn’t bother responding, just kept walking with a steady, determined stride, forging a path through close-growing pines. Kirra had given up on trying to remember their path so she could find her way back—the route they’d taken was full of twists, turns, and stream crossings, and the undergrowth was so dense, any footprints they left were temporary, as plants sprang back to cover them. There was no going back. She either had to convince Lash that he was making a big mistake or escape once she had some idea of where she was. Neither plan was looking promising.

Lash leaped over a deadfall in a single bound—even in human form, he was amazingly agile. It really wasn’t fair. Bad guys should look like bad guys, not like handsome, professional athletes. They should look more like—

A hard hand shoved her between the shoulders as she attempted to navigate around the sharp branches sticking out of the dead tree. “Hurry up. She’s movin’ like a snail on purpose, Lash. Probably thinks those weak-ass dogs of hers will come running to her rescue.” Monroe snorted with laughter, and out of the corner of her eye, Kirra saw him rub at his still bloody mouth. His laughter turned to a scowl when his partner ignored his complaints. Kirra had the distinct feeling that Lash viewed her and Monroe as the same: nuisances that he wanted to be rid of, and the sooner the better.