Wolf's Capture (14 page)

Reid really needed an update on the situation. The girl would only slow him down. He could return later to rescue her.
And take her home with us.

To contain her power.

To keep her.

So she couldn’t be used against them.

But she could totally use me. Naked.

Naked Layla meant he thought of the hooded dude’s sick plans for her. He wanted her pregnant. By any means.

Brody could only assume he hoped to breed her power, to create a more malleable tool for his use. Sick. Unacceptable. What if he didn’t make it back in time to prevent it?

He followed cinnamon.

Alone, naked and without even a bloody gun, or a pair of pants, Brody went after the woman with the exotic scent.

I’m coming to rescue you, sweetheart.

But when he found her, she seemed less than pleased.

Stupid wolf shifter with his bloody sharp nose. Layla should have known he’d track her, even if he rode a noisy dirt bike spitting out fumes.

She’d opted to not have her flying minions attack him, not that they were doing much good with those following.

Tiny bodies against big swiping hands, along with those on foot not afraid to spray buckshot, meant her mini army didn’t last long. Mental orders couldn’t prevail against self-preservation. Off her surviving bats went in search of shelter and easier prey.

Damn. With them gone, it didn’t leave her with much to attack Brody when he skidded to a halt beside her.

Naked.

On a bike.

Did she mention he was gloriously naked?

The warmth infusing her body pushed back the cold, creeping dampness of the woods.

“Get on. We’re going for a ride.”

Mmm. Ride. Brody. Naked.

Given the crude language she’d found herself exposed to for the last few years, was it any wonder her first thought didn’t involve the bike?

He repeated himself. “Whatever’s got you mooning, snap out of it, sweetheart. We’ve got to go, so get your luscious butt on the back of this bike. The enemy is not far behind me. We need to make some tracks.”

He wants me to sit where?
She looked at the tiny wedge of seat left behind him. Why, she’d practically have to wrap all her limbs around his nude torso and have her crotch pressed against his firm buttocks. Her arms locked around his muscled chest. So close. Not a good idea. “No.”

“This isn’t the time to argue. Get on.”

“How about, instead, you lead them off that way while I go this way?” she said, pointing in opposite directions.

“They are right on our tail, Bait. Or is it your plan to get caught again just because you don’t want to come with me to Kodiak Point?”

“To face your alpha.”

“Probably.”

“And maybe get jailed or worse.”

To his credit he didn’t lie. “I doubt it will come to that once he hears your story.”

“Not good enough.”

“Why must you make everything so hard?” he growled.

Why did she? Layla couldn’t have said, but she also knew his plan was probably not in her best interest. Trade one prison for another? No thank you.

“Deal with it.” With those words, she sprinted away, choosing the toughest terrain for him to follow, barreling through the densest underbrush. Thing was, her mad dash sprint left a clear trail.

Brody paralleled her, shouting occasionally. “You’re tiring yourself for nothing.”

Not nothing. Freedom.

“They’re going to catch you.”

Not without an epic fight. She was beginning to feel the spark that signaled animal consciousness. Perhaps enough to keep those chasing from nabbing her.

And by them, did she include Brody in that group?

He seemed determined to stick with her. He swerved in close. “Get on.”

“No.”

“I’m going to spank you later for this.”

“I’ll make spiders crawl up your nose.”

She could do a lot worse, but for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to threaten him with it.

“That is fucking disturbing to know.”

“Then leave me alone.”

“Dammit, sweetheart. I’m trying to rescue you here. Why—”

The rest of his words got lost as the first of their pursuers finally caught up to them, the loud rumble of their motors drowning all sound.

Still running, Layla ignored Brody and focused on her own survival, casting out her senses to have the wildlife she could mentally touch report on the situation around her.

She should have focused more on the ground.

Her foot hooked an exposed root, and
wham
, she met the less than forgiving surface of the forest floor. It was not a gentle hello.

Before she could scramble to her feet, a dirt bike shot past her, but not far before it spun around. Despite the gloom, she could tell by the leer the driver bore, and the fact he wore clothes, that she didn’t face Brody.

Not good!

She shot to her feet and cast out a mental call for help to no avail. The wildlife here was too small and timid even for such a frantic command. They squeaked in their dens, they shivered in fear, and she backed away from the leering guy, who ditched his bike to come at her on foot.

He never laid a hand on her. Focused on the unfolding event in front of her, she never noted another dirt bike had gotten close. It shot from the side, and she gaped as the rider—naked and riveting in the scant starlight—clotheslined her attacker with a yodeled, “Yee-fucking-haw!”

The naked cowboy on his metal horse hit the ground, miraculously still seated on his bike, and spun. This time when Brody shouted, “Get the fuck on,” she obeyed.

There was pride and determination, and then there was stupidity.
I don’t want to be that girl in the book who rejects common sense.

Survival was more important.

Straddling the bike was just as awkward and uncomfortable as expected. The sliver of seat barely cupped her bottom, which meant she had to clamp her thighs around Brody, wrap her arms around his chest, and lean her cheek against the skin of shoulder.

“Hold on, sweetheart.”

I am, and liking it way too much.

Or she was for a few seconds, and then thrill-fueled terror took hold of her as Brody shot off into the darkness, the bike straining with the addition of her body weight but still moving them faster and farther than she could have managed on foot.

Maybe they could escape. There was just one problem, namely, Brody headed away from the nearest town, not toward it.

“You’re going the wrong way,” she shouted, her assertion just barely carrying over the sound of the engine and wind whipping the words away as soon as she uttered them.

“No, I’m not. Home is west.”

“But supplies are southeast.”

“We’re going home.”

She bit her tongue for the moment. Having an argument on a bike probably wasn’t the smartest idea, especially since they still had determined pursuers.

A four-wheeler came crashing from the bushes, with a driver channeling his inner daredevil and a passenger toting a shotgun.

“Shit!” Brody cursed as he leaned them to one side, his foot bracing their sharp turn away from the weapon.

Boom
.

The shot gun fired, and she closed her eyes tight, waiting for the stinging pain.

Missed.

But their pursuers seemed determined to try again. Brody weaved and dipped while she held on for dear life, his crazy speed and antics making her determined not to fall off, especially not on this rocky terrain.

Terrain that conspired against them. The ground, all of a sudden, inclined sharply, too sharply for the bike. Brody skidded to a halt and turned, practically tossing her off.

He gunned the motor as he eyed the shadowy forest behind them, the hum of other engines loud, which meant they were close.

“What are you waiting for?”

“My opening.”

Three vehicles emerged from the concealment of the trees, the flash of the drivers’ eyes ominous pinpricks of color. At least to her.

Usually she didn’t fear feral animals. But these wild shifters, ones not bound by laws, didn’t obey her commands, and she didn’t have the master here to temper their violent nature.

Would they show care when they dragged her back to meet her punishment?

If we go back.

Brody had shown himself resourceful thus far. Perhaps he’d slip this noose.

Again, he gunned the bike. “Hold on tight. We’re going to have to squeeze this.”

But then Lady Luck showed her bitchy side again.

The engine coughed. Choked. Then died.

Even she winced as one of their pursuers laughed and said, “For once I’m glad Tommy’s a lazy prick who never thinks to fill his tank.”

Tommy was taken off her Christmas list. Because of him, they now no longer had wheels.

“Get off the bike nice and slow with your hands up,” ordered the guy on the four-wheeler. His pal on the back aimed his shotgun in their direction.

No point in fighting the inevitable. Layla slid off the dirt bike and immediately felt a pang at the loss of Brody’s body heat. She stood beside him, hands held up in surrender.

Brody, on the other hand, didn’t move.

“I said get off the bike.” The fellow held out a familiar remote and jabbed the button.

Nothing happened. The guy slapped it. Banged it off his handlebars, cursed a few times, but the little box wouldn’t work.

“Fucking Tommy didn’t change the batteries,” he muttered with disgust.

Tommy was re-added to her Christmas list.

“Ah, is your little toy not working?” taunted Brody, with no sense of preservation.

It impressed her a bit, especially given the odds. She also wondered at his mental state, because really, who did that with these odds?

“Don’t piss me off, wolf boy. Get off the bike and put your hands in the air.”

“Make me.” No doubting the challenge there.

She stared at the sky while she tapped her foot, waiting for the game of testosterone chicken to play its course.

“The master said to bring you back. He never said we couldn’t hurt you, dog.”

“Again, I’d like to see you try. But since you’re more interested in talking, I’ve got something to say. Five.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Four.”

“Stop screwing around.”

“Three.”

“Shoot him.” The guy with the shotgun aimed then cursed as he realized he’d not primed his weapon. The other guys on the bikes ditched their rides and fumbled for their weapons.

Brody smiled. “Two.”

“What are you waiting for? Shoot—”

She never heard the one. Instead, the dirt bike Brody straddled went toppling to the opposite side of her as Brody sprang from it, morphing into a mighty wolf, a timber wolf with striated black, silver, and white fur.

Savage grace in motion that took out the screaming fellow before the guy with the shotgun managed to reload. The other guys weren’t as ill prepared. They’d managed to pull free their weapons, and she noted the muzzle flashes and her ears rang from the cracks as they fired at the wolf determined to bring them down.

Yet, somehow, they kept missing Brody as he moved in a jagged fashion that just allowed him to avoid getting shot each time.

Unfortunately, they had numbers on their side, which, given the approaching shouts, were about to swell.

Brody seemed to not like the turn of events. He bounded back in her direction then up the embankment at her back.

She craned to watch him, saw him incline his shaggy head her way as if to say, “You coming?”

Oh, what the hell. Why not? Might as well make escape fifty-seven memorable. They’d come this far, why not go a few more yards?

The rough surface of the stones scraped at her feet, but given she only got to wear shoes when the weather turned nasty, she barely noted it. She did, however, envy Brody’s padded paws, which allowed him to bound and clamber effortlessly the sharper than expected incline.

Not exactly the most comfortable escape. It didn’t help that the occasional shot pinged off the stony surface, sending hard flecks splattering. Ouch.

The random shots didn’t last long, as someone shouted, “You fucking idiot, stop shooting. If we accidentally kill the girl, the master will rip out our intestines and feed them to us, like he did with poor Jory.”

Poor Jory, indeed. He’d nicked her with a bullet during escape fifty-three. Came close to an artery, too. His screams echoed for miles around as master made an example of his ineptitude.

The shooting halted, and with only the worry of those climbing below them to distract her, Layla made better time, even if she now leaned forward and had to use her fingers to grip and help pull herself up.

Until a set of strong hands grabbed her by the wrists and yanked.

“Eep!”

She couldn’t help her startled yell as a suddenly human again Brody hauled her to the top of the rocky mountain. Okay, more like a hill, but given how she panted and her muscles complained, it seemed a lot bigger.

He didn’t waste time asking how she was—some rescuer he was turning out to be. He didn’t say anything as he tugged her away from the edge, but not as far as she would have liked, probably on account of the cliff on the other side.

Trapped between a suicidal drop and rabid master’s minions. Escape fifty-seven truly was determined to make itself memorable.

“Can you swim?” he asked as she tried to back away from the sheared-off embankment.

“Nope. And I don’t think now’s the time to learn.”

“We don’t have much of a choice. It’s either jump or go back to jail.”

“I can’t drown in prison.”

“I wouldn’t let you sink.”

“Answer is still no,” she replied, not even trying to stem the shudder of the memory from the last time she’d ended up in water over her head. How clearly she recalled the panic and fear as her lungs burned for oxygen before her head bobbed to the surface. She’d gotten lucky that time.

Judging by the ominous slick look of the water coursing below, she didn’t think it would prove as friendly as the shallow lake she fell in during escape twenty-one.

“I’ll stall them while you escape,” she offered, turning away and raising her hands in surrender.