Wolf's Capture (3 page)

This wasn’t like him. Brody stopped his feet, even though they insisted on moving. His whole body leaned toward the direction of the scent.

How unnatural and freaky.

Not a poison, but the scent is certainly some form of attractant.
Which never boded well.

Only the most deadly of plants or creatures ever emitted that type of odorous trap. Whatever oozed it now did not belong in these woods, which meant, more than ever, Brody needed to track the source, but at the same time, he needed to figure out how to prevent the smell from affecting him.

He needed a counteragent.

Pretty smell meet bad one.

Brody pulled his squirrel cologne out, a small atomizer atop a glass vial. So innocuous in appearance, and yet the murky yellow liquid held within was capable of transforming his manly wolf scent—which the ladies loved—into something else. The rank stench liberally dabbed under his nose destroyed his current ability to smell.

Eew. Nasty. Not exactly pleasant, but it helped dispel the lingering effect that drew him like a drone toward the smell that didn’t belong in these woods.
What, or who, is it?

As he continued on his way, creeping silently now instead of mindlessly, Brody noticed some oddities around him. For one, he wasn’t the only one drawn in that direction. Rodents of all castes scampered ahead of him.

His wolf watched them avidly through his eyes. He also flashed a visual commentary that went along the lines of,
Snack. Snack. Almost a lunch.

His wolf practically slobbered at the buffet. Brody preferred his meat from the store. It was less work to prepare.

While he couldn’t see them, Brody heard the flutter of wings as avian creatures swept overhead. Hopefully not bats. He disliked bats, and he had ever since he encountered that flock of blood-sucking ones when on a mission in the rain forest.
Don’t attack humans, my ass.
They sure as hell had no problem with shifters.

Hate them. And they taste bad too.

The fact that even roasted over a campfire, basted with lemon juice, didn’t make them palatable didn’t answer the question of the moment.

What the hell is going on?

Reid would want to know. Hell, Brody wanted to know.

The only time animals ran in a herd with a single purpose was if danger swept from behind them. Usually fire, although, occasionally, a giant Yeti would venture from the ice fields and give the local inhabitants a good scare.

Fun times for Brody and the others though.

The farther he went, the more the trees tapered, leaving him with scarce cover. But it didn’t stop him from following the trail of little creatures as they flowed past him to congregate in a cleared area from which thrust a rocky outcropping.

As clearings went, this one wasn’t special. It didn’t have any Stonehenge type monoliths or ancient burial ground. The rocky mound was comprised of boulders of varying size, which had no cultural significance. Until now.

Now it was a throne, an island amidst an undulating sea of furry, writhing bodies, all jostling for a spot before the rocks.

But why?

Lest he crush tiny bodies, Brody halted and took stock. With the moon at its smallest wedge, there wasn’t much illumination, but his wolf side made up for it and allowed him to make out some of the details, enough to note that amongst the mice and squirrels and other small forest denizens were larger ones such as a coon and a fox—not the intelligent or related-to-Jan kind.

But the animals weren’t the most interesting thing.

She was.

Atop the boulders sat a woman, a seemingly human one. A woman seated on a rocky throne, whose presence drew him.

A shiver went through him like he’d not experienced in all his years, not even in the military. Something about the way she sat, the way the animals all seemed to gather in reverence, really bothered him. It totally set off his whig-o-meter.

What. The. Fuck.

Now this is what his sarge would have classified as interesting.

He moved closer, not even trying to hide, wanting a better glimpse of her before he acted. She seemed utterly oblivious to his presence.

Like hello. Big bad wolf here.

Big bad wolf who smelled like an itty bitty squirrel.

Okay, so he’d give her a pass on smelling his presence. But still. What about her other senses? Did she not sense danger gazing upon her?

I am here. Hear me howl. Awoo!

Not a twitch.

Oblivious about his arrival or choosing to ignore him? He’d wager a bit of both.

Weird, but not as weird as the fact all the forest animals seemed to gaze upon her with utter adoration.

Talk about really fucking freaky.

Now, if he were Boris or Gene, he’d have probably hauled out his gun and shot her. His old army buddies lived by very simple rules:
If you don’t like it, kill it.

But, unlike Kyle and his crown of antlers, Brody tried to use his head for more than just a hat rack. It saw the woman, sitting crossed-legged atop the outcropping, her head tilted back, hair fluttering in a whirling breeze, forming a nimbus around her crown, and he thought,
Interesting
.

As part of education in the spy arts, his sarge taught him to not kill interesting things unless he really had to.
Keep the person of interest alive,
he’d drilled. Bring them back for questioning. Ask them if they had something to do with the feral creatures of late who’d banded together and attacked the residents of Kodiak Point.

Mission objective—capture the woman for questioning.

First phase: how to get to her? And without drawing undue attention.

For the moment, his target seemed oblivious to his presence, but that could quickly change. Brody wished he’d thought to bring a tranquilizer gun with him. Alas, he had only his knife and a regular pistol.
And some cuffs.
If he could get close enough, given his size advantage, he could surely subdue her and slip them on.

But that required him approaching, which meant he’d have to either find a way around the furry sea, or he’d have to crush them. Not usually a squeamish guy, even Brody had to balk at the idea of stomping the little creatures. Yet what choice did he truly have?

Sidling to the left while keeping her in sight, he barely dared to blink, lest she disappear again. He sought a clear path or at least one less rife with bodies. None appeared. She was like an isle amongst the creatures come to pay whisker-twitching homage.

When no easy route availed itself, he realized there was nothing he could do. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he stepped forward.

No crunch. He dared a peek down. The writhing bodies had parted for his foot. He watched as he lifted the other and aimed it over a few heads. They didn’t run. They didn’t squeak. How utterly uncanny. Yet, as his foot descended, they flowed out of the way, giving him a clear spot to land his toes.

I am that bearded fellow from that Bible except I’m parting the furry sea.

Brody made his way to the rocks without doing any damage. As soon as he proved close enough, he leapt on to a boulder, his bare toes gripping the rough surface. He glanced at his target to check on her status.

During his entire trek, she hadn’t moved. Her head still remained thrust back, and her hair danced wildly, snapping as if alive with static electricity. For all he knew she was electric. The air this close to her definitely hummed, almost creating a music, one that vibrated against the edges of his consciousness.

He ignored it as he crept closer. The creepy situation didn’t improve when he noted her eyes were wide open but rolled back, displaying only the white orbs. Totally not cool.

While not a big watcher of horror movies, even Brody knew there was something supernatural about the whole situation. He could hear Boris grunting, “Kill it.”

But he couldn’t. Murder a seemingly unarmed woman, alone on a rocky perch?

It was too easy.

Way too easy.

And not right.

Who and what is she?

He both wanted to know and, at the same time, desperately wanted to run away.

Ever had the feeling your life was about to drastically change? Yeah, he had that feeling, and he didn’t like it one bit. Problem was uneasiness didn’t mean he’d take the coward’s route.

Brody lived for danger. Reveled in it. And this situation screamed danger, despite its benign appearance thus far.

Despite the teeth-thrumming vibe coming off the woman, he crept as close as he could to her prone figure. He took a deep breath and then wrapped his arms around her. A jolt of awareness slammed into him. It stole most of his breath, leaving him only with enough to mutter, “Gotcha.”

Yet he couldn’t help but think he was the one captured instead.

The moment he made his decision to approach she was aware of him. All of the animals in the clearing were.

Predator. He’s come among us. Run. Hide. Eek!

The simple minds quavered in fear, and yet she held them tight. It drained her awfully to expend so much of her will and over such a vast area, but at the same time, how free she felt.

So many sensations bombarded her, not hers, the animals. With but a touch of her mind, and a yank at their will, she could live through their eyes. Feel through their paws. Die during a futile attack.

She’d already withdrawn her consciousness out of the creatures attacking Kodiak Point. She’d gotten them there, given them the order to attack, but she wouldn’t watch through their eyes or suffer as they got injured or died. She’d seen too much death already.

Besides, the real reason for her presence approached.
He’s behind me. He’s—

Even though Layla had expected his touch, she couldn’t help a gasp when he grabbed her. She certainly never expected the flash of heat his contact would bring—nor how pleasant she would find it.

Awareness flared to life, not the adrenaline-filled kind brought upon by the threat of danger, but the more erotic type. The awareness of a woman for a man, not something she’d truly experienced much, but given how much romance she read, definitely recognizable. Her captor exuded a certain aura—confidence, strength, masculinity—and it shocked her when she responded to it, responded to him, a stranger.

“Gotcha!” The man’s warm breath fluttered by the lobe of her ear. It started a chain reaction, shooting a shiver straight through the length of her.
If only you did have me.

Because he was mistaken in who was truly captured. While the wolf might hold her, he would never get the chance to keep her.

The master had plans for the shapeshifter, plans she could state with a degree of certainty wouldn’t end well for the guy.

Another waste of a life to satisfy the sadistic nature of the master—the title was his idea. Someone had delusions of grandeur and wasn’t afraid to kill to achieve it.

“You should run now while you can.” She tried to warn him. Her stab at rebellion.

As expected, he didn’t listen. “Not likely, sweetheart.” He hugged her tighter, and silly her, she enjoyed it.

I am such a slut for attention. How desperate am I that I feel such excitement for a stranger?

Smarten up. She wasn’t here to enjoy herself. She was but a tool in an arsenal for revenge, and, if she completed this task, she’d be rewarded with a mixed bag of junk food. To those who took freedom for granted and judged her for being bought so cheaply, try pacing the interior of her ten-by-ten cage for a year before judging her.

She’d do almost anything for a few pounds of chocolate or an excursion outside where she could breathe fresh air or feel sunlight on her skin.

In this case, to receive her reward, all she had to do was send some simple wolves and other creatures—not many given they’d already cleared most of the area in previous attacks—to assist an ambush on the town. Easy. Just like it was easy to set herself up as bait on the rock.

Sit and play with the animals. Those were the orders. Let her innate power draw all to her, including a curious wolf.

Her master had a specific goal in mind when he outlined the plan, such an intricate plot just to get to this point. The attack on the town, a feeble ploy to draw attention away from the true purpose today. Capture a wolf.

The targeted shifter walked, unsuspecting, into the trap, a trap about to snap shut. She could almost feel sorry for him, but his life versus hers and a pillowcase of chocolate?

Was it selfish? That depended. Was it selfish to want to protect herself?

Still, though, it didn’t make the guilt any less. She turned her vivid purple gaze his way, their startling color in her tanned complexion always throwing newcomers for a loop.

Her tone wasn’t the least bit triumphant when she said, “I’m sorry, sir wolf, but it is not I who is captive, but you.”

While her brand of animal magic wouldn’t work on him—his mind was too strong for that—the dart that struck from the shadows was made to take out even the toughest predator. The second, third, and fourth tufted dart were precautions.

His eyes widened as he slurred, “Bloody hell.” That was all he managed to utter before the strong sleeping agent put him out.

The arms around her slackened, but before the guy could topple them from their precarious perch, figures appeared, their dark clothing making them seem like shadows come to life.

The master’s men plucked the guy’s limp body from the rock and slapped silver cuffs on him, the metal painful to the touch and impossible for him to break.

Almost she could feel sorry for the man. He’d not asked to get caught. He’d done nothing to deserve his capture. Yet, when he next awoke, the freedom he’d enjoyed would be denied.

Welcome to my world.

A world where all obeyed the dictates of the master or face the consequences. But at least he served good food. A well-fed slave was a strong one, capable of wreaking havoc in his master’s name. Or so she’d heard like a zillion times.

Villains tended to stick to well-known speeches she’d noticed.

Speak of the devil… “Well done, my pet.” His robotic words grated on the ear.

“As if I had a choice,” she muttered to the robed figure, who didn’t so much as walk in to the clearing as flow.