N. Walters - Finding Chrissten

Chrissten struggled to regulate her ragged breathing and steady her heartbeat. This was no time to panic. Correction, this was exactly the time to panic, but it wouldn’t help her escape. They’d reached their destination.

The back doors of the van were yanked open and Brian reached in, grabbed her and tossed her over his shoulder. The position was uncomfortable and cut into her midsection. Her already upset stomach threatened to revolt and she thought about just giving into it and vomiting all over Brian’s back, but that would probably only make him more angry.

She inhaled through her nose and out through her mouth in a desperate attempt to settle her jittery stomach. Fear threatened to immobilize her. She had to fight through it and remind herself that Hank was coming. Quinn was coming. But would it be too late?

She made herself study her surroundings. Another older building. No surprise there. She hadn’t seen where they were going but she had no doubt it was in a more dilapidated part of the city. They wouldn’t want any nosy neighbors.

“What have you got there?” The male voice was deep and the sensual edge to it scared her.

“My mate. I told you I’d get her back.” She was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. Her head bounced off the wood, making her ears ring. A throbbing pain danced around her skull. She swallowed hard and struggled to focus. It was difficult with the marching band beating in her brain, the flock of butterflies in her belly and her fuzzy vision.

A tall male with dark hair and dark eyes stood over Chrissten studying her. “She’s not much to look at. Hard to believe Marcus was killed because of this bitch and the one who got away.”

Chrissten wanted to spit in his face but settled on tilting her chin upward. She wouldn’t let them intimidate her. She had no idea who Marcus was.

“Marcus died because he was careless and took too many silver bullets. And it doesn’t matter what she looks like, William.” Brian laughed and slapped the man on the back. “She’s strong and she’s available. She can give me sons.”

Chrissten went cold inside. This was Brian’s second in command, the computer expert, the one who’d helped him find her.

“Where are the others?” Brian asked.

“Aaron and Beck got back ahead of you and are on watch. Gregor and Miles are on a food run.” William nudged her with the tip of his boot. “What are you going to do with her?”

“Fuck her. And often.” Brian’s matter-of-fact tone made her blood run cold. Chrissten looked around her surroundings, searching for a knife, something sharp, anything she could use to help free herself.

“What about the rest of us?” William’s question held an edge of threat to it.

Brian crossed his arms over his chest. “The rest of you will have to wait.” Chrissten began to relax. She could handle Brian. She had before and she would again. “As soon as she’s pregnant with my whelp, you can all have a turn with her.”

Chrissten went numb inside. She wouldn’t live through this. There was no way she would allow herself to be raped by all six wolves in this pack. She’d rather die, and before Brian got her pregnant.

A hot ember burned in her gut. No. She wouldn’t die. She’d escape. And she’d kill Brian in the process. That was her only option. Her family was still out there in the city, vulnerable to attack. Brian wouldn’t be satisfied simply having her. They’d cost him and his pack by killing the doctor and taking back Bethany.

“What about the rest of them?” William asked.

“We’ll give them a few hours to stew and then we’ll attack again. That bitch Bethany is still at the bar, and I’ll bet there are more. You can have Bethany if we get her back,” he promised the other man.

“Sounds good to me,” William agreed.

Brian reached down, grabbed her by the braid and dragged her across the room. Pain exploded in her already abused head. Blackness threatened to overwhelm her and she fought it with everything she had not to lose consciousness.

The floor was hard beneath her as he pulled her into a small room. “Stay here,” he ordered and shut the door behind him.

Chrissten didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. She couldn’t. Any wrong movement and she’d pass out. Her life came down to each new single moment. Breathe in. Breathe out. Over and over again until the black edges of unconsciousness receded.

Time lost all meaning as she focused on her simple goal of pushing air in and out of her lungs. When the blackness finally retreated, she took stock of her surroundings. It wasn’t an actual room she was in but a large closet. There were no windows, no way in or out other than the door she’d been dragged through. And she knew Brian or William or both were waiting on the other side.

The pain in her head made her ill, but she ignored it. She had to free herself.

It was going to hurt. No way around it. Her feet were bound and her hands were tied behind her back. The first thing she had to do was contort her body so she could push her arms around her legs and feet and move her hands to the front so she could see what she was working with.

Easier said than done.

But Chrissten wasn’t about to admit defeat. Not while she still had a heartbeat.

She sat up slowly and almost passed out. The pain was overwhelming, but she gritted her teeth and held on. She was sure she had a concussion, but it would pass in time. The werewolf blood running through her veins would help her recover faster than she would if she was fully human.

“Help me,” she whispered to her wolf and felt a shimmering of reassurance within her as her wolf tried to add her strength. “It’s all me,” she reminded herself.

She shuffled backward, moving as quietly as she could. She stopped when her back was against the wall and took a fortifying breath. Cocking her head to one side, she listened carefully. Male voices drifted in from the room beyond. Good. If they were talking they wouldn’t be listening too hard for her.

Her hands and arms were almost completely numb, the circulation impaired by being tied so tightly in an awkward position. She could do this. She had to do this.

Clenching her teeth to keep from screaming, Chrissten shoved her arms under her butt and down the backs of her legs and over her feet. Sweat popped out on her brow and down her back. Her stomach protested. Her head exploded with pain.

She dropped her forehead onto her bent knees and sucked in air. She’d done it. Her hands were in front of her. Grant it, her arms were on fire, but now she had a chance to free herself.

When she’d gained control of the pain, she took stock of the situation. Her hands were swollen and slightly discolored. Not good. Her arms felt like someone had tried to yank them out of their sockets. Her head hurt, her entire body was trembling. She was sweating and her stomach threatened to revolt.

It was better than being dead.

Chrissten finally raised her head, taking her time as she did so. No need to rush things at this point and risk passing out. She rested her head against the wall behind her until she felt steadier.

Time to get to work. She worked her fingers slowly, ignoring the pins and needles that shot through them. When she had enough movement, she leaned forward and started picking at the rope around her ankles. It was a slow, arduous chore and she didn’t make much headway.

Her wolf chuffed inside her and she stilled. Her head must have addled her more than she’d thought. She could use her wolf.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on a partial change. Long, sharp talons exploded from her fingertips and fangs dropped from her mouth. Very carefully, Chrissten used her claw to slice the ropes around her ankles.