Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Another figure lunged, but she ducked beneath their grasping hands, lurching toward the door. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she sprinted forward, only to be yanked back as fingers twisted in her top.
“Not so fast, sweetheart.” The same voice. Who the hell was that?
She gritted her teeth and threw her head back, smashing her skull into the attacker’s face. Bone cracked, and the hand in her pajama top loosened.
Screaming, she lunged toward where she thought the door might be, her hands scrabbling for the stupid bag. Her spine stiffened, and she began to shift into a wolf.
Suddenly, a sharp blow landed on the back of her head. Pain burst behind her skull, white-hot and disorienting. Her legs buckled beneath her, and her vision blurred as she hit the floor. Rough hands seized her again, dragging her backward as her consciousness slipped toward darkness.
When she slowly came to, she held perfectly still as the uneven motion of a vehicle jostled her body.
Blinking against the darkness, she shifted and felt the rough texture of the carpet beneath her hands. Her wrists were bound tightly in front of her, and her pulse quickened as she assessed her surroundings. The space was tight. Way too tight to shift. Attempting to change forms would break every bone in her body.
Gritting her teeth, she yanked the garlic-scented bag from her head, wincing as the odor still clung to her hair and skin. Her head throbbed, a dull ache pounding just behind her right eye. The blow they’d delivered had left her disoriented, but adrenaline surged through her veins now. Her feet, blessedly free, pressed against what she guessed were the vehicle’s taillights. She kicked hard with her bare feet.
Nothing happened.
She kicked again, harder this time, but the trunk’s metal shell held firm. Pain clocked through her feet. The vehicle was probably an older model, as the taillights on a newer one would have shattered by now. Frustration coiled tight in her chest. How long had she been out? Minutes? Hours? She had no way of knowing.
Breathing through her nose to steady her pulse, she raised her bound wrists and tested the ropes, feeling their rough fibers bite into her skin. With deliberate focus, she let her canines elongate. The sharp points pressed against the ropes as she began gnawing, grinding through each strand with slow, steady determination. The fibers resisted at first, but her wolf’s teeth were made for tearing through flesh and bone. Ropes were nothing.
The hum of the engine vibrated through the trunk. Sweat dampened her brow as she moved, changing her angle to bite through the last stubborn strands. Her wrists strained against the bonds until, with a final snap, the ropes gave way. The freedom sent a burst of energy through her limbs.
Yet her body still felt so damn weak. She had to figure out what was wrong with her. After she got out of this mess. If they’d wanted her dead, they would’ve tried already.
Probably.
She flexed her hands, feeling the blood rush back into her fingers. Her head still throbbed, but the pulse of determination overrode the pain. Curling her legs beneath her, she tensed, ready to strike the moment the trunk opened.
Whoever had taken her was about to regret it.
Chapter 11
Jackson was halfway into breaking through a stubborn vein of granite deep within his largest mine. The air was thick with the scent of earth and traces of mineral dust, and sweat clung to his back beneath his shirt. He gripped the handle of a pickaxe, enjoying the old-fashioned way of beating into the solid rock.
If nothing else, it helped him ease some pressure in his fucking body.
Pressure from one Miss Emily Nightsom.
He swung the axe, muscles straining as the rock face fought him. Each strike echoed through the narrow tunnel, sharp and rhythmic, as shards of stone broke loose and clattered to the ground.
The sense of granite lived in his blood. The material was dense here, and extracting it required precision. Oh, he had a jackhammer and a hydraulic splitter off to the side, but he wanted to feel the fight tonight.
Too much force and the slabs would fracture into useless fragments. Not enough, and the rock wouldn’t yield at all.
“What the hell are you beating out of your system?” Leroy Lakeland strode up, sweat pouring down his round face. He’d served as the mine foreman for longer than Jackson had been alive, and the wolf was as wide as he was tall—which was very.
“Everything.” Jackson angled the pick just right before driving it into a natural seam. A thin crack appeared in the granite, and he set the tool aside. “It was a long day.”
Leroy snorted, shoving the yellow hard hat back on his head. “I heard. You really picking a mate from an Internet search by the Slate chick?”