Page 8 of Hunted

Some lines couldn’t be crossed if you wanted to stay sane—and as alpha, his job was to keep this poor excuse for a wolf pack sane. It was probably a lost cause, but he could still try.

Whatever had to be done, he was going to have to do it himself—principles or no principles.

He said to Rex, “Call me if there’s any change.”

And he walked out.

Michelangela woke up slowly, trying very hard not to. She was sitting straight up on a hard chair, when she really, really wanted to be lying down. Parts of her were numb, and parts of her prickled with the worst pins and needles ever.

The only thing that was free to move was her head. She knew that because someone had just yanked it upward by painfully grabbed her hair. There was a bright light in her eyes that stabbed like an icepick, so she shut them tight.

Which was a good thing, because moments later a bucket of cold water hit her in the face. Dirty, nasty, smelly water.

It dripped down her face and into her ears, and stung the corners of her eyes.

“You might as well open your eyes, bitch. Or Boomer will shock you again, and this time it will really hurt. Since you’re soaking wet.”

She was pretty sure that was an empty threat. Shocking her again when she was covered in water might kill her, and if they wanted her dead, she’d already be feeding the buzzards back by the cliffside.

She couldn’t believe she’d been stupid enough to get herself ambushed. She could almost hear her uncle Tristan growling, “Did I not teach you anything?”

Someone slapped her across the face—hard. The shock made her open her eyes, squinting against the icepick light beams.

The still-dripping water stung her eyes even worse, and she couldn’t raise her hand to wipe it off.

“Where’s the antidote?” a man growled.

They hadn’t found it. And they probably wouldn’t, unless she gave it to them. Her dragon amulet wasn’t the only trick she had up her sleeve.

She shook her head as if she were still clearing it, and gave a little pathetic squawk, pretending like it was hard for her to talk.

“Hit her again.” A different voice this time.

Michelangela blinked hard, trying to clear her vision. She was in a small room, built of rough stone blocks. No windows, and it smelled like it was underground, but the air was fresh, so there was some kind of ventilation.

She was bound to a heavy metal chair—forearms, chest, calves and feet—with bonds that were cut-off-your-circulation tight.

The bright lights kept her from seeing details at first, but she could make out four men ranged around her. By their shapes, they looked like the ones she’d fought out by the cliff. Big, tough, with the type of stance that screamed ‘special ops.’ They all had a heavy wolf scent, like their animals were close to the surface.

Rule #1 of interrogation: Play dumb. “Where am I?” she said. “Why did you kidnap me? You can’t get away with this.”

“We already have.” That was the man who had hit her—the big one with the giant neck, who she’d kicked in the face. Her vision was clearing, and she could see he was still bruised—and pissed. “You’re at a place no one knows about. We can get away with anything.”

That was a bad sign. Nothing was more dangerous than a bad guy who believed he could get away with anything. Michelangela surreptitiously tested her bonds. She could probably break free, given time, but it would have to wait until she was alone in the room, or they’d stop her.

The second man spoke again. “Tell us where the antidote is.” This was the one from the tree. She could see the trickle of dried blood from where she’d clocked him with his own gun.

She said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The third man growled. It sounded raspy, like his larynx hadn’t quite healed from where she’d half-crushed it. He smelled really pissed. He said, “You shot up Dobe with some kind of wolf toxin. It’s killing him. His wound can’t heal.”

Michelangela ran out of patience for playing dumb. Impatience and impulsiveness strike again. That, and her smart mouth. “Sucks for him,” she said. “Oh, wait. He’s a kidnapper who steals little children. Nothing sucks enough for people like him.”

The scary guy who liked to get away with things raised his hand to hit her again. The fourth man, the one holding the taser, grabbed his forearm and stopped him. “Cut it out, Sanchez. She can’t tell us anything if you beat her unconscious.”

Sanchez growled. The other man held his eyes for a moment, and then let go of his arm.

Taser Guy—Boomer—leaned in, his eyes golden and his wolf musk enveloping her. “Harrelson is an agent with vital information. We need it. You’re our only way to get it.” He bared his teeth at her. “You see where I’m going with this.”