Chapter 8

EIGHT

RUTH

I wandered through the dark, the ax clutched tight in my hand. Naked. Cold. Pissed. My anger burned my fear to ash. Now, I almost hoped they'd find me. I'd probably end up like Hope, but at least I'd shed some blood with my new steely friend.

Something shifted in the dark ahead of me, and I tightened my grip on the ax.

Glowing eyes emerged from the shadows. My grip tightened around the ax handle even more, my sweaty palms making it slick.

A werewolf prowled forward, its attention fastened on me. A guttural growl rumbled from its chest, making the hairs on my nape stand.

The black wolf that tore out Hope's throat. Her blood still dripped from its jowls.

It started to circle me, and I fought back against the instinct telling me to run. I couldn't take my ax with me if I shifted. And I was done being the prey.

As it stalked around me in a wide circle, I noticed the swell of the monster's belly. A deep discomfort burrowed in my gut. This she-wolf was pregnant.

The female hunched, her yellow eyes honing on me as she prepared to pounce. I braced myself, ax at the ready.

Before the black wolf could pounce, another sprang forward from the dark. It was a huge wolf with a pale coat matted in blood.

A silver wolf.

It was him—The male who'd chased me through the woods, cut my shirt off, teased me with my knife…

And murdered my cousin while I watched from the bushes.

He placed himself between the black wolf and my ax, protecting her. Were they mates? I don't know why that angered me more. His vicious flirting hadn't been genuine. He'd just been playing with his food. That's all I was to him. A meal, just like the other sacrifices.

Not this time. Not with this rabbit.

"Don't fear, Little Rabbit. Your blood will make my pup strong," the beast rasped.

"I don't think so, motherfucker," I snarled back.

The silver werewolf laughed, the sound so deep and jarring it rattled me to the bone. "You're a bold one. The other sacrifices aren't so mouthy."

"We should give her to Carver," the black she-wolf mused from behind her mate. "He likes the sassy ones. Like the purple-haired girl from last year. Called her tasty."

The purple-haired girl from last year? A chill washed over me. Sarah had purple hair. The same color that I streaked my hair with—a silly little way I liked to remember her.

The wolf that killed Sarah was named Carver. If I lived through this night, I'd remember that name.

The silver wolf pounced. He was heavy, and with my angle and reflexes, his weight was his downfall. I didn't even have to swing. All I had to do was raise the ax at the right moment and hold it where his throat would land.

A shockwave of pain jolted down my arms at the impact. A warm flood of blood coated my arms. I rolled out from beneath him just in time to avoid being crushed. I placed my foot on his body, using it as leverage to wrench the ax free.

Blood spurted from the gash in his neck to the rhythm of his heartbeat. It was slowing down.

Pure anger drove me as I lifted the ax and brought it down hard on his thick neck, again and again, until I'd separated the beast's massive head from his body.

The dark-furred wolf shifted into a gorgeous, curvy woman with a thick mane of dark curly hair. She stumbled to her knees, taking the wolf's great head in her arms. "Casey! Oh god, no. Casey!"

If I lived through this night, the woman's horrified shriek would haunt me for the rest of my days.

Blood pooled underneath her dead mate, and I was amazed by how much was in him.

Clutching his severed head to her chest, she lifted her face, her tear-swollen cheeks glistening in the moonlight. Our eyes locked.

There was no anger in her expression, only despair. It was almost like she was pleading with me to kill her, too. My gaze drifted down to her naked, swollen belly. Something akin to humanity jerked me from my rage and I turned on my heel, bolting into the dark.

After an unknown stretch of time spent wandering the woods, I found the road again. I could almost cry from the relief. So long as I followed it, I'd find something. Ideally, the way out.

My heart fell when a cabin appeared ahead. It wasn't the main road leading back to town, but at least it was something.

This was still pack property, so I had to be careful.

Cautiously, I tip-toed up the porch and peered inside. The place was dark. There was no car parked out front. No fresh scent clung to the door. No one was home.

Normally, I wouldn't barge into a cabin that was, in all likelihood, owned by a werewolf, but desperation made me bold. Or stupid. I'd figure out which once I was inside.

I tried the front door and found it unlocked. I pushed inside and went rigid the moment the scent hit me. Tanned leather and pine, with the faintest hint of cigarette smoke.

I recognized that scent... I'd stumbled right into the home of the silver wolf.

It was almost too perfect. He was dead. He wasn't going to be coming home. But what about his mate?

I took in a deep breath, my brows pulling together in confusion. There was no trace of another's scent. The cabin was small, decorated sparsely, with no sign of a female's touch. Maybe his mate lived back at the main pack house?

Then again, I didn't detect his scent on her skin, so maybe they weren't even bonded mates.

But… the way she'd cried for him...

I shook my head and pushed the fresh memory to the back of my mind. Nope. That would be something to unpack in therapy later, assuming I'd survive this nightmare.

I kept the lights off as I wandered deeper into the cabin, not wanting to signal to the wolves that someone was home in case anyone happened by.

My eyes adjusted to the dark to take in the dead man's belongings.

"Ugh. Creepy," I muttered to myself as I found several sets of blank eyes watching me from the walls. The heads of various game animals were displayed in his living room, mounted over the couch.

I hurried into the bedroom, not wanting to make eye contact with the poor bastards.

Like the rest of the cabin, the room was furnished with the basics: a dresser, a king-size bed, a nightstand with a lamp made of deer skin and antlers.

The hunting trophies didn't surprise me one bit. What threw me for a loop was the bookcase nestled against the wall, every inch of shelf space accounted for with well-read books. The silver wolf liked to read?

Most of the books were horror titles. Salem's Lot by Stephen King must have been his current read since it was perched on his nightstand with one of the corners dogeared. Of course, he'd forgo an actual bookmark, the barbarian.

Setting my ax on top of his dresser, I dug out a flannel dress shirt from one of the drawers.

Was I really about to wear a dead man's shirt? Creepy, considering I'd beheaded him not an hour ago. But it felt less weird than wandering around his house in the buff.

I tugged the shirt on. It was practically a tent on me.

His dark and spicy aroma swaddled me, making the place between my thighs ache. Fuck, not this again. I was dangerously close to full-on heat, and my uterus hadn't gotten the memo that the silver wolf was dead.

I debated pulling the shirt off since the male's scent was affecting me in ways that made my core run hot, but then I dismissed the idea. The werewolves would have a tough time tracking me down if I smelled like one of their own. Covering myself in his scent would help my presence here go undetected.

I edged toward his bed. His scent was the strongest there.

Jesus fucking Christ. Was I really about to climb into his bed? I tried to rationalize the urge to roll around in his sheets as a survival move. But I knew it was more than that. My heat was right around the corner, and my hormones were going haywire, driving me to do unhinged shit.

Crawling under the quilt on the bed, I smashed my face into his pillow. I didn't want to be attracted to this male's scent.

He'd killed Hope.

He'd made me think he wanted me.

His wolf had told him to claim me when he'd already had a mate with a baby on the way.

That twisted bastard.

I was still crusted in his blood, staining his white sheets as I breathed in his scent, recalling the way he'd pinned me to that tree with the knife pressed to my pussy. His mouth on my throat, hot breath spilling over my skin.

Counting my piercings.

Teasing me.

Fucking me with his eyes.

My hand slipped beneath the blankets and found my center. My legs fell open, my fingers gliding through my folds and finding the last piercing he never reached. My lips parted with a moan as I pushed a finger inside my pussy and withdrew it to smear my slick juices over my clit.

I was so wet, soaking the silver wolf's sheets in a filthy cocktail of his blood and my arousal.

In the short time I'd known him, I'd hated him. Yet, somehow, his scent clotting my lungs was like breathing in something warm and familiar. The memory of his touch would be branded on my skin forever.

"Fuck you…" My words came out fractured and breathless as I fucked myself with my fingers, picking up my pace. "Fuck you. Fuck you for making me want you."

My pinky finger hooked through the ring piercing my labia and tugged as I imagined it was the silver wolf pulling on it. I fantasized about his rough hands and sharp teeth working every inch of my flesh. Marking me. Making me his. Stretching my little body around his thick wolf cock, just like I suspected his beast had urged him to do.

I hated when Sawyer had hurt me several cycles back when he'd taken my heat as consent. The pain he'd inflicted was because he was a clumsy jackass who wouldn't know what foreplay was even if it bit him in the tail.

Something told me the silver wolf could've taught a master class in pleasurable pain.

My fingers plunged deep inside me, the friction making my toes curl and my back arch off the mattress.

My orgasm crashed over me like a tidal wave, leaving me gasping. I fell limp onto the wolf's pillows. Bitter shame washed over me as the afterglow fizzled, leaving me feeling small and pitiful in my enemy's bed.

I'd finger fucked myself to the memory of a mated male… a monster who'd killed my cousin and who knows how many other innocents.

His death should have made me happy.

I shouldn't have been touching myself to the thought of him. And I sure as shit shouldn't have been aching for him in a way that no amount of masturbation would alleviate.