Chapter Two

Pax studied the iron cuffs, mentally fuming he was wearing them at all. It's your own fault, Pax. He could hear his uncle's voice in his head. All you ever do is chase after shifter dick and look where it's got you. You deserve everything you get. Which would be fine because there was a lot of truth in those words. If Pax's uncle was standing in front of him, Pax would be nodding, while holding out his arms, mentally pleading for some tool that would remove the damn iron from his wrists.

But it wasn't Pax's uncle he could see, though. The person he could see, peering as he was through his mop of hair, was twice the size of his uncle for a start. And his uncle wouldn't be sharpening a machete with a stone. The biggest thing his uncle would ever be seen lifting was a martini glass complete with two cherries, of course. No stems. Hmm. A martini would be nice right now. Pax's mouth watered as he thought about it. Crisp. Cool. Wet. Pax licked his lips.

Focus. You're sharing a room with a brooding hulk who hasn't said anything in over an hour. He's just sharpening that damn machete and muttering to himself. And it was at that moment that Pax started to get just a little bit annoyed – a totally foreign feeling for him. He prided himself on being laid back about most things. Yes, fine. He'd been abducted. Most people would consider that sort of thing would cause a dent in their good mood. But in Pax's head his present predicament was his own fault for approaching the wrong damn man in the wrong damn bar.

He thought he'd been safe enough – it was the middle of the afternoon for goodness' sake. Pax was feeling disgruntled after a chat with his friend Marybelle, who decided to spend her lunch break listing his many faults, the central one being that he never seemed to go after anyone who looked as though they could be serious for five minutes. And so he might have gone out with the sole purpose of proving her wrong.

What a big mistake that was. Look at what I get when I flirt with someone serious, in the middle of the day no less. Cuffs come out. My magic's suppressed the moment my poor skin comes into contact with the iron. And where does that leave me? As helpless as a trussed up chicken being bundled into the trunk of a car and driven out to the middle of nowhere.

Pax was guessing about the location. Logic dictated he had to be somewhere. He just had no idea where he was. All he knew was he'd been squashed in that trunk for what felt like forever. Unfortunately, when it came to anyone else knowing where he was, there was a good chance no one would even miss him, which made the chances of being saved a lot slimmer than Pax would like them to be. Now, hours later after what was supposed to be a quick suck and done, Pax was facing a bleak future if his situation didn't change soon.

I swear, if I get out of this I am steering clear of shifter dick for life. I'll do humans, vampires, hell, I'll even suck a demon, but anyone with a flicker of animal spirit in their soul can stay away from me. And it's all your fault, bear man. You've wrecked the chances of any other shifter in existence experiencing the joy I can give them, purely because you're an asshole.

Bravado. Pax was self-aware enough to recognize the way his mind was working. If a shifter saved him, then he'd probably suck that dick for life, providing the person saving him had one and was amenable to that sort of thing. It's not like I have any other skills, he thought glumly. That was why his uncle was always on his case about making something of himself. Marybelle too, most likely.

The shifter was still muttering to himself. The way he was handling his machete was quite hypnotic. Long swipes up the blade with the sharpening stone, although the grate of the stone on metal was setting Pax's teeth on edge. Is he counting his swipes? Pax had to know.

"Excuse me." Pax understood the concept of manners even if he didn't use them very often. "Are you counting the strokes on that thing? Like, is there a set number you're aiming for, or are you just muttering gibberish, because, you know, either option is okay. I just wondered."

"Shut up."

Really? I only asked. Clearly the situation was going to go downhill fast unless Pax could gain some control over his future. He aimed for casual nonchalance. "Well, as much fun as this little date has been, I've got things to do. If you'd just undo my cuffs, I'll get out of here and let you get back to your love affair with that machete. Lovely machete. Very pretty and sharp machete."

"Shut the fuck up!"

Rude! Pax would've clasped his hands to his heart, eyes wide, mouth dropped open, expressing his shock if he'd been able to – an action that often brought bigger men than the bear to their knees. Except in his current predicament the cuffs he was wearing wouldn't allow his hands to reach that far, given as how they were attached to a very heavy chain, that in turn was attached to a hook cemented into what appeared to be the only solid part of the floor. He jiggled his arms, rattling the chain, causing the bear man to turn and snarl. A full-on growl with teeth.

Pax was not impressed. "I did absolutely nothing to deserve that response. I mean, seriously? Face it, buddy, that attitude right there is exactly why you're still single. I mean, you look relatively normal, I suppose." Pax jiggled his chains again fluttering his hands in the bear's direction. "The suit is smart enough, your face isn't hideous, but then show me a shifter who's ugly and I'll tell you you're lying about them being a paranormal."

He tilted his head to one side. "Although you could do with a haircut. But then most shifters forget about that side of things, and hey, I get it. You're a lot happier when you're in your fur running through the bushes or chasing fish in the stream or whatever you do. I understand. Hair is just hair when it's all said and done. But buddy, come on."

His wrists started to sting as he pulled on the chains again. He gritted his teeth against the pain and kept tugging. "This is not the way to get a second date. The whole murder cabin in the middle of the woods scenario went out in the eighties. I'm not some female college student with blond hair in braids ready to scream and leap into your arms when she sees a spider. You and me could have a lot more fun if you got these chains off me and we went back to town. I mean what are we even doing here?"

"I'm waiting. Now shut up." The stone-on-metal sound was even louder as the man swished up his blade again.

"Waiting for what? Fuck my life," Pax muttered the last part as he looked around. There was just the one room. The bare board aesthetics of the floor extended up the walls and included the ceiling. There was a solitary tub in the corner. Pax didn't want to dwell on what might have caused a white ceramic fixture to stain so badly. He didn't think ceramics rusted, in which case the stains were just…eww... There were no chairs, no furniture at all. Just that damned iron circle embedded in the floor – that Pax was attached to – and a single grimy window that didn't offer much of a view.

Nothing here to help me out. "Okay, well, seeing as we're clearly going to be here a while," he said with his most plastic smile – the one Marybelle claimed would crack his face if he used it too often. "Could you please direct me to the nearest bathroom? Or are the rumors true and you bears just shit in the woods? In which case, I'll make do, but I'll need to get out of these chains first."

"Will you just shut the fuck up!" The man suddenly advanced, machete held high above his head. "I said we had to wait. I told you we were waiting and we're going to wait." The arm holding the machete swung down, and Pax jumped to the side as far as his chains would allow him to move.

"You're ruining things with all your jabber. I wanted to wait. Why do you twinks just have to ruin everything?" The machete swung again, hitting and then sinking into the wooden board on the other side of Pax's head.

Pax couldn't believe his luck. For a bear shifter, the man had terrible aim. But he knew that luck wasn't going to last. Ducking around the hoop thing, Pax strained his arms, trying to get his wrists free of the horrible cuffs. "Help!" He was sure his scream was worthy of any horror movie climax. "Help, he's trying to kill me. Help! Aargh." He jumped and screamed again as the blade got closer to his head. "I don't want to die!"