Chapter 1 - Liz

I’ve always been a solitary creature, but tonight, I feel the crushing loneliness of a life spent on the fringes, always running, never belonging. Paws pounding against the earth, I flee into the night, a lone wolf haunted by betrayal and the bitter sting of a life that’s never been kind. The scent of wildflowers, my favorite, only adds to my sorrow. When your existence consists of running from one place to the next, picking up meager scraps where you can, putting together a life in the breaks of better times, wildflowers have a way of reminding you how many roads have led you here. So, I sprint, an aimless run on a night when I have nowhere to go, willing the pain to wash away beneath the joy of shifting. Only as a wolf do I feel whole, even if I have no pack to speak of.

In my twenty-five years on this earth, life has always worked against me, tossing one misfortune after the next my way. I was born in a back alley to a mother who abandoned me before I could even make my first cry. Cast out into the dark and alone, I had to fend for myself from the beginning. Nothing in my human life or shifter form has taught me anything more than betrayal and heartache, but this past week has been especially brutal.

In the span of five days, I lost my job as a waitress and got tossed from my rental house since my boss was also my landlord. I caught his daughter, my coworker, stuffing cash into her pocket. Without proof, I became his scapegoat, an easy target to blame for something she did when the restaurant’s books didn”t balance. He would never have the balls to fire his princess, so I became the fall guy. Out of respect for him, out of the belief that he was more innocent in the situation than his daughter, I didn”t shift and rip her throat out. Instead, I took the blame and left with nothing but my dignity intact.

I came to regret that decision when I applied for other jobs. The bastard used his connections to blacklist me. The two places I managed to get an interview for called back the next day and told me thanks but no thanks. It took some digging to figure out why. That asshole had called them and used some kind of leverage to keep them from hiring me.

Finding out you”re done before you ever began, that”s a hard thing to swallow.

Life kicks you until you”re bloody, bruised, and down for the count. I have no idea what to do now. I could stay in town and keep applying for jobs, but I have no idea how far his influence reaches. For all I know, the entire freaking town is against me by now. Besides, without a place to live and a limited amount of cash in my bank account, I”ve got nowhere to go.

I could find somewhere new to run. It”s not as though I haven”t had to start over time and again. But the farther I go from what”s familiar, the more risk I”ll be taking on. Other packs are strong and always watching out for invading wolves. None will welcome me with open arms. Lone wolves don”t exactly play well with others. If I leave this county, odds are I”ll be stepping into a situation a hell of a lot worse than the one I left behind.

With no pack and nowhere to go, I set out in wolf form, heading away from the city. Now, with the sun shining down on me and warming my coat, I run hard. I”m not sure if I”m chasing something or running from it. Not that it matters. I”m all I have in this world—me and my instincts, just as it”s always been.

I would have thought the run would free me from the weight on my chest, but every mile adds to my soul”s burden. I’d expected an aimless run through the wilderness with the freedom of having no particular destination in mind, but something catches my eye in the field.

Sniffing the air, I catch blood on the breeze. Crouching lower, I continue to creep forward, my curiosity piqued when I find the source of the strange scent is from another animal—a bloody trap with a deer caught inside. I lick my muzzle, my stomach gurgling in response. It would be easy to take advantage of the catch and fill my belly. I”m a predator, too, after all, but this feels too easy.

As I move stealthily through the field, my senses heighten. I scout the area, using the tall grass for cover. No other movement or scent draws my attention, but an eerie silence settles around me and warns me that something isn”t right. I scan the area, my eyes narrowing as I search for any signs of danger. My instincts scream at me, urging caution.

As I inch closer to the snare, my ears prick up, picking up on the faint sounds of movement ahead. I freeze, my body tense, ready to bolt at the slightest hint of a threat. My wolf form may grant me speed and agility, but I”m not invincible. I”ve learned the hard way that discretion is often the better part of valor.

I tread silently through the grass, doing my best not to leave a trace of my presence. My ears pin back as a twig snaps, and I duck my head lower. My nose twitches as I catch a new smell on the breeze—something foreign and unsettling. It”s not the metallic tang of blood or the earthy musk of the trapped deer; this scent is sharper, laced with an underlying menace.

I should leave, retreat to the safety of the woods, and continue my solitary journey. But something compels me to stay, to investigate further. Maybe it”s curiosity, or perhaps it”s the desperate hope of finding something—anything—to change my luck. Either way, I can”t shake the feeling of being watched.

Carefully, I creep forward, brushing aside the long grass. The deer lies trapped in a snare, its soft eyes clouded with the knowledge of what”s to come. One kick of its legs is all the animal has left, not enough to break free, only enough to inflict further injury upon itself.

I”m about to just put the thing out of its misery when a sharp crackle splits the silence, the sound of snapping twigs shattering the serenity of the wild. I whirl around, my eyes wide with alarm. Too late, I realize my mistake.

Before I can make a run for it, a net springs from the ground, enveloping me in its coarse, unforgiving mesh. I yelp in surprise, struggling against the ensnaring ropes that bind me, but it”s no use. I”m trapped, caught like helpless prey in a hunter”s snare.

Panic surges through me, mingling with the bitter taste of fear. I thrash and twist, desperate to free myself from the net”s cruel embrace, but it only tightens its grip, cutting into my fur and skin. With a grunt, I strain against the cords, managing to wrench a paw loose before the net tightens again, tugging me down and pinning me to the ground.

Fucking poachers. I hear the grass crunch in the distance as footsteps move closer. On instinct, I shift back to human. Surely, if these people think they”ve caught a woman instead of whatever they”re out here hunting for, they”ll let me go. I close my eyes and focus on the warm sensation that I always feel during a shift, the tingling that starts in my core before spreading out to my extremities. A loud humming, like an electric current, fills my ears. My head spins as my vision blurs before settling again.

Trembling, I force myself to stay calm despite my nerves alighting with uncertainty. There”s more muttering from the men as they approach, and when they come into view, they aren”t as shocked as I expect them to be to find a human in their net. I take quick stock of them, sizing them up in case I need to shift back to wolf and fight.

Two men stand on either side of me, and I squint past the sun to get a good look at them. They”re burly, with rough, weather-beaten faces that tell me they spend most of their time outdoors. Their clothes are worn and dirty with camouflage patterns of greens and browns—hunter”s attire. Each man has a rifle strapped over his shoulder, and their eyes are cold, devoid of any compassion or mercy.

”Got ourselves a live one,” the older man grunts with a cruel smirk playing on his lips. His voice is raspy, as if he”s spent his life smoking cigarettes or drinking cheap booze. He certainly doesn”t look like he”s lived a healthy life.

The younger of the two has a scraggly beard and large hands. He toes my side, clearly not swayed by the fact that I”m naked and unarmed. ”Yeah, and she”s a beauty.”

What do they want with me? Panic shoots through my chest, and I claw at the sides of the nylon rope holding me down. I”m desperate to break free and get away, but there”s no way I can do it while trapped like this.

”Did the net catch you off-guard, sweetie?” the younger man asks in a smarmy tone that makes me want to slap him. His expression is smug, as if he”s satisfied to see me squirm in his trap.

Despite my erratic breathing, I glare at him. The older man observes me, his expression unreadable as he moves to kneel beside me. His fingers grip my chin, forcing me to look at him, even as I try to look away.

What the fuck is this creep doing?

”What”s your name, sweetheart?” he asks.

I can play this one of two ways. I can comply and give him the respect he”s expecting in the hope that he”ll gain some sympathy for me. On the other hand, I can pretend I don”t speak English or any human language to throw him off. I decide to give the former option a try first. If nothing else, maybe he”ll untangle me, and I can shift back to a wolf and handle business from there.

”Liz,” I tell him honestly. ”My name is Elizabeth Dane.”

”Pretty name,” he murmurs thoughtfully. ”No wedding ring on your finger. Haven”t found your mate yet?”

My blood runs cold at the term. He would only say “mate” instead of “husband” if he knew what I was. I shudder at the implication. These aren”t ordinary hunters; they”re shifter traders, men who capture and sell shifters like commodities. My stomach churns with dread. They aren”t here to hunt animals; they”re here to hunt me.

”Please,” I plead, my voice shaking despite my efforts to sound calm and composed. ”Let me go. You don”t want to do this.”

The men merely exchange knowing glances, their smirks growing wider.

”Sorry, sweetheart,” the first man says, his voice dripping with false sympathy. ”But you”re not going anywhere.”

Desperation grips me, and I try to reason with them, to appeal to any semblance of humanity they might still possess.

”You don”t understand,” I continue, my voice quivering. ”I”m not what you think I am. I”m just a woman, trying to survive.”

But my pleas fall on deaf ears. They laugh, a harsh, grating sound that sends shivers down my spine.

”Save your breath, sweetheart,” the older hunter sneers. ”You”re coming with us.”

I frantically search for an escape route, but the net tightens around me as the men take hold of the rope and start to drag me forward.

”Wait!” I cry out, tears stinging my eyes. ”Stop, please!”

My words fall on deaf ears as the men haul me along. I struggle and claw at the ground, desperate to escape, but the dirt gives way and doesn”t offer much resistance. As we move further across the field, I can see a pick-up truck with a boar cage in the back. A couple more men circle around it as if they”ve been expecting us.

The two men are talking to each other, and it takes everything in me to take a deep breath and force myself to listen to their conversation, hoping to glean any information that might help me.

”Think she”ll fetch a good price?” the younger hunter asks, eyeing me appraisingly.

”Without a doubt. She”ll make a pretty bride, won”t you, sweetheart?” The older man rakes his gaze over me, and I”m not sure which I find more insulting—his unwanted attention, the fact that he doesn”t look guilty, or the glint in his eye that tells me he has no problem selling shifter women.

I”ve heard of a black market for stolen female shifters. According to the stories, they”re auctioned off to the highest bidder as mates to powerful men in need of a bride and a weapon. Like trophy wives with big teeth and claws. It”s supposed to be run by some underground, well-organized group. I figured it was nothing more than a conspiracy or a hoax. But seeing these men, listening to their words, I know it”s all too real. And now, I”ve been targeted.

”You see that shiny hair of hers?” the older man says to his companion. “I bet when she turns, her fur is the same shade. Looks like chestnuts. Maybe I”ll buy her.” His words are full of greed and lust.

I let out a whimper, my eyes widening with terror. My mouth goes dry as the image takes root in my mind. Him? With his grizzled, weather-beaten face? I”d rather die.

”You and I both know you aren”t making enough on this job to bid for a quality piece like her,” the younger man says, though I sense a note of uncertainty in his tone. ”Besides, don”t you already have a wife?”

The older man spits. ”Who says she needs to know about her?”

Their crude banter makes me want to vomit. Who do they think they are, talking about selling my freedom—selling my body—as if it”s nothing more than a piece of cattle to be sold at auction? Their words sicken me, and I fight down a wave of nausea. This can”t be happening. Surely, this is all just a bad dream and I”ll wake up soon.

This can”t be my new reality. I can”t be destined for a life of subjugation and forced killings.

The sort of men who buy female shifters expect them to submit and obey—a fate worse than death in my book. I”d be expected to kill and fuck on command, all in the name of protecting my master. “Mate” is far too tender a concept for the horrors I”m destined for.

”Might as well tie her up and throw her in the back,” the younger of the hunters suggests. I struggle to break free again, but desperation is making my movements clumsy. Their grips are strong, and their intentions are ruthless.

They work together to lift me into the back of their beat-up truck, and the younger man shoves me into the cage, net and all. One of the armed men who has been waiting by the truck pulls out a gun and stuffs a dart inside, aiming at me.

”Have a good nap, sweetheart.”