Chapter Eight
"
Bane, it's time. Come on." The preacher's low voice just outside the tent dragged me out of the happy little bubble of lying there with a sated Tara in my arms.
Could I get by with faking sleep? My hackles rose at the thought of him seeing Tara all soft and naked
and I slipped my arm from under her and rose, fumbling for my clothes. I managed to get into my jeans, and grabbed my shirt and shoes and left the tent as quietly as possible. Making sure the tent was sealed back up against the bugs, I paused long enough to shrug my shirt on and get my shoes on the right feet.
Fighting the urge to drag my
ass, I headed for the banked camp fire, where the Preacher waited for me. What the hell could he have planned that demanded to be done at midnight?
The stiff set
to the preacher's shoulders said he was either pissed or dreaded something. Probably pissed. At me. I approached the fire, quiet.
He looked up at me, the depths of Hell in those black eyes.
"You ready?"
"
Depends. What are we doing?"
"
Your lessons begin tonight. Follow me." He shouldered a pack and set off for the woods at a fast pace.
A
lesson.
Shit. The last thing I wanted was a midnight hike. I went after him, unwilling to tempt his wrath at the moment. And was that damn wolf pack on the hunt? Howls and yips echoed back and forth through the night and gave me chills. Wonderful.
A few hundred yards into the woods, the Preacher stopped and looked around for a moment.
"This'll do." He pointed to a thick tree, multiple trunks merged into one, covered with knots and low broken branches. "Climb."
"
What?"
"
Climb. The fucking. Tree." The look on his face slammed out of the past to rattle me. My old man wore the same one when he was being a nasty, abusive bastard.
I shrugged around the sick feeling in my gut and pulled back the rebellion that burned to be set free. If I didn
't do what he wanted, he could take it out on Tara or Steve. "What-the-fuck-ever." He wanted me to climb a tree, I'd climb a fucking tree. Not a problem.
Approaching the tree, I checked for the best angle with hand- and footholds. Satisfied I
'd found the fastest way up, I put one foot on a protruding knot and propelled myself up to grab onto a branch slightly higher than I could reach from the ground.
Excruciating pain shot through my left palm
and I roared before dropping back to the ground, holding my hand up for inspection. Blood welled around half a dozen
things
sticking out of my palm. "What the fuck?"
The Preacher came close and grabbed my hand to look. Before I could object, he
took hold of one of the things and pulled it out. A thick spike, between two and three inches long, nearly pencil sized at the base. "Thorn tree," he mumbled. He removed the other thorns, each one burning like a hot poker, the puncture wounds bleeding freely.
H
e turned without a word and walked away, clearly demanding that I follow. Bastard. Just like the old man. Keeping my injured hand cradled up against my chest, I complied, determined to prove I could take anything he dished out.
A few yards further, he stopped again and pointed.
"That one. Climb."
My hand burned
, ached and still bled. Not to mention it felt like it was swelling fast. Like hell he'd get the satisfaction of knowing that.
A low hanging branch offered the perfect opportunity to get into the tree.
With one foot against the trunk for leverage, I managed to swing up with just my right hand. No thorns. The skills I'd learned in childhood returned and I managed to climb fairly easily, despite my reluctance to use my left hand.
When I was as high as I could safely go, I stopped and looked down at the preacher. He sat on the ground, illuminated in the moonlight, whittling. Bastard.
"What now?"
"
Come back down." His voice was a rumbling bore.
Really?
Useless bullshit exercises. Just like the old man. Going down was harder than climbing, and around the halfway mark, a splintered branch raked along my shinbone, taking skin off through my fucking jeans. Involuntary reaction nearly toppled me out of the tree but I managed to make it the rest of the way down.
Once on the ground, I pulled up my
pant leg to see the damage. The branch had taken a wide strip of skin and flesh. I straightened to find the preacher still whittling. Annoyance shot through me.
"
What now?"
"
Climb it again."
I stared at him.
"Really."
This time he looked up.
"I said climb it again." Back to whittling. "Just so you know, Bane, this can be as easy or as hard as you like. Cooperate and do as you're told, learn the lesson, and it'll be over quickly. Resist and it will go on all night."
Turning my back to him I shook my head.
"Bullshit. I'm going back to camp."
Three steps later, a
monumental force hit between my shoulders and took me straight to the ground. Steel bands circled my neck and forced my head up.
"
Listen motherfucker. You will do what I say. You will take your training, which is punishment in this case for not obeying earlier orders. And you will
not
involve your woman in our business. That would be
very
unwise. Do I make myself clear?"
Nightmare images of what this bastard could do to Tara shot through my head.
"Crystal," I choked against the hold on my throat.
He release
d me abruptly. "Now get the fuck up and climb that tree."
I got slowly to my feet, mentally searching for a way out. Nothing.
The wolves howled again, sounding a little closer. Ignoring the primal fear they inspired, I climbed the fucking tree. Again. And again. And again. Each climb was accompanied by a scripture and plenty of bullshit I had no interest in hearing.
By the tenth time I came down, I was certain the wolves were coming closer
and also certain I was so exhausted to nearly not give a shit. But thoughts of the wolves going to camp said it was time to end this shit and get back to camp. "I'm done."
"
The hell you are. Bane, you're still failing to get the point. I am Top Dom here. You do as I say when I say. And you had better remember I'm not your father."
Fucking low blow.
"You might be Top Dom, but this is ridiculous. And in case you hadn't noticed, that wolf pack is coming closer. I don't intend to be here when they come." I turned and started walking for camp, braced for that same impact from earlier. It didn't come. I slowed, waiting for something.
"
Then Tara will finish your punishment for you."
I froze
, keeping my head lowered, not turning. Fucker.
"
Or you can come back here and take it like a man. Dom up Bane. Learn to take orders." He gave a deep chuckle. "What's the matter? Subbing too hard for the big bad Dom?"
My hand gave a particularly nasty throb. Both of my shins were torn all to hell.
And he thought there was something to be learned? He could think that all he wanted, but it was bullshit. And he would never bring Tara into it. I turned back.
He stood there with a rope coiled in his hands.
"Get your back against the tree."
"
For what?"
"
I swear to fucking God if you question me one more time, I won't ask, I'll just go get Tara and drag her out here and tie her to this fucking tree."
Submitting to abuse was not my strong fucking suit. But I forced my legs over
to the tree and put my back against it.
Grinning like a devil, he took a loop around one wrist, circled the tree and bound my other wrist. The rope pulled tight, but not unbearably so. I could live with it. Then he did the same with my ankles.
"I'll see you at dawn." He stalked off through the woods.
Holy fuck! Anger insisted I scream insults after him,
but the threat to Tara kept me silent. My injured hand throbbed, blood still oozing. Standing there, every cut and scrape stung and burned, and one particularly deep gash to the inside of my forearm still trickled blood as well.
I shifted my shoulders
as a mosquito worked really hard at sucking me dry. Even with all my squirming to keep the bugs off, it barely worked slack into the ropes. I let my head drop back against the trunk, braced my legs, and closed my eyes.
The preacher
's words rang in my head.
Submitting too hard for the big bad Dom?
Fucker. Fucker because it
was
hard for me. Not with Tara, but with people like him. Like my father who didn't really give a shit about me. Tara, I knew she cared. It made submitting to her a fucking
treat.
Submitting was only hard when it came to submitting to the wrong thing. And this was wrong. Which is why I hated it. Same reason I hated my father's bullshit
authority.
Same. Exact. Thing. Only difference with the Preacher was the weird fucking way he added scripture to the task. And if it wasn't for his smirky ass attitude, I might not mind so much. But to do
this,
over not following one fucking order was over the top nuts. This didn't make me want to submit one fucking bit. I only did it for Tara. That was it. Tara made me submit.
He was sure wrong if he thought
I
was scared of him. I couldn't help be grateful that he at least seemed to possess a thread of humanity that occasionally showed up and prevented him from realizing the full potential of that animal lurking within him.
Time passed, but I had no idea how much. I
'd grown incredibly stiff and sore standing there like that. I listened, trying to pinpoint whatever had roused me. Some sound. Just as I'd started to relax again, figuring it was a dream, a howl sounded off to my left, not far enough away.
An answer
ing howl came from a few hundred yards to my right of the first.
My blood froze right in my veins.
Two wolves. Close. Smelling my blood? No fucking doubt and I was pretty sure they'd just informed the whole pack. Even now, a chorus of replies rang out from various parts of the woods. Hope it wasn't my blood they'd picked up. Maybe they'd found my blood by the first tree. I'd left a clear trail to my current location with that wound. Where I stood helpless and defenseless, bound and waiting to be supper.
My gut churned and my throat ached. Yelling for the preacher, for help, would only spur the ultimate predators on.
A faint rustling snuffling noise caught my attention, drawing steadily closer. Holy fuck, it was just outside my range of vision, and circling around. Smart bastard. It smelled blood and fear, and figured I was incapacitated, so it didn't waste effort with stealth. Or maybe it was deliberately trying to scare me more. Either way, it worked. Cold sweat chilled my skin while my heart pounded out of control.
The urge to hold my breath hit about the time a pale wolf moved into view. It stood staring, its head up and scenting the air. After a few seconds, it blinked, dropped its head and moved a little closer.
"Go on! Get out of here!" I shouted. "Preacher, you better get the fuck back here! This wolf wants me for supper!" I put all my rage toward the preacher, my father, and Dom Wars into that yell.
The wolf whined a little and moved back and dropped to its belly, waiting and watching. It wasn
't afraid because it had a whole pack not far away. Another one yipped in the close distance, and more howls followed.
When the wolf watching me sat up on its haunches with an eager whine, I started yelling in earnest.
A second one came out of the trees and greeted my watcher with wagging tail and sniffs.
Family reunion completed, the pair of wolves approached, heads down and wary of all the noise I was making. If I
'd been able to throw a stick or rock or something, they might have kept their distance. But since I did nothing but make noise, they advanced, bolder with each step.
The
y paused a few feet away, then one darted in and nipped, tugging at my pant leg, ripping away a mouthful of denim along with another roar of sheer terror in the form of the word
Preacher!
The newcomer suddenly darted in and grabbed a mouthful of my pant leg. I yelled even louder, and jumped as much as my bonds would allow. Startled a little, it leaped back, tearing away a
nother strip of denim.
In that instant, the secret that makes wolves the ultimate predator
s revealed itself. While my attention was on the newcomer and what it was doing, the first came in close for a slashing bite at my other leg. Teeth tore through my jeans and into my skin with white-hot intensity, tearing a hoarse cry of agony and fear from my throat.