Lone Wolf's Captive (novella) (4 page)

When Fletch had gone to Brody and the alpha had laid down the contract requirements, he’d opened his mouth to tell the fucker where he could stick his sick-as-fuck offer. He may be a low piece of shit, but abduction of any kind—especially of females—was a line he wasn’t willing to cross. Not ever.

Luckily, he’d kept his trap shut long enough to learn the female Brody wanted belonged to the Black Hills pack. The slimy alpha, with delusions of grandeur, wanted Laney, wanted
his
female. The knowledge of what that bastard wanted to do; to force on her…just thinking about it had him close to losing his shit all over again. But as bad as that was it wasn’t the worst of it, not by a long shot. The full extent of this deceit had the power to break Laney.

So if he had to chain her to the floor to keep her safe, so be it.

She looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “Why the hell am I here?”

He took in her defensive body language, the closed off expression on her beautiful face. If he told her too soon, he risked her running, running right back to the danger he was trying to protect her from.

He never thought he’d get a second chance—hell, he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve her. But having that with her again, what they’d lost, what had been cruelly torn from them…shit, he wanted it, wanted it all. And until he had that trust back, he couldn’t risk telling her the worst of it.

He would not lose her again.

The heat of her glare was burning a hole through his forehead. “Well? Why am I here, Fletcher?”

He shook his head. He was putting off the inevitable, but he wasn’t ready to see disgust cover that beautiful face, not yet. “Woman, you’re too pissed to hear me right now so we’re going to eat.”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “Are you nuts? I don’t want to eat with you. And if you pull that alpha crap on me again, I’ll rip your balls off with my teeth the first chance I get.”

Her stomach rumbled loud enough for them both to hear, and she started coughing in an attempt to disguise the sound. He cocked a brow. “You sure you’re not hungry? Not even a teeny, tiny bit?”

She scowled harder. “The only thing I want to chew is your ass.”

He cocked a brow and grinned, showing plenty of fangs. “You always did like my ass, Sugar.”

She swallowed hard and broke eye contact. “Huh, why am I not surprised?” She muttered. Her face darkened and she crossed her arms.

He took a step closer. “About?” She looked up at him. Oh yeah, she was pissed.

“Is that the kind of freaky shit you’re into now, Fletcher?”

So damn innocent. “Baby, you’ll find out soon enough.” The words rumbled from his chest, conveying the depth of his need in no uncertain terms. Hers rose and fell rapidly and she shivered before licking her lips. She wasn’t as unaffected as she tried to pretend. And that pleased the shit out of him.

Laney wanted him as badly as he wanted her and that knowledge gave him hope, and at the same time made him lose his goddamned mind. If he didn’t get that mouth and those hands on him soon, he thought he might actually die from wanting her so bad.

He turned his back on her and headed towards the kitchen because looking at her right then was too damn tempting. A second later one of the couch cushions hit him in the back of the head.

Jesus.

A while later he watched her swallow her last mouthful of steak. Despite her objections, she’d reluctantly eaten the meal he’d cooked her. He knew she’d relented in an effort to maintain her strength, hoping for the chance to take a piece out of his ass like she’d said—and not in a good way.

This new, feisty Laney fascinated him. But then, everything about Delaney Jones fascinated him. Always had, always would.

Delaney watched Fletch stroll back into the living room, casual as you please. Like she wasn’t sitting there chained to his floor, like he hadn’t knocked her out, kidnapped her and dragged her back to his cave like a goddamned Neanderthal man.

Jerk.

Hands in pockets, he walked straight over and looked down at her, head cocked to the side in a familiar way that caused an ache in her chest. She ignored the warmth in his eyes and stared back. “What?”

He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, making the muscles in his arms bunch in an interesting way, and shook his head.

Gah! Don’t look at his stupid muscles.

She hated when he did that. He’d been doing it since they were kids, that whole brooding I-have-a-million-secrets-but-I’m-not-telling stare. Back then he’d done it because he’d found it hard to express himself. Now, he was just being an ass.

He kept staring her, like he was trying to figure something out, or more likely figure her out, and that pissed her off even more.

Finally he said, “You wanna watch a movie?”

She was momentarily stunned into silence. “Do I what?”

He shrugged. “A movie.” He went to stand in front of a large shelf built into the wall. “I’ve got action, action or action? Sorry, no chick flicks,” he said over his shoulder.

She stared at his back in disbelief. “Are you shitting me?”

“Nope. I hate that cheesy shit.” He pulled a DVD from the shelf.

Had he always been this irritating? A throb started at her temples. “You expect me to just sit here and watch a movie with you?”

He shrugged again. “I’m in the mood.
Die Hard
,
Lethal Weapon
or
Commando
?”

What the hell?

“I’m not watching a goddamned move with you, Fletcher.” Her voice sounded shrill to her own ears, and she was more than a little pleased when he winced. “Cut the bullshit and tell me what’s going on.”

His light mood evaporated. “I will. I’ll tell you everything. When you’re ready to hear it.”

Pig-headed, arrogant, egotistical bastard!

She knew the stubborn expression on his face, had seen it many times before. It was useless arguing with him when he was like this. So instead, she crossed her arms over her chest, wishing the eyeball daggers she was shooting his way had the ability to pierce skin.

He grinned.
Grinned.

Utter, complete bastard!

“
Die Hard
it is. Get comfy, babe, I got the box set from Amazon a couple weeks ago. Been hanging out to watch them.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Amazon?”

The grin returned before he headed back to the kitchen. Several minutes later the sound of popcorn popping started up. Throwing her head back in disbelief, she stared at the ceiling. This wasn’t happening.

When he walked back in, he dumped the bowl on the coffee table, loaded the DVD, threw himself on the couch, grabbed the remote and hit play.

She refused to look at him.

He thrust the bowl under her nose. “Want some?”

He’d covered it in melted butter and icing sugar—her favourite. He hadn’t forgotten. She clenched her teeth. So what? It was popcorn for crying out loud.

She shook her head, too pissed to eat any, no matter how good it looked. No way in hell was she going to sit there wearing a collar, chained to the floor, and stuff her face while watching a movie. He shrugged, scooping a big handful, and shoved it in his mouth as he settled back on the couch.

Refusing to sit by him and parking it on the floor in protest hadn’t been one of her brightest ideas. It was cold and hard and her ass had gone numb. She eyed the
Die Hard
box set. It looked like she’d be stuck here a while. Without a word, she glanced in his direction, and eased onto the couch, jamming herself in the corner to keep as far from Fletch as she could. She tried not to wince as the blood rushed back to her lower extremities.

He didn’t comment on the change of seating arrangement, remaining focused on the flat screen, completely engrossed. She tried hard to ignore him, but every now and then he’d chuckle—a deep, husky sound that rumbled from his chest. And each and every damn time he did it, the sound rasped over her nerve endings, hitting her between the thighs and making her nipples tingle. All the while, she tried to ignore the way his long, spread legs extended out in front of him, a mere inch from touching hers, or the fact that she couldn’t escape his scent. In fact it seemed to hover around her, taking shot after shot at her weakened defences.

She focused on the movie in an attempt to block him out, and despite how pissed she was, couldn’t help laugh when Bruce Willis yelled, “Yippee-ki-yay motherfucker!”

When she finished chuckling, she realised Fletch had stilled beside her, including his feet, which she knew from experience were never still, and up until now had been twitching and jiggling non-stop.

She didn’t dare look his way, even when she felt the weight of his stare on her. Fists clenched, she forced herself to remain focused on the TV.

“Missed that laugh.” His voice was soft, deep.

Her stomach dipped. Still, she didn’t look at him. Whose fault was that? Never mind that she’d been thinking the same thing about him moments ago. At her continued silence, he sighed, turned back to the TV and resumed his twitching. Releasing the breath she’d been holding, Delaney crossed her arms and concentrated on not laughing for the rest of the movie.

A while later, when the credits were rolling, he turned to her. “You wanna watch another one?”

“No.” No way could she sit here with him, suffering more of this torture.

He stood and turned off the television then unlatched the chain connecting her with the floor. “Time for bed.”

A protest was on the tip of her tongue, but really, what was the use? He’d humiliated her enough for one day, thank you very much. Her refusal would just give him another excuse to go all alpha-asshole again. With a soft growl to let him know she wasn’t pleased, despite her compliance, she stood and followed.

He flicked off the lights as they went and led her to his room. As soon as they entered, his scent, which was stronger in here, hit her in the chest.

She took another look around, but all she could see was that big bed.

“I’m not sleeping with you,” she blurted.

His shoulders stiffened, just a fraction, but she didn’t miss his reaction. “I’m taking the chair,” he answered, not missing a beat.

Good. He deserved to sleep scrunched up on the rickety chair. Okay, so it wasn’t particularly rickety. The blasted thing looked quite comfortable actually. But it was still a chair. Not that she’d get much sleep either way, having him in the same room was bad enough, his mere presence like a dark cloud, looming over her.

She dragged her eyes away from the California king and spun to face him. “Can I use the bathroom…without you hovering?”

He quirked a brow. “I don’t know, can you?”

If she tried to make a break for it, she wouldn’t get far. He was a powerful wolf, an alpha. He could easily outrun her. For now she’d have to do as he said. She crossed her arms and gave him a sharp nod.

“That’s my girl.”

“I’m not your anything,” she fired back.

He shook his head, and led her to the bathroom, leaving the still loose chain attached, and trailing from her ankle.

“I got you a toothbrush and some other shit I thought you might need.” Before she could shut the door, he grabbed a t-shirt from the dresser and handed it to her. “You can sleep in that.”

She snatched it, stomped into the small room then reached down and dragged the chain in after her before slamming the door. Releasing a shaky breath, she leaned against the wall and took a look around. It was clean but untidy, towels and clothes were dumped on the floor.

Sitting beside the sink was a red toothbrush, still in the wrapper. Red was her favourite colour. He’d also bought her a hair brush—the kind with boar bristles, like she preferred. She picked up the bar of honey and almond soap still in the packet, looking down at the tube of moisturiser in the same blend and the full bottle of strawberry-scented shampoo and bit her lip. All were brands she had always used. He hadn’t forgotten. Her chest tightened.

No. She couldn’t let this get to her.

Drawing on her anger, she ignored the tender feelings trying to sneak past her defences and went about having a quick shower and getting ready for bed. Nothing had changed. Fletch had abandoned her five years ago, had left her to grieve his loss without looking back.

She couldn’t lose sight of that.

He watched her as she emerged from the bathroom. “Shit,” he muttered.

“What now?”

“Sugar, if you don’t know,” his gaze dipped to her bare legs, “You’re not as clever as I thought.” Then grumbling under his breath, he secured her chain and left her to take his turn in the bathroom.

She ignored his grumbling, the way that heated stare affected her, and got into bed. She squeezed her eyes shut, but no matter how hard she tried, when the bathroom door opened again a short time later, she couldn’t help but peek. Then wished she hadn’t.

He wore a pair of drawstring sweats resting low on his hips, and nothing else. His bare chest was defined, smooth. He was bigger, his muscles more prominent, and he had a few new scars. He looked good.

Who was she kidding? He looked sexy as all hell.

She jammed her eyes closed, but it was too late. The image of all that smooth, golden skin had seared itself onto her brain. She listened as he moved around for a few minutes then flicked the light off. The weight on her feet, where the spare blanket lay, lifted and then it went quiet, as they both settled in to sleep.

As the darkness pressed in around her, her other senses heightened, and every one of them seemed to zero in on the male sitting in a chair at the end of the bed. She became acutely aware of his presence—every exhale, every little movement. She could picture him sprawled there, moonlight highlighting every ridge and bulge on his bare chest, the play of muscles as he moved.

Her own breathing started to come faster, her body reacting in unwanted ways. Burying her face in the pillow, she tried to drown him out. Instead she got a lungful of his addictive, arousing scent.

Flipping onto her back, she shoved her hair off her face. “Would you cut it out?” She growled into the darkness.

“What am I doing?”

The jerk actually sounded sleepy, like he’d been asleep or close. Great, she was laying there all but panting from just the smell of him, and he was completely unaffected. She winced, not sure what to say. “I—I can hear you breathing,” she snapped.