Capture (Book 1 in the Wolfen Brethren Series)

The Last Word

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Neema could not believe what she had just been subjected to, her body was still trembling from the aftermath and her back was damp with perspiration and what she was sure was more blood from her wound. Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to throw the whole ordeal out of her mind but doing so was impossible, even after she had soaked her skin in a hot bath, scrubbed her skin raw and wrapped herself in clothes she could still smell his scent on her skin. Inside her, his touch still lingered on her body like a phantom. It was everywhere, even the very room she stood in smelled like him. She hated it.

Her body reacted to him in the worst way possible, his scent enticed her and opened her to his touch but she felt revolted at the notion of his skin on hers. She hated his sleazy advances and even when she knew that deep down her body cried for his touch and slickened for him, her heart and mind felt absolutely depleted. She could not understand how a race who claimed their superiority over humans could ever condone rape because essentially that was what it was. Sure she may have cried for it towards the end but she had refused him on numerous occasions beforehand and he had refused to listen.

At least for centuries human beings had and would continue to condemn it. Could these wolves not understand that intimacy was about mental and physical willingness? Not just one or the other, but both.

Thinking on the matter only made Neema aware that these wolves were so much worse than humans could ever be. She had been forced to fight the advances of so many males in the underground village but they had understood the word no, once she had said it there had been no forcing. There had been no other acceptable option. It was either acceptance or rejection, of course there had been the occasional male who had blackmailed a woman into marrying or sleeping with him through the withdrawal of food. Some had even gone so far as rape but there was no human culture that permitted and encouraged it and there never would be.

Men who raped a women were often forced from the compound or banned from hunting which was one of the harshest punishments, a man who could not provide was no man at all.

These wolves though, they encouraged rape as if it was a positive aspect of life, what kind of creatures lived for centuries and had seen the evolution of societies in one lifetime but could still not see that rape was a deplorable act no matter how they tried to package it.

It was wrong and they were insane.

Neema paced the fancy floors of her new prison, the Persian carpets were a distasteful reminder that wolves sat in the lap of luxury while humans barely had enough to eat. What kind of world was this? She longed to return to those dark damp walls of her room at her underground village where she had barely any sustenance to survive and the only light she had seen were the occasional flickering of a faulty light or a live fire. She preferred that morbid life to this one because at least then she'd had her family and her freedom.

Now all she had were her thoughts to keep her company.

Throwing the pillows that were placed on the big fluffy bed, Neema continued her mental tirade on how immoral they were, her feet wearing a new route into the carpet. She was so mad, not just at him but at herself as well, how could she have allowed him to plant his child in her womb when her and her sibling's future was so uncertain? All this time she had looked down on humans who were with wolves and she had just become one.

She knew she was only as good as her competency to give him children and though her body was in no position to carry a child, not with her malnourishment, she was almost 100 percent sure she was pregnant right now. Wolves like him reeked of virility and knowing her luck she would be that 1 percent of the population that got pregnant instantly.