The Hunted (ON HOLD)

ch2

“Justice is

best served cold

With a vengeance

Dripping blood

Stained with our sins.”

-A Bentley

    I was frozen. Every muscle in my body was locked into place and I couldn’t move. No. This couldn’t be happening. No. This wasn’t possible. No. This couldn’t be real. No. This had to be some sick, horrible dream. If not, I must be dead. This had to be some sort of personal hell I’d been sentenced to for my sins. This could not be my reality.

    But it was. I was not dead. A beautiful man was standing over me. And I was his soulmate. Or so he claimed. I didn’t give him the chance to touch me and find out. I suddenly snapped out of whatever shock I was in and quickly began to scoot away. My “mate” was now kneeling a few feet away, and other pack members had created a ring around us. He stared at me and held his hands out in a sign of peace.

    “Please come and let us nurse your injures.” He implored, holding his palm out to me. But I made no move to take it, and his hand remained outstretched. I didn’t trust this werewolf. No matter how beautiful he may be. I was suddenly aware of the slight southern drawl his voice had, and my heart unintentionally fluttered. His eyes darkened and he continued.

    “Come peacefully, or we will take you by force.” His words only strengthened my resolve, and moved further away. He growled, and before I could think to move again, he had leaped across the space between us snatched me up into his arms. I immediately began to squirm and try to get loose. He only growled again and crushed me against his chest. I sucked in a sharp breath as he jostled my mangled arm.

    As if sensing my pain, he paused for a moment and gently moved my arm away from my chest. Sparks jumped from my skin as his fingers touched my hand, It was suddenly very hard to breath, and I watched his every movement carefully. His fingers brushed softly across the shredded flesh of my hands and he pressed my knuckles against his lips. My heart stuttered unconsciously and my already ragged breathing hitched.

    He let his lips linger momentarily, his breath heating my chilled hands, before he positioned my arm back across my chest. I was too stunned to move, and he took that opportunity to make his way up the drive of a large building along the side of their pack house. As the glass doors of the building closed behind us, I suddenly realized who I was with and where I was. I began to struggle again and the werewolf pulled my face close.

    “Stop fighting,” He whispered. His voice low and quiet. “This will be easier for both of us if you just stop struggling.” I couldn't though, I didn’t know where he was taking me, for all I knew he was escorting me to a torture chamber. He grunted as I persisted to shove against his chest and shifted me in his arms. He sighed, and suddenly, there was a knife pressed against the thyroid cartilage of my throat. I stopped breathing altogether, and held perfectly still in his arms.

    He had said earlier that he intended to heal me, but his word couldn’t be trusted. Why would a werewolf knowingly help a hunter that had killed one of his pack members? He was also holding a knife to throat which, generally speaking, did not seem like a friendly, non violent, thing to do. So, either he was escorting me to my death or to a torture chamber. My vision blurred, and it was only then that I realized I wasn’t breathing. I couldn’t bring myself to inhale though, the knife was too close and the immanence of my death weighed too heavily on the back of my tongue. My chest began to heave with the need for air, and the werewolf placed a hand on my neck, cupping my cheek.

    “Breathe, Lion Heart. You’ll be fine, Nothing is going to happen to you.” Then, very slowly, I inhaled through my nose. His smell was intoxicating, and I could feel my rigid muscles relax and my heartbeat slow.  And the world stopped spinning, and I could think clearly again. He had removed the knife from my neck and had stowed it away somewhere. I could breathe freely again.