Her Wanted Wolf Read Free

owner of the voice
looked like a cherub. He was short-limbed, a little on the plump side with lint-pale
hair, guileless blue eyes, and the pinkest softest cheeks she’d ever seen on a
man.
    She sniffed him. He smelled like a were, musky with a hint of the forest,
but he lacked the long, lean, predatory physique of one. Using her
scent-memory, she attempted to determine which pack he belonged to, but she
couldn’t place him.
    The dank moldiness of the cave, mixed with other vapors, filled her
nostrils. Aimee sifted through the mix of odors, seeking a familiar scent, like
a pack brother or sister. Nothing in the air gave her a hint of who brought her
here, or where she was.
    Comprehension scattered the last remnants of fog from her brain. She was
far from home, with strangers—therefore, in deep shit.
    The odd little were took her wrist to test her pulse. His fingertips were
as smooth as a baby’s cheek.
    Terrified, but determined not to let it show, she eased her forearm away
from his too-soft touch. “Who are you?”
    “Me? I’m Milo Redmaven, but they call me the Chemist.”
    Aimee’s stomach lurched with dread. “Did you say Redmaven?” She inched
away from him, using her palms to push back. The effort left her breathless and
sweating.
    “Yes, don’t struggle. You had a bad reaction to the cocktail of chemicals
we shot into your system. You’ll experience some residual weakness in your
limbs, and hallucinations, but I think you’ll recover quickly. Bardo has plans
for you.”
    “You son-of-a-bitch.” Aimee struck out at him, her claws easing through
her fingertips sluggishly. He caught her fist with a strength that belied his
benign appearance.
    “Now, don’t get nasty.” His expression hardened, and she glimpsed the
were in him.
    “What do you want with me?”
    His cool smile confirmed her suspicions. “Breeder, of course.”
    The simplistic answer pissed her off to no end. “I won’t be lifting my
tail for a mutt.” Her insult earned her a tightening of his grip. She heard and
felt the bones in her hand grind together. Searing agony shimmied through her
abused fist, and greasy sweat popped up on her skin. Any more pressure and
she’d pass out.
    A scent pricked her memory, evoking images in her head a second before
her abuser abruptly released her hand. She looked up into the face of the were
who’d kept her safe in her dreams. He had the Chemist by the neck with his fat
pink toes dangling inches off the lichen-covered ground.
    “Let him go, Micah.” The barked order reverberated off the limestone
formations hanging from the ceiling. “Milo, is that any way to treat the mother
of your next alpha?”
    Oh shit, she knew that voice.
    Reluctantly, Aimee turned her head to see the last person to whom she
wanted to be in close proximity. Bardo Redmaven was a wolf in his prime,
handsome and pinup gorgeous. However, he was one twisted bastard. The mesmeric
quality about him drew people to the wolf even though they knew he was
dangerous. Aimee saw the burning zeal in his eyes that could only be madness.
    He sauntered over to her side and dropped down onto his haunches.
    Aimee gagged at the stench of fresh blood and death clinging to him. “I
must apologize for the poor accommodations.” His cold grey eyes skimmed over
her. “But since our supreme alpha sent me into exile with your brother’s help,
I’ve had to make do with the most basic amenities.”
    Aimee recoiled from the fingers he brushed over her cheek. “Don’t touch
me.”
    “I’ll do more than touch before this is over.” He gripped her jaw with a
cruel hand. “But not just yet. You have to regain some of your strength. I like
a bit of a fight with my sex. Adds to my pleasure. You’ll whelp me fine cubs.”
His hand slid down to cradle her breast. His fingers bit into the delicate
flesh. Her protest died on her lips when she saw a grotesque smile, full of
malice and enjoyment at her discomfort, spread across his face.
    Aimee winced