“Get him the fuck off me!” one of the men screamed.
There was no time to wonder what happened to Richard, not that she really cared. He’d planned on killing her after all, but she was worried that she had something more terrifying than these men to worry about now.
She screamed against her gag in agony as something large fell on top of her, slamming her already battered head against the rock floor in the process. Seconds later, the weight was removed and she forced herself to rollover until she hit the wall. Samantha pressed herself against it as tightly as she could, praying that whatever that thing was left along with the men trying to flee.
One minute, the room was filled with bloodcurdling screams, and the next, everything suddenly stopped so that the only thing she could hear was the sounds of her panicked breaths rushing in and out of her lungs. She almost wished the screams started again as she tried to listen for any proof that she wasn’t alone with that thing. It took her a moment before she realized that she was wasting time lying there. She’d prayed for a chance to warn her brother and now that she had one, she was wasting it. She needed to get upstairs and send Nathan a text message to warn him before whatever chance she had to save her brother was gone.
Trying to ignore the pain shooting through her skull, she rolled over onto her back and tried to sit up. After the third try, she managed to sit up and lean back against the cool stone wall. Using the wall to push herself up, she slowly stood up only to stumble and fall onto her side when the pain shooting through her head became too much. Refusing to give up, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the pain.
After a moment, she managed to sit back up and nearly fell back down when a shot of stabbing pain slammed into her head, letting her know that she probably had a concussion. Knowing there was nothing that she could do about it now, she bent her knees and slowly pushed to stand up. She moved a foot without passing out, so she did it again and again until she ended up banging her head against an uneven stone sticking out of the wall, sending her back on her ass with a cry of pain that was muffled by the duct tape.
As she sat there trying to breathe through the pain, she tried to figure out where she was. Somehow in the last ten minutes, she’d managed to become disoriented. She didn’t know if she was near the small tunnel or one of the sidewalls but prayed that it was the small tunnel since she wouldn’t be able to open the bulk doors with her hands bound behind her back like this.
If she wasn’t near the tunnel, she was going to have to figure out a way to get to it without being noticed by whatever that thing from the wall was. Part of her hoped that it had forgotten about her and fled because there was no way that she was going to be able to…to…
Warm, stale breath with a metallic undertone suddenly washed over her face, cutting off her train of thought and taking her terror to a whole new level. Even though it was pointless, she squeezed her eyes shut as she waited for it to kill her only to end up sneezing when she caught the scent of dust.
A startled growl vibrated next to her ear as a fresh wave of panic tore through her. She whimpered against her gag even as everything became a bit fuzzy. Glad that she wouldn’t be conscious for whatever the creature had planned for her, she passed out.
Chapter 3
The growl took him by surprise, shifting everything from various shades of blue back to the red that had matched his rage as he’d torn the men apart that had put him here. But even the revenge that he’d waited so long for couldn’t compare to this moment, Trace realized with satisfaction as he watched the small woman that he’d scented only moments before slump back against the stone wall with a sickening thud.
Her scent had him closing his eyes and slowly inhaling with a growl. While the shifter blood had been richer than anything that he’d ever experienced before, her scent was sweet and intoxicating. Opening his eyes, Trace leaned in closer and noted the dust and dirt covering her from head to toe, the scrapes and bruises marking the side of her face, the scent of her blood pooling beneath her skin on the back of her head, letting him know that she was injured, and he had to wonder why he wasn’t giving in to the urge to sink his fangs into the curve of her delicate neck and find out just how sweet she really was.
Looking up, Trace took in the stone room they were in, the shelves lining the back walls filled with things that he didn’t recognize, to the strange clothes the shifters wore, and finally back to the woman passed out on the floor and realized that he was going to need her. It also made him realize just how much had changed since they’d put him in that hole and everything that he’d lost, his father, his future, his humanity, and eventually, any hope of escape. There were no words to describe the terror that had slammed into him when he’d opened his eyes and found himself trapped in that hole, struggling to breathe air that wasn’t there. That terror had quickly turned to hope when he’d realized that he’d changed only to realize that his immortality hadn’t saved him.
It had doomed him.
He’d been too weak to do anything more than scream until his throat was raw and all he could do was kneel on the unforgiving stone floor while all of his new abilities had tormented him. The sounds of him gasping for air that had run out long ago, the rustle of his clothing, and every sound that he’d made had been sharper than anything that he’d ever heard before. His lungs burned as he’d clawed at the stones, struggling to find a way out while his ability to see everything perfectly in various shades of blue had quickly destroyed him, making it impossible for him to pretend that it was all just a bad dream.
It wasn’t long before he gave up hope that he would die. When his body should have given out from suffocation, he was able to go on so that he could starve to death, watching his body slowly waste away until he was nothing more than a skeleton, leaving him weak and barely able to move. Some time ago, he’d collapsed against the rough stone wall and stayed there.
For so long, he’d hoped that his father would come for him. For what seemed like years, he would scream for help until his throat, bloody and raw, would give out. Then he’d use his fists, banging them against the stone wall until his hands were nothing more than bloody stumps and he could barely lift them, but by that time, his throat would be completely healed so he’d go back to screaming. It had been a never-ending cycle until the day that he was too weak to do anything more than stare down at the stone floor.
/> Every now and then, he’d feared that he was going insane when the sounds of movement, talking, crying, and laughter would seep into his tiny tomb. By then, he’d been too weak to do anything more than sit there, taking it all in. It had been a new form of torture, knowing that everything he needed was close by and that there was nothing that he could do about it. So, he’d learned to shut everything out.
When he heard voices this time, he would have ignored them as well except that this time, he’d recognized them. Just as Trace was about to dismiss the voices as figments of his imagination, he’d heard the first sound of metal striking rock and forced himself to listen.
Soon it became clear that the same men who’d put him in this hell were trying to dig him out and he hadn’t cared why. The only thing that mattered to him was feeling the air filling his lungs and getting a chance to leave his tomb. In the back of his mind, Trace knew that they weren’t there to free him since he’d stopped being the naive child that was responsible for this mess a long time ago.
As the sounds of metal hitting rock became louder, making him grind his jaw as the sound assaulted his sensitive ears, he’d realized that he would probably only get one chance to escape. It hadn’t taken long before he’d realized that his only hope was to allow them to believe that he was dead. Not that it would be difficult to convince anyone of that, he’d thought with disgust.
The muscle beneath his skin had disappeared long ago, leaving him with thin gray skin wrapped tightly around his brittle bones. Long tangled hair matted with dust and old blood hung from his face and head, hiding his face. The only thing that could give him away was the sound of his heart beating wildly against his ribs when the first gust of air invaded his tomb and he struggled to take his first real breath since this nightmare started. It burned going down, forcing his chest to expand, but god did that first breath feel absolutely amazing when he slowly blew it out. He’d closed his eyes and savored it. His second breath had his fangs sliding down through what remained of his gums and his vision turning red as he slowly took in that intoxicating scent that had him licking his dry lips.
Somehow, he’d forced his attention away from that mouthwatering aroma and listened as the men argued about what to do with the small woman that Trace decided was his. He’d turned his attention to the men tearing apart the wall to get to him and nearly smiled when he’d realized that none of the men outside his small tomb was an Alpha.
Although the scent of the men’s blood on the other side of the wall had been potent, woodsy, and so damn alluring that his fangs had throbbed, causing a stabbing pain to shoot through his jaw, he couldn’t sense any real strength in any of them. There was a hint of power and animal in the men, but what he smelled was their human form and he knew from what his father had taught him over the years that there was absolutely no mistaking the scent of an Alpha and the power that radiated from them.
An Alpha retained his powers and strength in both forms and would have known before the first rock was chipped that Trace was still very much alive. His belief that they had no idea that he was still alive was confirmed when one of the men poked his head inside his tomb and announced that they were wasting their time. He’d forced himself to remain perfectly still, knowing that in his current state that he wouldn’t be able to break the rest of the stones away on his own. Listening to them threatening what was his had nearly put him into a rage, but after all this time in his tomb, he’d finally learned something about patience.
Just as he saw his chance, Trace scented her fear mixed with the mouthwatering aroma that nearly had him forgetting his need to remain still and had him fighting his way to get to her. His fangs throbbed steadily in his mouth as he inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet intoxicating scent. Unwilling to tolerate his personal hell a moment longer, he’d forced himself to move, using his hunger to find the strength that he’d long ago thought was gone. As the woman fought for her freedom, he’d taken his.
There was no hesitation in his attack. When he’d recognized the red hair of the large bastard that had attacked him all those years ago by the stream, he’d gladly sank his fangs into the thick neck and groaned when the first splash of hot blood hit the back of his parched throat. He’d wrapped his frail arm around the shifter’s neck, tightening his hold as power surged through his body. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
The blood his father had given him had always been pleasing to his stomach, but it had never been this good. Any thoughts of his stomach rejecting the shifter’s blood as his father had warned quickly died as new strength surged through him. He could feel his skin start to stretch and fill as the man in his grasp continued to struggle. He’d fed off the shifter in his arms until he felt the last heartbeat push the rest of the blood into his mouth before he dropped him, eager for more. All he cared about was more blood from the men who’d sent him into this hell. He’d ignored the weapons pointed in his direction, the noises exploding around him, and the bite of hot metal tearing through his side as he tore into the next man.
He had to have more.