Series: Star Moon Pack Series by J.L. Beck
Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 118781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118781 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
And now here I am. I don’t know where here is, but I know it’s a cage. A literal cage. A nice cage, sure—a big, firm bed with silk sheets sits against one long wall, and I know from having spent the past few hours on it that it’s very comfortable—but I can’t take my eyes off the silver bars embedded in the brick walls on all four sides of the room.
Actual silver. I can feel its power without even touching them, radiating warmth. Who in their right mind has a room like this? The door is like the door to a prison cell—heavy, metal, solid. There’s not even a knob on this side, no handle, no way to open it. The single window is also barred.
That’s not the worst part.
No, the worst part is what’s also embedded in the walls. For instance, the chains above the headboard are driven into the brick, with leather cuffs at the ends. They dangle a foot over the pillows, promising… what? Pleasure? Torture?
There are similar chains on the opposite wall, directly across from the foot of the bed. A small metal cage sits in one corner. Please, don’t let him try to lock me up in there. There’s also a cabinet on the wall, locked, and I shudder to think what’s inside.
What is this, a fucking sex dungeon? Is that what this is all about? We drove for what felt like hours so he could bring me to a sex dungeon?
I search every inch of the room for the third time, hoping that I might have overlooked something before. Something, anything I can use against him when he comes back. I need to get out of here. I have no idea how far we drove, what direction, any of it, but I’ll figure that part out once I escape. That’s all that matters now. Getting away from him.
But once again, I don’t find a damn thing I can use. There isn’t so much as a hairpin to force the lock on the cabinet door, in case there is something inside I could use to surprise or even hurt him. I don’t need much time. Only enough that he’s dazed, so I can get away.
I have no way to contact my family. What do they think happened to me? It’s daytime now, late morning, judging by the position of the sun. At least I can see outside, even if there’s nothing but trees and more trees spread out beyond the ground-level window. I can’t imagine how much worse this would be if I had no connection to the outside world, no way of knowing if it was day or night. I don’t know what day it is, but at least I’m pretty sure it’s the morning after he took me. The morning after the fight in the woods with the witches.
My body goes icy cold as a question pops up in my head. What if they think I didn’t make it? It’s been hours and hours, and I’m sure somebody must have looked for me by now.
When I return to the door and pound my fists against it, I am more determined than ever to be heard. “I need to talk to you! Please, don’t ignore me! It’s important!” Sure, I still think he’s a fucking psycho, but I’m willing to put that aside for a minute and hope he experiences a moment of sanity.
I’ve pretty much given up hope when there is a click on the other side of the door. I back away, holding my breath, and a moment later, I’m faced with my captor. He’s carrying a small, leather bag which he leaves on the floor at his feet. “Some things for you to wear. Don’t want you catching a chill.” He says it like this is all a big joke, something for us to laugh over together.
The sight of him has its normal effect on my body. My wolf doesn’t seem to care very much that we’ve been kidnapped and are being held against our will. It’s not against her will, anyway—she’s practically throwing a party inside me, ready to claim and be claimed. I’ll be damned if that’s going to happen, so the fight rages on in my head as the two sides of my nature battle it out while I stare daggers at him.
He has no right to look as good as he does or as rested. His tight T-shirt and jeans are somehow sexier than the suits he wore. It’s the way he carries himself, his confidence, not to mention how the thin cotton hugs his thick chest and arms. And all it does is make me hate him more.
“Well?” He quirks an eyebrow, not bothering to fight off a sarcastic little smirk. “It was so important to see me, so now you see me. And since you aren’t splayed out on the bed, ready to be ravished, I ask myself why you’re wasting my time.”