1
Sedona
My eyes crack open, gritty and sore. I'd rub them if I weren't in wolf form.
Where am I?
I rise and knock against metal bars. Oh fates. I'm in a cage-a fucking cage.
Now Sedona, my mom would say, lips pursed. Do you really have to swear?
Yes, mom. If ever there was a time for the 'f' word, this is fucking it.
I'm in a cage, like a fucking dog. A goddamn pet.
I rub my head against the bars, but that doesn't help the pounding pain. My mouth is dry and I fight to swallow around a serious case of cottonmouth. Worse than any hangover I've had in the last three years of college. Not that I'm a party girl or anything.
Well, sometimes I like to party, but who doesn't?
I twist in the confined space, but it's impossible to get comfortable. A low growl starts in my throat, and my wolf hunches down to pounce. I slam against the bars and whine in pain. A few more tries and I give up, slumping muzzle to paws, squeezing my eyes shut against the ache. My headache screams louder. My captors dosed me with something to knock me out. How long have I been floating in and out of consciousness? Twelve hours? Twenty-four?
I'm in a large warehouse. Other cages line a giant metal rack of shelves-like the kind products are stored on in Costco or Sam's Club. Most are empty. A skinny black wolf with yellow eyes blinks at me from where he lies on his side in one of them.
Cigar smoke tinges the air and the sound of men's voices, speaking in Spanish, comes from behind a door. It swings open, allowing a shaft of light to fall from the corridor. The masculine voices draw nearer until a group of men gather around my cage. The same assholes who grabbed me on the beach.
If I were smart, I'd shift and get some information out of them. Who they are, what they want with me. But my wolf doesn't feel like talking.
I surge to my feet, my back and head pressing against the top wires of my tiny prison. My lips peel back to show my fangs. A deadly growl rumbles in my throat.
"Que belleza, no?" one of the men asks.
There is more discussion in Spanish, but I don't catch any words, besides Americana and Monte Lobo.
They're wolves, judging by their scent. All of them. Their leers send a cold prickle of fear through me.
I snap my jaws through the wires, snarling.
Ignoring me, the men pick up my cage and carry me outside to a gleaming white passenger van. They open the back doors of the van and lift me inside.
I throw myself against the wires of the cage, barking and growling.
One of the men chuckles."Tranquila, ángel, tranquila." He swings the doors shut with a decisive click, leaving me alone once more.
~.~
I bounce around the cage in the dark. The van seems to ascend, traveling over bumpier and bumpier ground-must be a dirt road. I shift back to human form to think, hunching naked between the bars.
My head is clearing from the sedative, although my stomach still roils like I just rode a double upside down loop roller coaster.
I need a plan. Some strategy to get the hell out of here. I grope the padlock on the outside of the cage. It's solid. I'd need wire cutters or a lock pick to get free, but I've got nothing. My older brother, Garrett, taught me how to pick locks. I watched him hell around as a teenager, picking every lock our dad tried to use to keep him in, or out, depending on the situation.
But I have no hairpin, no purse. Not a stitch of clothing.
Where are they taking me? My stomach knots. If this was a random kidnapping, I'd say I'd be ransomed back to my family. But I'm an alpha's daughter. Someone might have a bone to pick with my dad, in which case... I'm going to be gang raped by a foreign pack. Turned into their sex slave. Fates, I hope they're not into torture.
My wolf whines as the scent of my own fear clogs my nose.
Think, Sedona, think!
They're wolves. They picked me up off of a tourist beach in San Carlos. I'm young, female. They're probably not going to kill me. Female shifters are rarer than males. I'm a commodity. Maybe they're going to auction me off?
Fuck. This is bad. Very bad.
Garrett didn't like the idea of me going to San Carlos with humans. Like a fool, I blew off his concern. Thought he was being overprotective. I'm a shifter. What's the worst that can happen?
Turns out, a-fucking-lot. I can almost hear my dad saying, I told you so. If I get out of here alive, I'll happily agree.
The van rumbles to a stop. My wolf fights to take over, to protect me, but I force her back. My only play is to pretend to cooperate, then gouge their motherfucking eyes out with my thumbs and run. To act docile, it's better that I be naked and afraid, like the stupid reality show.
I roll to my side, pull my knees up and cover my breasts with my forearm. There. Helpless as a baby rabbit.
The van door opens.
"Please," I rasp. "I'm so thirsty."
One of the men mutters something in Spanish. Oh yeah. This game is going to be harder because I don't speak the language.
Damn, why didn't I take Spanish in high school? Oh right, because I wanted to be in every art class possible. And I had no idea I'd one day I'd have to speak with my Mexican kidnappers.
"Let me out of the cage," I plead, praying someone speaks English.
They ignore me. Two men pick my cage up by the handles on each side and carry it out of the van. They don't set it down, either. They walk up a tree-lined path, the cage jostling and swinging between them. Beyond the landscaped lawns and high-walled building, there's only thick woods. My captors brought me to a fortress on top of a mountain.
