Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 202

Chapter 202

Skye

I’m not sure how much time has passed when we finally pull up to a house that is large and isolated. The area looks rural. Flat land in every direction. No neighboring scents, no pack presence. Chosen for exactly that reason,

I’m sure.

They drag me out of the backseat and an errant thought hits me immediately-no blindfold. They didn’t bother, even though I;ve seen their face, can describe the house they’re dragging me towards. I understand what that

means.

They have no intention of letting me go in any condition where it matters what I’ve seen.

“Do you know who I am? My husband is going to rip you to shreds for this!” I threaten, thrashing around as much as possible, refusing to make one second of this easy for them.

“I doubt that very much Mrs. Woolf.” I look up to find the owner of the heavily accented voice is a clean cut man in a very expensive, almost certainly bespoke three piece suit stepping out onto the porch. A man I recognize.

Dmitry Volkov’s expression is one of barely concealed amusement at my distress. He stands with his shoulders back and his hands folded casually in front of him, like he hasn’t got a care in the world. In fact, he looks like he’s enjoying himself immensely.

“Why am I here, Mr. Volkov?” I demand but he just laughs.

“Oh, I think we both know the answer to that, don’t we… Skye, is it?” I open my mouth to-well, I’m not sure what I planned to say next but he doesn’t give me a chance. “Take her inside!”

He barks the order and the men holding me move. They drag me up the porch stairs and Volkov inhales a deep breath as I pass. Fuck! He can smell my heat! I’m not sure why that thought chooses that moment to surface. It’s not like I haven’t been acutely aware that I’m broadcasting my quickly approaching estrus to every man in a five mile radius. But somehow him knowing makes my skin crawl on a whole new level.

“Our timing couldn’t have been better, I see.” He laughs again, unreasonably pleased by the revelation, before schooling his features into something that promises violence. “She is not for you. You will not touch her!” He growls at the men who nod obediently and hurry inside.

Part of me thinks I should be grateful for that small act of protection but I’m just… not. Probably because the other part of me realizes there was nothing altruistic about it, which sends a shiver down my spine. Based on the oily leer he aimed my direction, I can only assume he has something equally repugnant, if not much worse, in mind.

I’m taken down a set of stairs almost as soon as we pass through the front door. I briefly consider continuing to struggle but decide, with my luck, I’d more likely end up with a broken neck than escape. So instead, I go limp, forcing them to carry me. A small act of rebellion.

“Move your fucking feet!” One of them growls at me, the effect of which is mostly lost due to the fact he’s covering his mouth and nose with his hand. Whether an attempt not to smell me or still nursing his injury, I’m

not sure.

“No, I don’t think I will.” I snark back, hoping I’m not wrong in assuming if Volkov wanted me dead, I would be already.

“Dammit!” The other guy curses, before unceremoniously tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

1/2

+15 Bonus

When he sets me down again, it’s with so much force I fall onto my ass, a sharp pain ricocheting from my tailbone

my spine and through my skull. I grit my teeth, shaking off the pain in favor of perusing my new accommodations. And find myself in a room with a concrete floor, stone walls, and a single light. Nothing else. I hear the door lock from the outside before I even notice they’ve gone.

“Fucking assholes.” I mutter to myself, choosing to focus on my anger at Volkov, his men, and this entire situation rather than the cold seeping into my bones or my fear of what they have in store for me.

I sit on the floor for a few more minutes, too tired to get up, and take inventory of myself. My wrists are bruised from the restraints they used in the vehicle. My neck aches where the injection went in. The drug is wearing off/1 can feel the edges of my wolf again, distant but present. Not enough to shift. But aware.

And my heat is still coming. Biology, completely indifferent to my current circumstances.

I can feel it building even in this cold, dirty room. The warmth that has nothing to do with temperature. My sce

Scent -I can smell it myself, which means they can too, through the door, through the floor above me.

I press my back against the wall and try to think. I can hear them above me. Footsteps pacing the floor. And talking. Not words—just the rumbling of male voices. But it doesn’t matter what they’re saying. I know they’re aware of me. Of my scent. There is no way they aren’t.

These are wolves under orders-I tell myself this. Trained men, professional, disciplined. They work for someone who doesn’t tolerate disobedience and they have their instructions that I’m not to be touched.

But my heat is getting closer. And pheromones during a she-wolf’s heat are not interested in orders or discipline.

They’ll hold. For now. The question is how long now lasts before the draw of my scent makes the orders irrelevant.

I need to think. I need to-

Nicolai, I think. The bond is there, faint through the drug’s residue. But I can feel it.

Jaxon. The other thread of a bond is there too. Fainter still, due to the lack of a mating mark, but just as real even through the concrete and the miles and whatever is between us now.

They’ll know something is wrong. They’ll notice my absence. They’ll smell the change in my lingering scent and realize what’s happening. I hope.

No. They’ll come. I refuse to believe otherwise.

The question is whether they get here before I run out of time.

Author

Cara Anderson

Thank you for reading!

Comments

Support

Share

2/2

+15 Bonus