Wolf's Capture Read Online Free PDF Page A

which didn’t please him at all.
    “I should beat you for your impertinence.” Should, but wouldn’t. Oh, he would hurt her, make no mistake, but he wouldn’t kill her or do anything to severely harm her for fear of losing her ability.
    So long as she proved useful, he held back.
    But she wasn’t holding back. Not anymore.
    Of late, she’d been pushing at that invisible line that kept the master from snapping. Pushed and pushed, tired of waiting for rescue to come. Tired of a life spent living in a cage.
    Escape #57. It was the lucky number. The one that would finally succeed. She just knew it.
    If not, she heard fifty-eight made a good digit.

Chapter Three
    Waking groggy and on the floor? Hadn’t happened in years.
    Must have been some good shit.
    Wait a second, he’d neither smoked nor drank anything. This wasn’t a hangover.
    I was fucking drugged.
    How embarrassing. Like a green-nosed recruit, Brody had sauntered into a trap. He’d never live it down. Boris would make sure of it.
    Of course, in order to hear the mockery, first Brody had to escape. Placing himself in a seated position, Brody took stock of his situation.
    Cliché was the word that came to mind as he glanced around. Standard cement block basement with an old coal furnace in a corner, its belly currently cold this time of year. Scattered around were stacks of boxes, the mildewed cardboard bulging as dampness and neglect took its toll.
    On a wall across from him sat a vintage puke-green washer from the seventies with a knob missing on its display panel, but he’d wager the beast still worked. Those old machines were built to last. A more recent-model white dryer shared a spot alongside, its front panel spotted with rust. To finish off the wondrously uninviting space? A giant cage with him smack-dab in the middle of it.
    Because no basement was complete without a prison cell.
    For the moment, Brody appeared alone and in surprisingly good shape. Nothing broken, no puddles of blood, no screaming pain in any parts of his body. However, he wasn’t entirely untouched.
    What’s this around my neck? Cold and heavy, it seemed someone had given him some jewelry. His fingers explored the metal band ringing his neck.
    Argh. Someone collared me.
    Was it childish to want to make choking noises? Probably, and he did restrain himself, but his wolf felt no such need and whined pitifully in his mind.
    A wolf could handle plenty of things. However, he’d never willingly give up his freedom.
    Getting caught was embarrassing, and Brody could see he’d have to work on escape if he intended to maintain his man card in good standing.
    Time to give this contraption the slip.
    He felt along the tubular metal ring, searching for a clasp. Only smooth metal met his touch. Seamlessly joined with no hint of a button or trigger.
    It’s getting tighter, whined his wolf.
    It wasn’t, but the setback of not quickly removing it didn’t sit well. Brody needed to try something different. Given he was stronger than the average man, he’d snap the fucking thing. Slipping his fingers around the ring, he tugged. He twisted. He cursed a storm—in more than one language.
    The damned necklace wouldn’t come off.
    Ack. Gurgle. His wolf collapsed into a mentally traumatized heap.
    Brody almost laughed.
    You are such a drama king.
    His wolf gave him the mental equivalent of the evil eye.
    This did make Brody chuckle.
    Most shifters were close to their animals, but not all of them considered it a best friend and held actual conversations with it. Okay, more like visualizations since his wolf couldn’t speak words. But via flashes of images and actions, his beast could get his point across.
    This understanding didn’t come easily.
    Brody really began to connect with his wolf during his longest incarceration. The solitude made for ideal meditation conditions and total mental openness. Open enough to meet his other side and truly come to an understanding.
    Brody often credited this