Wounded Kiss (To Be Claimed 1)

“I wonder what they look like.” Lizzie’s curiosity knows no bounds, even if her voice is shaky. At this moment I couldn’t possibly be more grateful for the diversion and I’m damn sure to ignore the tremor in her tone. I need something to get me out of my head and so does she.

“We’re just going to be able to see their faces, and that’s only if you look directly at them. Which you should not.” I mutter my response. I’m not that bold. Glancing to the stage ahead of us, I see about half the girls have already filed through. Some of them approach confidently but all of them walk down the steps at the other end with their heads bowed, eyes glued to their feet. The stage is so long that there are at least ten girls on it at a time. The four shifters are spread out so that you’re never more than a few feet away from one. They’re just standing there like statues, not moving or saying anything. A chill runs down my spine. I’m no coward, but I plan on keeping my gaze down the entire time.

I can’t stand how tense it is, so I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Sherri said they all have a stick up their ass.” We’re getting closer to the stage and I swear my heart’s trying to leap out of my chest and escape. Swallowing is useless; my throat is suddenly dry.

“Do their faces look different from ours?” the girl who’s trying to get between us asks.

“I don’t think so.” I manage to get that out but then my chest starts heaving frantically as I see how close to the stairs we are. Lizzie finally takes her eyes away from the stage and places her hands on my shoulders while we continue to move forward.

“You’re all right, babe,” she says reassuringly. “Now tell me the same.”

“We’re fine, Lizzie. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, or to me. I promise.” I do a quick count and there are only four women ahead of us now.

“I love you, Lizzie.” Tears start welling up in my eyes. I have to tell her. Just in case.

Now there are three.

“We’re not saying goodbye,” she whispers, sounding hopeful and I nod.

Only two ahead of us now.

“I love you too.” She kisses my cheek as her name is called. I finally let go of her hand and immediately feel the loss.

Now one.

Breathe.

Miss Redhead walks up.

Breathe.

My name is finally called, marking the end of this year’s offering. It’s so close to being over. Just a few steps and it’s done.

Although I hear my name ringing in my ears, my body falters and my fingers and toes go numb. I force my shaky legs up the four steps and try to control my breathing. Licking at my dry lips, I grip the clutch dangling from my wrist tight in my hands like it can protect me. My heels make loud clicks on the metal stage as I walk, and I concentrate on the sound. I remind myself that I just need to take one step at a time and then it will all be over.

As I let out a small breath at the calming thought, three things happen at once: the werewolf I just passed starts walking off the stage, I feel a large hand on my back, and I hear Lizzie scream. My eyes shoot up to locate Lizzie but before I can run to her I’m pulled against a hard chest by a strong arm made of corded muscle. I’m held firmly in place as a scream tears up my throat. My fingers frantically work to pull the werewolf off of me, my nails digging into the large hand splayed across my belly, but it’s useless.

She’s still screaming, and I can’t even look at whoever’s holding me, I can only stare as Lizzie struggles to free herself. “Somebody help her!” I scream. Slamming my elbow against the wall of solid muscle behind me doesn’t do a damn thing. Panic turns my skin hot and chaos whirls around me. With all my strength I shove my weight forward, once again pushing away from the beast holding me while shouting her name.

“Lizzie!” I shout as my feet fly off the ground. The shifter restraining me has one arm wrapped around my waist, lifting me up as though I weigh nothing at all. His other hand cups the side of my head, bringing my ear to his lips. The forceful move makes my entire being instantly still.

“Calm her down,” his baritone voice whispers, and his breath burns hot against the shell of my ear. His tone is gentle, but there’s no doubt in my mind that his words are a command. My mind finally registers what he’s said and I take in the scene as if in slow motion. The stage is now empty except for the shifter holding Lizzie, who’s fighting like crazy with tears streaming down her red face, and me. Blocking the stairs on either side of the stage are the other two shifters, who act as guards.