Wild (Savage Alpha Shifters 1)

I see a man at the end of the aisle, but he’s about five foot seven and maybe a hundred and twenty pounds. He breezes past us. I mouth ‘help’ anyway. Maybe he’ll go tell someone. Maybe he’ll call the police.

I don’t think he caught it.

Tyson leans forward and glares at me, so I return the dirty look and reach out and grab a random bag of cookies from my right and toss them into the cart.

Oh. Milanos. The good ones. I grab another bag and drop them. And then another bag. Oreos. He makes a face at me and grabs my left hand and lifts it. I wince. Audibly. He’s looking at the purple bracelet bruise he gave me.

Yep. My wrist is already turning purple from where he grabbed it in the truck. His eyes are filled with horror as his thumb grazes my wrist. His eyes move to meet mine and a swallow works down his throat. His face has fallen and gone is all the anger. All I see is remorse. His mouth touches my wrist and he closes his eyes. His other hand grabs the back of my head and I squeak as he pulls me to his body.

He’s sorry. He didn’t mean to hurt me.

I’m about to cry. His mouth touches my forehead and I’m trembling, overcome with all sorts of feelings. Weird feelings. God. What the heck?

I’m angry, suddenly, and pulling away from him. I look up with accusation in my eyes.

His eyes are soft and just so… filled with remorse.

I turn away and oddly begin filling the shopping cart with food.

Four boxes of cereal. Coffee. Pancake mix. Peanut butter and grape jelly. Marmalade. A bunch of spices. Sugar, flour, and other baking things. Three bags of chocolate chips. Some barbeque sauce and a huge jar of mayo. I move forward and then double back and get strawberry jam and honey too. We’re then at the back wall that’s full of meat and he’s stuffing all sorts of meat in the cart. Giant steaks. Roasts. Pork chops. Chicken.

So. Much. Meat.

Yeah. Duh. Carnivore. I continue this throughout the store, angry-shopping and doing it mostly to not have to interact with or look at him.

By the time we get to the last aisle, the cart is full. But I’ve got a bag of frozen peas across my wrist and it’s helping with the pain.

I grab an abandoned empty cart that’s off to the side and walk fast, feeling him hot on my heels as I pick four types of ice cream and motor back through the first two lanes again to grab stuff we didn’t get. Like fruits and vegetables mostly.

I’m like a shopping maniac or something, because there’s enough food to feed a large family for weeks. And I’ve picked lots of fruit because he said he liked fruit. What the fuck is wrong with my brain?

He’s saying nothing. Nothing at all. He’s eyeing me warily and his gaze keeps landing on the half-thawed pea bag that’s draped over my wrist.

Does he even have the money for all this stuff? He’s a werewolf living in a dusty house that looks like no one has set foot in it for years.

We get to the checkout and I begin unloading the food onto the conveyer belt, mostly with my right hand because my left wrist is pretty dang sore.

“I’ll do it,” he says and starts lifting the rest of the stuff out of the second cart. I’m still holding the peas over my wrist. The cashier glances at them so I flip them over to ensure she can get the bar code. She picks up on the signal and lifts her handheld scanner and scans my wrist.

I feel his eyes on me, so I do my best to simply stare at the cashier’s screen, watching the rising total.

I picked everything I’d usually pick doing a full shopping, plus everything I’d pick if I were on my period as well as having a big honkin’ party. All he did was drop in some meat.

I’m suddenly embarrassed by the two shopping carts of food.

“My purse is in the truck,” I whisper. “I’ll get my credit card.”

“No,” he says. “I have money.”

He loads the rest of the stuff onto the belt. The cashier is eyeing him with absolute lust in her eyes.

Yeah. I know. He’s massive and gorgeous.

“You scanned that twice,” I say, and her eyes bounce to the screen and she does a void, saying nothing.

And it dawns that I was about to go get my card and come back to pay for the groceries he forced me to choose. Not run away.

I’ve lost it.

I really have.

“Hi,” I say to the cashier.

Her eyes bounce to me and then back to him.

“Hi,” she squeaks.

I should blurt, “I need help. He’s kidnapped me.”