Fated Magic (Claimed by Wolves 1)

There’s a rough dirt road beneath my bare feet—dry, dusty ground that hasn’t seen a good rainfall in a few days. I know that probably means I’m leaving a billowing trail of dust in my wake, but either side of the road is lined by small, rustic houses, so there’s no other route I can take.

My arms and legs pump harder as I go for a bit more speed.

I don’t recognize this place. It’s not Big Creek, the town where I lived with Uncle Clint—at least, I don’t think it is. I wasn’t exactly allowed out of the house to get to know the area, but we drove through it every time we made the trip to the hospital or the few other errands he took me on. I don’t recall a distinct lack of power lines, and we definitely drove on asphalt roads, not dirt and gravel.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a few people. But I don’t let myself look for more than a second, keeping my head down and praying none of them sound the alarm.

If Uncle Clint brought me to this place, it means he has friends here. Friends who don’t care what he gets up to in his own home, or how he abuses his niece. I can’t trust any of these people to help me. I couldn’t before, and I definitely can’t now that I’ve run away.

The full force of his anger is about to come down on me like a hammer falling, unless I can get away a second time.

The dirt road ends abruptly at thick grass, and I cross the line with a surge of relief. I’m almost there. Grass is springier than the packed dirt road, and I use it to my advantage, running faster, my breaths coming quicker.

Dear God, please just let me get away. Please give me a chance to live a better life.

The trees, and what little protection they might offer, are only a few feet away.

But before I can reach them, two arms wrap tightly around my waist, hauling me off the ground and pinning me against a solid chest.

5

Ridge

Goddammit. This isn’t how I wanted to get a half-naked girl in my arms.

Normal guys, they go to parties. Go to bars. They talk up the first hot woman who shakes her ass in their direction, then fuck her senseless against a bathroom wall covered in graffiti that probably includes her phone number.

Not me. No, my dumb ass has to find an unconscious woman in the wilderness and bring her home, only for her to strip to her panties and race madly through the village in an attempt to escape.

I mean, I know I’m not People’s Sexiest Man Alive, but damn.

The girl’s head slams back toward my face, and I have to crane my neck sideways to keep from getting a busted nose.

“Hey! I’m not going to hurt you!” I snarl as she tries again, whipping my head back the other way.

“Then put me down and let me go!” she gasps, struggling against my hold. She has a light, bell-like voice, though the bite to her statement takes some of the melody away. One bare foot catches me in the shin, and I grunt at the burst of pain. But so does she—hitting bones with bare limbs is like kicking concrete.

On the third attempted headbutt, I lack any other option. Locking one arm around her waist, I wrap her long hair around my other hand and tug her head back. Not enough to hurt her, but enough to pin her firmly in place against my body. In any other situation, I’d be following this move up with my lips on her earlobe, my tongue sliding down her neck. In this situation, that would be highly inappropriate.

But fuck if a part of me doesn’t have a split second desire to do it.

“Calm down,” I say softly in her ear as her torso pumps with hysterical breaths beneath my other arm. “You’re hurt. You’re going to make it worse.”

Bad choice. That’s when the screaming starts.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I thought I saved a sexy, blonde-haired princess last night, but this creature is a fucking banshee with the balls of a tiger. I knew the girl had been abused when I stripped her down and checked her injuries, but with her unconscious, I couldn’t exactly ask after her mental state. It’s clear now that I should have tied her to the bedposts for he

r own safety—and mine.

“Jesus, woman, I’m not going to hurt you!” I say, dragging her back the way we came. Dust is still settling on the road from our run through the village, but it’s not enough cover to hide the spectacle she’s making. Grady’s over in his front yard, eyebrows chasing his receding hairline as he watches us with wide eyes. Cordelia Raney is sitting with her sister on the front porch, both of them staring at me like I’m killing the woman and dancing in her blood—though the two of them judge every fucking thing in sight, so I can’t even care. Even more of my packmates are emerging from their houses to check out what’s causing all the commotion.

Yeah. Not how I expected this day to go.

“Let me go!” The banshee punctuates the last word with a full body wave, clearly intending to slither out of my arms like a snake. But she has no idea I’m stronger than any man she’s ever known, and she just jerks uselessly against my grasp. Unfortunately, that luscious ass I salivated over the night before slams right into my dick.

I pause and grit my teeth against the pain and nausea rolling through my insides from the blow. Damn it all to hell. We aren’t even past the first row of houses, and she’s still screaming.