Page 29 of Traded to the Alpha Wolf

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re not going to do shit, and you know it. The Order didn’t send you here to kill her. They want her back, don’t they?”

The hunter glances at his fellow men, and I see the fracture lines in his resolve start to grow. “You don’t know shit about what I want,” he spits out. “You think I’m bluffing?” he yells, and this time the blade nicks deeper. Mara flinches, just barely, and a line of blood snakes down her collarbone.

I take another tiny step forward, the world narrowing to the shine of Mara’s hair in his fist, the tiny pulse beating in her neck, the blood coating her pale skin. The realization drops in me like a depth charge: this isn’t some girl I thought I could get information out of; she’s not just a warm body in my bed, not even just an omega my wolf wanted to breed. I want her because she is mine. A single word echoes, low and thunderous in my mind…mate.

I have no idea if she feels the same, and right now it doesn’t even matter. All that matters is protecting her. Off to my side, I hear some of the hunters talking.

“Aren’t they supposed to be at each other’s throats?” one hisses under his breath, loud enough for me to hear. “I thought you said they’d be fighting themselves and easy to kill.”

Another, further down the line, spits into the gutter, voice raw and angry. “What the fuck is this? They’re not even moving. You said the drug would—”

“Shut up and hold the line,” the hunter holding Mara snaps, but the damage is done. A flicker of uncertainty ripples through the entire unit.

They thought Mara would break us. That bringing her here, letting her loose in my territory, would make me weak. Easier to kill, easier to pick off. Instead, all she’s done is remind me what I’m supposed to protect, what I’m willing to lose my life for. It’s like her omega pheromones have actually settled my wolf, made him more determined, and made everything clearer. I let the sound of the pack filter in, the snarl and growl of my wolves, the high, keening whines of the betas waiting for my signal. I catch Grey across the square, eyes locked on me, his fist raised. He’s got a dozen men ready to move, but he knows what I know: that if we rush, Mara’s dead.

I raise my hands higher, palms open. “Let her go, and I’ll let you make it out alive,” I say.

The hunter laughs, a high, broken sound. “You must think I’m fucking stupid. You’ll tear us apart the second she’s loose.”

“Probably,” I admit, and take another step. The world goes very still. I can hear Mara breathing, shallow and sharp, and the catch in her throat when the hunter’s blade presses in alittle deeper. I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms, and force myself not to lose it. Not yet.

“Why’d you come?” I ask, almost conversational. “You know you’re not walking out of here. You’re not going to get promoted for this.”

The guy’s eyes dart, desperate, but he’s still got his orders. “They want her back,” he says, “and I don’t care what you think she is; she doesn’t belong with you freaks. She’s property of the Order. She’s a fucking experiment.”

I see Mara’s mouth twist, not in fear, but in pure, unfiltered rage. For a second, it almost makes me smile.

He starts to drag Mara backward, but she surprises all of us by twisting against his hold, slamming her heel down on the top of his foot. He howls, and the blade slices deeper into her skin, but she doesn’t scream; she’s fighting. She spins, raking her nails across his face.

“Now,” I bark, and the world explodes.

Grey and the betas surge from cover. Two wolves go for the hunters on the left, scattering them and forcing the shooters to track fast or get their throats torn out. I launch myself forward, partially shifted, and close the distance to Mara and her captor in four bounds. The hunter tries to readjust the knife, but he’s slower now, and Mara is fighting with everything she’s got, twisting in his arms. The moment his grip slips, I grab his arm and snap it at the elbow. The knife clatters to the pavement.

The man screams; it’s high-pitched and desperate, but that’s nothing compared to the sound that comes out of me. I haul him off Mara and break his neck with a twist, the pop echoing across the square. The body drops, limp as a sack of flour, and for a second, Mara just stands there, swaying, blood bubbling down her neck.

The rest of the square is a blur of gunfire, the roars of my betas, screams from the hunters as Grey’s team tears into them. I don’t even watch it. All I see is the way Mara’s knees start to buckle, the way she tries to keep her hand pressed to the wound, but it’s already too late, blood pulsing between her fingers. I catch her before she hits the ground, scooping her up and cradling her against my chest.

She’s lighter than I expect, limp with shock or blood loss, and I’m hit with the realization that she’s not a shifter. She’s not built to survive a wound like this. Human flesh is so fucking fragile, so breakable that even the faintest slip and she’ll be gone before I can get her help.

“You’re gonna be fine, Mara, do you hear me?” I say. It’s a lie; the cut is deep, and there’s too much blood, soaking my shirt and dripping down my arms. I press hard, trying to stanch the flow. “Don’t close your eyes. Goddamn it, look at me.”

She blinks, her gaze unfocused, mouth moving but no sound coming out.

I haul her up, one arm tight around her, the other hand clamped on her neck. I run, vaulting over bodies and debris, straight for the clinic across the street. The glass doors are locked and dark, but swing open as I run up the steps, and Sandy, the nurse, sees me coming.

Inside, it’s dim, and people have obviously been hiding in the back. “Help,” I shout, voice thundering. “She’s bleeding out, goddamn it, help.”

Sandy takes one look at me and calls for the others.

“She’s not a shifter. She’s not healing,” I say to no one in particular as I lay Mara out on the nearest gurney, hands locked on her neck, terrified to let go. Her blood is everywhere; I can taste it in the air, can smell the panic and the way her body isalready winding down, shutting off. The connection between us feels stronger despite the fact that it’s fading; it’s as if my wolf is trying to hold on to her, but she’s slipping through my fingers.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, not even realizing I’m shaking her, like that’ll keep her soul from slipping out, until Sandy stops me.

The doors slam open, and Travis, the pack doctor, barrels in, still pulling a glove onto his left hand. He takes one look at Mara and goes dead calm, pushing me aside and barking a string of orders at Sandy. I hover at her feet, useless, nails digging into my palms as Travis packs the wound and shoves a blood pressure cuff around her arm, the Velcro scraping the skin, then another on her other arm, and starts calling out numbers that mean nothing to me but seem to make Sandy move even faster. They cut off her sweater, leaving threads and blood stuck to her skin, and Mara doesn’t even flinch. Her eyes flutter, rolling back, and my wolf throws itself at the walls of my chest, howling in terror.

“Her pressure’s bottoming,” Travis says, voice flat as steel, “she needs blood, now. She needs surgery, and she won’t even make it to the table if we don’t get a transfusion going.”

“Take mine,” I say, knowing damn well if we have any human blood here, it won’t be enough, “She’s my mate, and my blood will work.”