Faith's world returned with sharp and painful edges
First, the rusted metal smell, and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. Then, a heavy vibration rattled through her skull. She tried to move her hands, but her wrists were tied.
She wasn't in the basement. She was in the back of a moving van.
Faith's heart jolted. Memory flooded back—the syringe, her aunt's cold smile, the sound of her laptop being crushed. She had been sold. Not just thrown out, but sold like a piece of livestock to a "labor contractor." In the werewolf world, that was a polite word for human trafficking.
"She's awake," a husky voice muttered from the front of the van.
"Doesn't matter," another voice grunted. "We're already in the North City. Once we drop her at the estate, she's their problem. Pretty thing like that? She'll be a 'Special Maid' by sunset."
Faith squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe. Think, Faith. Think. She might be a "Dud," but she was brilliant. She didn't have claws, but she had a mind that could calculate trajectories and structural weaknesses. She looked around the dim interior of the van. It was an old model, the rear doors held shut by a manual latch that had been reinforced with a padlocked bar on the outside. But the side window—a small, rectangular pane meant for ventilation—was slightly opened.
She shifted her weight, ignoring the way her head throbbed. She managed to sit up, her back against the vibrating metal wall. Through the small gap in the window, she saw towering glass skyscrapers and neon lights that put her hometown to shame. This was the North—the territory of the Blackwood Pack.
The van slowed down, navigating a series of sharp turns. The air grew colder. Faith realized they were climbing a hill toward the more secluded, wealthy estates.
Almost there, the driver said. "The boss said the girl is smart, so keep the tranquilizer ready."
Now or never.
Faith stood up, her legs shaky. She didn't have the strength to break the door, but the van hit a massive speed bump, jolting the entire frame. For a split second, the latch rattled. Faith threw her entire body weight against the side door.
It didn't budge.
The van turned a sharp corner, the tires screeching. Faith saw her chance. They were passing a high stone wall overhung with thick ivy. The van slowed to enter a gated driveway.
Faith used her bound hands to grab the handle of the small ventilation window. She pulled with everything she had. The plastic snapped, creating an opening just wide enough for her slim frame.
"Hey! What's that noise?" the guard in the passenger seat yelled.
Faith didn't wait. She squeezed her shoulders through the cold wind whipping her hair.
"She's getting out! Stop the van!"
The driver slammed on the brakes. The momentum flung Faith forward, sending her tumbling out of the small window. She hit the pavement hard, the air leaving her lungs in a painful whoosh.
"Get her now!"
Faith scrambled to her feet, her vision swimming. She didn't look back. She ran toward the nearest structure—a massive, dark stone mansion that looked more like a fortress than a home. She sprinted through a gap in the hedge, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
She found herself on a wide, marble balcony overlooking a private driveway. Below her, a line of sleek, black luxury cars was pulling up.
Behind her, the traffickers burst through the hedge. "There she is! Grab the bitch!"
Faith looked down. It was a twenty-foot drop. To a normal human, it was a broken leg. To a werewolf, it was nothing. To a desperate girl with no wolf? It was a gamble.
She looked at the traffickers, then at the black car idling below.
"I'd rather die free," she whispered.
She jumped.
The wind roared in her ears for a heartbeat. Then, instead of the hard bite of asphalt, she hit something slightly softer but incredibly solid.
CRUNCH.
The roof of the lead Rolls-Royce crumpled under her weight. Glass shattered. The world went white with pain as her side hit the metal. Faith rolled off the car, sliding down the hood and landing in a heap on the pristine driveway.
Silence followed. A heavy, suffocating silence.
The traffickers froze at the edge of the balcony, their faces turning pale. They weren't looking at Faith. They were looking at the car.
The back door of the Rolls Royce opened slowly.
A man stepped out.
He was tall—easily six-foot-four—wearing a suit that probably cost more than Faith's entire neighborhood. His hair was black as a raven's wing, and his eyes were a piercing, icy grey that felt like a physical weight on her chest.
The air around him didn't just smell like a wolf; it smelled like power and expensive bourbon.
Faith looked up, her vision blurring at the edges. Her heart gave a strange, violent thud against her ribs. It wasn't just fear. It was amagnetic pull, soul-deep tug she had never felt in her life.
Mate.
The word echoed in the back of her mind, though she didn't have a wolf to say it.
The man looked at his dented car roof, then down at the girl bleeding on his driveway. His expression didn't change, but the temperature in the air seemed to drop ten degrees.
"Who," he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl that vibrated in Faith's very bones, "disturbed my morning?"
The traffickers on the balcony turned and bolted into the woods, terrified.
The man stepped closer, towering over Faith. He knelt down, his gloved hand tilting her chin up. His touch was cold, but where his skin met hers, a spark of electricity sizzled. He paused, his nostrils flaring as he caught her scent.
Faith tried to speak, but her body finally gave up. The pain and the drug still in her system won. Please... she whispered, before her eyes rolled back.
Killian Nightshade watched the girl go limp in his arms. She was a "Dud", he could tell by the lack of an active wolf aura. She was small, battered, and had just ruined his favorite car.
But as he looked at her pale, beautiful face, his inner wolf—the one he had kept in a cage for years—let out a deafening, possessive roar.
"Mina." Mine.
Killian's eyes flashed a brilliant, predatory gold.
"Take her inside," he commanded his guards, his voice clipping like a blade. "Call the doctor, If she dies before I find out why she smells like my soul, everyone on duty today loses a limb."