Page 13 of Bullied Wolf Mate

One time, I was walking home after school when I heard a noise behind me. I turned, expecting a random rabbit or maybea fox to skitter through the brush. Instead, a blond-furred wolf pushed through the brush. I knew immediately it was a shifter, though I didn’t know the shifters well enough to know who was who. Only that, based on size, it was one of my classmates.

I also knew that whatever the shifter had planned, it wasn’t good.

Then another wolf emerged. And another. And another. They circled me, leaving only one gap in their ranks for me to run through. Not waiting for another to fill that final space, I darted through it, running as fast as I could. The wolves trailed behind, snarling and barking as they nipped at my heels. At one point, my backpack snagged on a branch. I left it behind.

I kept running, not sure what they were planning or what they would do if they caught me and not caring to find out. I just kept moving through the woods, hoping they would eventually get bored.

I didn’t even notice the putrid stench of the bog until it was too late. The mushy land squished beneath my shoes, the awful smell penetrating my nose. I hadn’t gotten that far when my foot caught on a rotting log, and I stumbled forward, landing face-first in the bog.

The dirt filled my nostrils, clogging it with an awful stench. It went in my mouth. I sputtered as I flailed, trying to get onto my hands and knees.

I sat up, my face and front coated in swamp water and mud, only for laughter to echo in my ears. I wiped the muck from my eyes, turning to see Mark and his friends at the edge of the bog, jeering at me as I staggered to my feet.

My eyes locked on Mark, and I knew without a doubt that he was the one who had started the entire thing. He had my backpack in his hand.

My eyes met his. I silently begged him to just leave me alone, to walk away and have his victory. I wanted to scream and yell at him, to demand an answer as to why it was always me. What had I done? All I wanted was to be left alone.

I wanted to say those things, but the words stuck in my throat, and all I could do was stare at him as he looked at me.

With a smirk, he overturned my backpack, unzipped it, and dumped all the contents into the bog, tossing the backpack after it. Then he and the rest of his friends strolled away, still laughing long after they vanished from sight.

I waited for another five minutes, sitting in reeking mud as I waited to see if they would come back. When they didn’t, I forced myself to my feet and trudged over to where he had dropped my backpack.

I spent the rest of the evening picking stray pieces of paper out of the bog. When I finally got home, I raced into the shower before my parents saw me to avoid questions I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want them to know how bad school was. Them knowing would only make them feel bad and wouldn’t improve anything for me.

That was only one example. It doesn’t include all the times Mark and his friends put tacks on my seat or called me names. But that incident cemented one thing in my mind, one irrefutable fact: Mark was a horrible bully who enjoyed tormenting me for the fun of it, and that was never going to change.

***

Later, I heard the door at the top of the steps open, followed by footsteps creaking down the stairs. I straightened,head swiveling toward the locked door. The lock clicked, and the door swung open. Mark stood in the doorway with a large collection of food, which he deposited on the island counter.

“These are for you,” he said. “I also picked up some clothes. If you want, I can—hey!”

I dashed for the open door, thinking I could lock him in before he realized what happened. I hadn’t even reached the frame when strong hands gripped my arms and jerked me backward. One hand snaked around my waist, pinning me against rock-hard muscle as I writhed, trying to escape. I screamed and kicked as Mark pulled me away from the door, hauling me to the plush chair and plopping me in it. He leaned forward, his hands on either armrest, his legs pinning mine.

My heart raced as his face stopped inches from mine. I hated this asshole. So why the hell was I so attracted to him? I wanted to tangle my fingers in his hair, to have him carry me into the bedroom and strip off all my clothes. The intense look in those gray eyes warmed me all over. And, despite the fact that I hated every second of it, I couldn’t deny that something about that assertive dominance made something beneath my stomach lurch.

“If you keep trying to run, I won’t hesitate to tie you up,” he snarled.

Something inside me stirred, and my stomach lurched. I was furious with him, but something about the thought of him tying me up made my heart pound faster.

His hand went to my arm, but gently. Almost like a caress. “I’m trying to help here,” he said, and I was surprised to hear the genuine earnestness in his voice. “You don’t understand how dangerous Inara is.”

“I’m pretty sure I do,” I countered. “I’ve heard stories about her since I was a kid.”

His face contorted. I couldn’t read his expression. “Then why on earth would you want to put yourself in danger?”

I arched an eyebrow, cocking my head even as I was still painfully aware of how close he was. How I could see every individual eyelash. “You mean, why would I want to help? Besides that, it’s the right thing to do. It’s also the fastest way for me to get back to my old life.”

“You could die,” he argued.

I shrugged. “Maybe, but I doubt it. Right now, I’m too valuable for her to kill me. And your lot needs me, too, so it’s not like I’m in any danger. Right now, I’m probably the one least likely to die.”

“Kidnapped and tortured, then,” he said.

When I shrugged in disinterest, he snarled, taking a step back and running his fingers through his hair.

“Why don’t you believe me?” he asked.

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