Page 8 of Claimed

Anya

This man has whipped me so intimately. I hate him. I fear him. I want him. I want him more than I have ever wanted anybody in my life. Lust is charging through my body, making me wet and willing, even though I am sure I loathe him more than I have ever loathed anybody.

He makes things worse by picking me up, as if I am some kind of creature to be owned.

I wish more than ever that I could take my wolf form. If I could, I’d bite him so damn hard. I’d make him pay for every bit of humiliating pain he just put me through. I would never do what the rest of the pack did and just roll over and submit to him. I don’t think he’s that special. I just think he’s big and mean. I’m a girl, which means my whole life has been full of big and mean things. I’m not impressed.

The Russian throws me over his shoulder and starts carrying me off to his car. I panic immediately. Whatever he just did to me in the field is going to be so much worse if he gets to do it to me in private. If he takes me to a second location, he’s going to… I don’t know. I just know the words ‘second location’ are the worst two words a female abductee will probably never hear.

I start squirming, kicking, fighting harder than before. I almost get free several times. It’s hard to keep me on his shoulder, no matter how strong he is. My wriggling and writhing is working.

“Stop fighting. You are making a scene,” he says, his accent thickening with annoyance. “I am trying to help you, silly girl.”

“Helllllppppppp!”

I shriek at the top of my lungs.

But nobody comes to help. The pack is staying well clear of all of us.

My hands are free. I smack his ass as hard as I can. It’s like hitting a round drum of pure steel. It does absolutely nothing to him as far as I can tell. He doesn’t even flinch, let alone make a satisfying sound.

What he does is smack my ass back, what feels like just as hard, maybe more. I am not stoic. Not even a little. I scream at the top of my lungs as pure pain flashes through me. Even clothed, that slap hurt like hell over all those lashes and previous spanks.

“Stop your dramatics,” he growls at me. “I am helping you.”

My mother told me all about the dangerous Russians. I know the marks they left on her. I know that she was never the same after what happened to her in those orphanages, and I know she gotthe hell out of Russia as soon as she could, back before I was born.

I know for a fact that there is no way this man is trying to help me. Whatever he is trying say or do, it’s fucked up. I can feel the danger deep inside me, all mixed up with that annoying lust that won’t go away because I have never been fucked and my stupid body is reacting to this Russian alpha wolf. He’s not my mate. He’s too old. He’s too mean. He’s too… too fucking everything.

“We don’t have any money! There’s no point abducting me!”

“Quiet,” he orders.

I can’t be quiet, and I am not quiet. I spend the next five minutes going absolutely nuts as I am carried across a field, back into the barn to collect my things, which the pack gathers for him as if he owns everybody there, and then off to a car that has been waiting nearby.

The car is more like a villain SUV, and it contains a bunch of burly Russian henchmen, all of whom look like they’ve been carved out of cold marble. Dark haired, light eyed, and absolutely chiseled. Any one of these guys could have given Trent a run for his money. I used to think he was the most impressive specimen of wolf-kind I’ve ever encountered. Now I’m starting to realize he’s not much more than a country dirtbag. A nice country dirtbag, but still not anything compared to these international alphas.

“There’s no money in this,” I repeat myself as I am put into the back in the double seat in the middle between the three in front and three in the rear. “You’re wasting your time.”

The Russian sits next to me, boxing me in, and starts going through my bag, pulling out clothes and tossing some over thefront of the seat. He’s into everything, including my underwear. It’s humiliating, having those garments spread all over the back seat of this vehicle. There’s a pair of pink panties on the floor, and one of my bras is over the back of the seat.

“What are you doing?”

“We will need to get you an appropriate dress for the funeral,” he says.

The word funeral makes my stomach sink and my heart do a double beat. Is he serious? There’s no way.

“You are starting to freak me out.”

He looks at me, really looks at me. I look at him properly for the first time, not getting just a vague sense of him, but taking in all his features. He has a very square, powerful face with a prominent brow ridge. His eyes are like flint, two brilliant staring jewels that make me feel as though he is looking through me even more than he did my bag. I feel as though he’s taking me apart in ways I didn’t know I could come apart. He’s brutal, he’s intelligent, and he’s a complete stranger who somehow seems to know me.

“You should listen to me,” he says. “I am sorry to tell you bad news, but it is true. Your mother has passed.”

“That’s not possible,” I say. “That literally cannot be true. I can’t be here. I can’t listen to this. I have to get the hell out of here.”

The vehicle is already in motion, but that doesn’t matter. What happens next is like a bull in a china shop; I am scrambling and flailing and yanking at handles and windows. None of it works, and everybody tries to restrain me, but I am like a wild animal.God, I wish I was a wild animal. I wish I didn’t have to feel anything.

Right now, in this moment, I am panicking. I am terrified for my safety, and even more scared for my mother.

---