Page 17 of Purchased

“Do you want to get up?” He repeats the question.

“Yes,” I lie.

“Then you must promise not to run again. People could see us, and that would be dangerous. Being a wolf means having power, and that means there are responsibilities. Or do you know this already?”

The question is pointed, but I do not know what it is pointing at.

“I have responsibilities?”

“You have the responsibility not to fucking kill yourself,” he growls. “You deserve another thrashing. Is that what you want? A beating? Do you want to be pinned in this mud and whipped for being so careless?”

His threats excite me. I feel his passion for me, the passion not of a stranger, but of an alpha wolf. I squirm, not to attempt escape, but to feel his strength. I like him better now. I like this raw animal thing, rather than the controlled, dominant, elegant man who has taken me.

“I want you to rip me the fuck apart,” I say, a dark truth emerging from me in a moment of raw revelation.

I see his eyes flash, his brows rise. I have shocked him.

I do not know what his response would have been because at that very moment, a car drives up to us, four wheels just barely making it through the mud. Was there a car on the train? Or is he followed by other pack members in case he needs to make quick moves off the track? I think the latter. This is a man who is deeply prepared and surrounded by those who serve him instantly and without question.

I wonder if he can handle someone like me, someone who has never served anyone, and never will. I ran because my instincts demanded I run. I want my freedom more than I want anything. I want to be able to express my animal nature. I am tired of being kept in small rooms for the body and the mind. I am tired of being told who I am, and how it is wrong.

Armand looms over me, his face a mask of perfect confusion and concern. He is wondering if he just wasted ten million dollars. I think he did. I think he burned it on impulse, and he is just beginning to regret it.

“Is everything alright, alpha?”

“She’s intact,” he says. “And so am I. Let’s get going.”

“Yes. Of course.”

Blankets are provided and I am bundled up and back into captivity, needing a bath this time more than ever.

CHAPTER4

Beatrix

There is silence in the car, mostly because we are not alone. The man who bought me is the leader of this pack, a true alpha in the animal sense. The others are not introduced to me. I suppose this isn’t the time for cheerful intros.

I look over at Armand. There’s a muscle twitching in his cheek, as if he’s either very angry and holding himself from going off on me, or trying not to laugh. I don’t think it is the latter. I think he is furious. I think I have shocked him, appalled him, and angered him. That is what I do when people realize I am not what they thought I was. My true self frightens and disgusts most.

Why not him too?

Just because he is an alpha, just because he is my mate, that does not mean I cannot antagonize him. Doesn’t mean he can’t regret having met me. I am sure he regrets all that money he spent. There will not be any refunds, not for me.

We get back to the carriage, the bedroom and bathroom that are still so fine, all so nice. Too nice for us wild, muddy creatures.

“Don’t do that again,” he says. “Don’t ever make me watch you hurt yourself.”

I try not to mention that my legs are killing me. They bit me when I was running, nipping roughly enough to draw blood. I have not carried those wounds overtly into my human form, but I still feel those hot, predatory bites.

I can feel his annoyance with me. There is something new between us, not just displeasure. I know what it feels like when someone who thinks they’re in charge realizes that they can’t control me. There’s something else too, a strange and undefinable distance. That’s what I feel now.

“I’m not hurt.”

He gives me a sidelong glance, his blanket shifting over his shoulders. I find myself distracted by his chest, the muscularity and hairy roughness of it. He is very much male, more intensely than anyone I have ever encountered.

“I think you have been hurt many times before,” he says. “And I think you are hurt now.”

I go quiet. I don’t want him to know that anything hurts. I especially don’t want him to know that I can feel his annoyance with me.

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