Page 171 of Claimed

He laughs. “This time you’ll be of some use, actually. I can’t wait to watch him suffer when I snap your neck in front of him. How you doin’ back there, sweetness?” he calls out.

Sherry’s body begins trembling, but she has her eyes closed.

“I think she’s asleep,” I say.

“Did I fuckin’ ask you?”

“No. You’re asking your mate who you’ve gagged, so she can’t answer you.”

“Oh, so you’re a mouthy bitch now? Shut your fuckin’ trap, Stacy.”

“Where’s Halla?” I demand.

He laughs. “Wouldn’t you like to know? You might find out soon. Maybe.”

She’d better not be hurt. I feel sick to my stomach at the idea she could be.

***

“Try to run and I’ll end your miserable life tonight,” my brother warns as he fastens another rope around a decorative post that runs from the counter beside me to the ceiling of the camper. To be an extra big asshole, he loops a noose knot around my neck, which will mean I can’t move more than a couple inches without choking myself out.

“My life was miserable. But now it’s not. Because I’m mated to Greyson Blackwood,” I snottily retort.

He points the gun at me again and tries to intimidate me with it.

I just glare.

He snickers and shoves it into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and drops it on the kitchen counter before stepping out. He soon returns, carrying a still bound and gagged Sherry over his shoulder. He locks the door and turns out the light out on his way past the small bathroom door to the bed.

My eyes bounce between the shadows of the whisky bottle on the counter and my suitcase on the floor as I lie here on the loveseat while the Airstream rocks.

It’s raining and the rain would sound nice on the metal roof of the camper if this were a normal camping trip. Despite how loud the rain sounds, it does little to muffle my brother’s heavy breathing and occasional grunts. Those are loud and clear. So is Sherry’s crying. Wyatt didn’t even bother to pull the curtain over for privacy, not caring in the least that I’m here.

Despite his warnings, I know he won’t kill me tonight because the witch he’s bringing me to needs me for some unknown reason. What on earth could that reason be?

50

Grey

“He needs to be safe!” my father points at Erica, deadly serious.

“Graydon, get your finger the fuck out of my mate’s face,” Rye warns, voice equally lethal.

“Her magic has been suppressed,” Erica says, sounding confused. “And your son has demonstrated that his magic is very, very powerf–”

“Was my mate poisoned by magic?” Dad demands. “Why does she smell like Soleil Young?”

“Are you sure that’s who you’re smelling?” Rye asks.

“If you say–” Erica starts to reply.

“I’m fuckin’ sure,” he insists, thrusting his hand through his hair with frustration. “She was my fucking fated mate, of course I remember what she smells like.”

“Let her finish a goddamn sentence, Graydon. You’re really pissin’ me off here.”

“It’s okay,” she placates. “It’s okay, Riley.”

Dad growls in frustration.

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