Page 13 of Dark Wolf Soul
LEXI
Icome awake slowly, some part of my brain convinced I’m hungover. It makes sense at first. My muscles are tight, my joints stiff, and my thoughts are hazy. But the moment I open my eyes and see the strangeness of my surroundings, I know alcohol has nothing to do with this nightmare.
The space I’m in is small and confining, the air thick and musty. Beneath whatever box I’m trapped inside, I sense movement. The kind of speed that comes from four wheels. A car.
Shit. That means I’m in a trunk.
I open my mouth, ready to scream for help when common sense prevails. If we’re moving, that means whoever’s driving is not interested in helping me. In fact, it’s the opposite.
Whoever’s driving is taking me.
I need to be smart.
My thoughts shift to how I ended up here. The last thing I remember is being chased by a wild wolf. No, wait. The last thing I remember is watching that wolf shift into a man. A naked, muscled, chiseled, hot-as-sin man whose erection I teased only hours prior.
It’s like something straight out of Twilight—if Twilight had taken place at a strip club and the wolf pack had been well-dressed kidnappers.
But werewolves can’t possibly exist. This isreal life.
Ugh.
Except that I know what I saw. And the reality of such an impossibility makes my head swim—which is exactly the kind of pansy-ass reaction that landed me caught in the first place. I can’t afford that shit again.
Forcing myself to remain calm, I inspect the tiny space I’m curled inside. My wrists and ankles are bound with heavy cord, which explains the tight muscles and stiff joints, but I do my best to feel around for some kind of way out. I read somewhere once that all trunks have an emergency release button inside them, but after a full exploration of the space, I find nothing even close.
Fear threatens to send me spiraling as I force myself to look for another option. Running my hands along the wall, I find a small gap. Shoving my fingers through, I realize it’s an opening between the back seats. Not that getting into the car with my kidnapper is a great plan, but it’s the only one that gets me out of the trunk, and I can’t just do nothing.
Shoving as hard as I can against it yields no movement.
Determined, I twist and contort my body, moving around so I can position my feet against the seat back. Using all my strength, I kick at the seat with both feet and am rewarded when the seat finally collapses forward.
Without wasting a second of the element of surprise, I hurl myself through the opening and into the backseat of the car.
Through the rearview mirror, my eyes meet those of my kidnapper. He registers only a hint of surprise and then veers off the road so suddenly that I’m tossed sideways against the door. Grunting from the impact, I struggle to right myself and twist so I can reach for the door handle. But he slams on the brakes, sending me faceplanting against the back of the driver’s seat. Pain explodes along my cheekbone, and I jerk upright again, pissed off as well as terrified.
He climbs out of the car and wrenches open my door, his stormy eyes narrowed and full of threats.
“Get away from me.” I shrink away from him, but he snags my wrists and yanks them toward him. With his other hand, he produces a sharp blade.
I struggle harder.
“Stop fucking moving.”
Despite my fear, the sound of his voice sends a shudder through me that’s more pleasure than panic.
I shake the thought off.
What the fuck, Lexi. He’s a kidnapper.
He reaches out and cuts the bindings on my ankles then does the same to my wrists.
I cradle my hands, rubbing at my sore wrists and studying him with mixed feelings. Cutting me loose is a good thing… unless it’s only going to lead to worse things.
“Don’t fucking try to escape,” he warns.
“Or what? You’ll drug me again?”
“I didn’t drug you,” he says, and I’m about to argue when he adds, “yet.”
