Page 28 of Never Tamed
Torin snorts, looking over our ride. “You got to be kidding me.”
I reach the door first and pull it open, and Dax shoves Torin inside. “If I have to sit in this metal death trap, so do you.”
Torin growls a warning. “Check your beta, Mathis.”
“Don’t start,” Ren chastises and slides in next.
Noble is about to get in next but I stop him.
“You sure you don’t want the front seat? There’s more space to stretch out your leg.”
I’ve had broken bones before and I know how awful they are to deal with. The bone might knit together but the ache stays for a few days afterward, like every pulsing second where the marrow reforms is a painful reminder of the wound.
He smiles. “I appreciate that. But I’m fine here.”
It’s a beta thing—I get it.
Even wounded, he wants to keep his place by his alpha and his mate. Dax swings around to the back and pulls open the trunk. Without a second thought, he throws himself in and pullsit shut from the inside. When the driver turns to protest, Dax meets his eye until the man flinches.
No one in their right mind would go head to head with Dax.
I open the passenger side and sit. My head hits the ceiling, and I have to slide down the seat to fit. The cab smells musty, like sweat with a hint of spice. The spice from whatever the driver ate for dinner the day before that stuck to the fabric seats, if I were to guess.
The man stares, mouth open.
“Are we good?” I ask him.
He swallows, then nods once. “Where to?”
“Just get us out of here for now. We’ll let you know after that.”
As the van rolls forward, gravel kicks up behind us, but no one comes running for us. No one seems to notice us at all.
Good. One less thing to worry about. I lift my gaze to the sky, the peach and orange and golden sunrise, and send up a thanks to the Moon Goddess.
Something definitely had a hand in getting us free.
Now we’ve got to figure out a route to camp and our packs. Without the Blood Moons following.
Awkward silence fills the car and the air around us crackles with tension. To prevent any further awkwardness, our beefy armed driver turns on the radio and classic rock comes to life.
He changes the channel with a grunt, pressing buttons on the console until he lands on a news station.
“…In breaking news this morning, police have confirmed the discovery of two unidentified female bodies found in a storm drain off the lower Eastside sewer system. One of the victims is believed to have been pregnant…”
The words hit me like a freight train. My throat closes.
Pregnant.
Storm drain.
Bodies.
Bile scalds my throat and my stomach shrinks, my skin tightening with queasy heat.
No… it couldn’t be. Could it?
I twist toward the radio and strain to hear the words.
