Page 159 of Whispers of Wisteria
Finally, a gray and white wolf was present in the cage as the man completed his transformation. However, he wasn’t all that intimidating with his droopy, unfocused manner while he stumbled sideways on shaky legs.
My skin flushed. It would be so humiliating to die in such a manner.
I couldn’t focus on him for long, though, as the unchanged shifter leaned over me, pressing his palm between my breasts. He wasn’t even trying to keep his weight off mine, and the added pressure was making it even more challenging to breathe.
“Use your knee!” Maria was shouting in the distance. “Kick him in the balls!”
“No!” Ada argued. “Use your thumbs to gouge out his eyes.”
There was an uncultured ruthlessness to their suggestions, but they weren’t wrong. However, neither option would work for me. My legs were trapped, and—at Ada’s shout—the man grasped my wrists and pulled them up over my head in a painful grip.
Even though my position was precarious, it wasn’t until he’d lowered his face to mine that the true terror began to break through the indignation, chilling me to my core.
No…
My vision turned gray as he pressed his nose into the junction between my ear and neck, and I could feel his sharp inhale and following sigh against my skin.
Something moved near my hand—a second wet nose brushed my fingertips. The cold, damp retreated, allowing a brush of stale air to touch me, before a rough tongue pressed against my hand.
But he didn’t bite me—not yet.
What was he doing, staring at my fingers? How was that any way to eat prey? They spoke of the natural way of the world, but apparently had never seen aNational Geographicdocumentary before in their lives.
But then it stopped mattering.
My thoughts blanked the moment the man shifted his weight, pressing harder against me. The pressure crushed the breath from my lungs as his leer dropped to my face, lingering.
Everything else faded.
“Stupid fae,” my attacker said. “What kind of family lets a bitch like this walk around unguarded?”
The wolf beside him let out a low growl, circling close, his jaws parted.
I couldn’t lift my head—couldn’t move my fingers.
But I could still feel.
And I knew what would come next.
The cold floor was damp beneath me, and somehow, that made it worse.
A rushing sound moved past my ears as my body began to go quiet, retreating in that too-familiar way I’d tried to forget.
I was slipping again—and this time, I wasn’t sure I could make it back.
Fumbling fingers slid clumsily down my outer thigh. My skin crawled as I struggled to open my eyes, but darkness continued to cover my vision.
My body felt wrong, like I wasn’t fully in it anymore.
The touch drifted inward, grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. My thoughts screamed, but no sound left my mouth. It was like poison, spreading across my skin.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
Nobody was coming to save me.
My fingers twitched as rough hands gripped my hips, dragging me further beneath the weight.
I had to do something. I couldn’t let this happen. Not again.
