Taming Her Wolf

Chapter One

Stupid. So fucking stupid. Yup, that pretty much summed up how he found himself chained like an animal in some blood sucker’s dungeon. And all because he’d gotten his heart broken. I am such a fucking pussy.

Like a pup first dipping his paw in the puddle of love, he’d let his breakup with his girlfriend affect him more than it should have, drinking himself to the point of almost blacking out. Weaving his way home, his vision blurred while his Lycan blood worked at filtering the ridiculous amount of alcohol he’d imbibed. Shape-shifters like him tended to metabolize human drugs and liquor quickly, so getting drunk took effort. But once sloshed…a wolf became just as useless as a human.

Slow reflexes, stunted senses, and the aforementioned great big dose of stupidity, had led to him getting jumped by no less than eight vamps. Kind of flattering, actually, seeing as how there was just little ol’ him. He’d acquitted himself well, or so he thought. The drunken haze might have embellished his belief that he’d permanently taken out at least two, possibly three, of his attackers. In the end, though, their sheer numbers overtook him, along with the half-dozen syringes they jabbed him with. The bastards had come prepared.

Slumping to the ground, slurring invectives at his attackers, Gareth dropped into an unnatural slumber and had no idea what happened next. Although, judging by his current circumstances, it probably would have pissed him off. He woke in a foul mood, his hangover from the booze and drugs only a minor part of the reason. Hanging in a dank, stone-block cell, arms manacled above his head, legs astride and also chained, with his clothes removed didn’t scream good morning. The silver in the metal binding him burned his skin like a son of a bitch. But worse than all those things combined were the wounds covering his body, nasty bite marks just recently scabbed over. A visual smack in the face that told him some of the vamps had gorged themselves, using his body as a buffet.

Nobody ate him and lived to tell. Well, unless they owned a pussy and a tight, suctioning mouth. But that was the only exception. Somehow, he doubted those feasting on him had followed his prerequisites.

I’ll kill the fucking blood suckers when I get free. A great plan, except he didn’t know he’d accomplish the latter. His abductors knew their business, binding him with the one metal he couldn’t snap and that repressed his inner wolf. Speaking of his furry side, his groggy pal woke up and stretched in his mind, his inner Chewy not recovering as quickly as him from the overindulgence. Although his wolf regained its senses quickly when it noticed their dire situation. With a roar to make the pups in a pack piss themselves, his beast surged to the fore, straining at the silver that bound it. The metal’s inherent properties, though, kept him from breaking free. With a mournful howl, his wolf collapsed in a heap and whined.

Gareth, his head already throbbing, couldn’t handle it.

Would you shut the fuck up already? he growled aloud. I’ve got enough problems to deal with without having to deal with a furry meltdown.

His beast growled.

Gareth growled back.

With a disdainful sniff, his furry friend lay its head down and pretended to sleep. Satisfied that his beast recognized who was in charge, for the moment at least, Gareth took stock of the situation. First, he strained his ears. Water dripping. Distant moaning. Skittering of rats. Damn, he hated rats. Dirty little creatures.

Not hearing anything that helped him, not that he’d expected the sound of a cavalry, he focussed on his actual body. In spite of his scabbing wounds, pounding head, and wounded ego, he seemed fine, if a touch hungry. And he had to piss like a bastard, a problem he could actually take care of. Whistling, he thrust his hips forward and aimed the steaming jet at the closed door, creating a puddle right in front of it. A petty payback for whoever decided to pay him a visit.

One issue solved, he then tugged at his manacles to see what kind of room he had to work with—not much. While he could lift himself on tiptoe and slide his feet a few inches left or right, there wasn’t enough give in the chain for him to even try to pull free. The same bleak fact repeated itself with his arms. That didn’t stop him from trying. He grunted and pulled at his restraints.

Argh! he yelled, his frustration mounting at the untenable situation. I’m a prisoner, and unless they get lax with me, that situation isn’t going to change anytime soon. Rescue by his pack brothers wasn’t even a faint glimmer of hope for him. He’d eschewed pack life and living under some asshole’s rules to live free.

A little too dominant, Gareth found himself unable to bend to the will of another, but at the same time, he possessed no interest in challenging for leadership, not wanting the responsibility of the weak. So he’d left. He quite enjoyed his freedom outside the strictures of pack life. Loved the job, where he got to keep the money he made. Strutted naked and scratched his balls through the apartment he didn’t have to share. And best of all, he found himself a girlfriend who liked to fuck and suck. Patty, his first steady girlfriend who didn’t require sharing with his pack brothers. In a Lycan pack, an unmated she-wolf slept with whomever she liked, or who had the strength to make her. Only mated females were off-limits, and Gareth had no interest in settling down with a bitch yet. So, yes, he’d enjoyed his sweet, at times demanding, Patty, a blonde hottie who looked oh so good in heels and a short skirt. She’d told him she loved him, and he’d loved her back, or at least thought he had. Apparently, his concept of love and hers differed. She’d dumped him for another guy whom she claimed was going places. In other words, a prick with more money in his wallet.

To his shame, he’d begged her to change her mind, something he wanted to kick himself for now. Talk about weak, especially since it wasn’t her he missed so much but the sense of normalcy he’d enjoyed with her. That and the girl could have sucked a golf ball through fifty feet of hose. Hoover had nothing on her.

But now, because of her, he’d gotten screwed over again. He’d let his defenses down to wallow in a good, old-fashioned pity party that got him caught like the greenest of pups. Packs existed for a reason—so its members could protect each other. Within the strength of a pack, which always went out in groups at night, no vampire would have dared attack. The wrath of the Lycans would have come down on them for even thinking it. However, a lone wolf, incapacitated and smelling like a fine steak…completely different story.

Growling, Gareth yanked once again at his chains, rattling them in a discordant melody that did absolutely nothing but frustrate him more.

Cowardly fucking bastards. Come and fight me like a man, he bellowed. A fight to the death seemed preferable over the slow, lingering fade of strength and will that would come with the life the vampires probably had planned for him as a pet blood donor. It was what vamps did with their captives. They fed from their unlucky victims, gorging themselves on blood. A mortal body could take only so much of that kind of abuse before keeling over and forcing the vampire to seek a new source of fresh meat. Humans were especially fragile in that respect. It was why Lycans were so prized. A blood sucker could feed for longer periods of time off a shape-shifter’s extremely rich blood, and because of their recuperative abilities, they lasted much longer. Great, instead of a few months of acting like a walking buffet, I can look forward to years and years.

He roared again while his inner wolf stayed silent, its rage only something felt, not seen, the silver diminishing it. For the first time ever, Gareth felt truly alone, and the fingers of dread tried to grip him and then tried to bring along its friends, uncertainty and fear.

Unacceptable.

Thrashing from side to side, he strained and heaved at his chains, roaring like a mad beast, screaming invectives to beings that didn’t care. Hell, they didn’t even bother to come for a visit.

He lost his mind for hours—or was it days?—during which he survived only on the water a servant—a second one after the first slipped in the puddle of piss and cracked his head on the hard stone—dribbled into his mouth, a fluid he dared not refuse lest he lack the strength to fight when the time came. But despite it all, his vigor waned.

And that was when they started bringing the clients.

Chapter Two

Resisting an urge to slap Kevin as he led her down to the cell blocks took more control than it should have. But he just wouldn’t stop babbling, and Helen’s hand itched.

Lady Helen, it’s so nice to see you again. It’s been quite some time since your last purchase.

Not all of us enjoy breaking in new pets on a weekly basis, she replied dryly. However, the convenience of dinner at home versus the annoyance of going out made the training bearable.

The sycophant babbled on. You’ll find we have a nice selection available. Just your luck, we got a new batch only a few days ago. I believe you’re partial to males, correct?

Damned straight. They whined less than females, although they tended to have groping tendencies in the beginning. A broken finger or two tended to cure them of that bad habit quickly. Yes, male only please. And no criers. I can’t abide listening to them, and nothing over forty. They tend to wear out too fast.

Human, as usual I assume? Or, if you don’t mind a short wait, I’ve got a lead on a lower level demon running amok in the city.

Her mouth curved into a moue of distaste. Bitter blood, brimstone stench, and psychotic tendencies. Are you insane? Don’t forget. I remember what happened to Marcel. An old acquaintance who’d decided to liven up his diet…and died. Not at the claws of his demon though. A vampire who fed from a denizen of the Pit didn’t need to fear his dinner but a visit from Lucifer, master of all demonkind. Now there was an entity she preferred to avoid, especially given how the slightly insane Lord Of Hell loved opportunities to wreak havoc on earth—the bloody kind.

Ah, but the danger, isn’t that part of the fun? Kevin’s wide eyes, the white globes almost bulging from their sockets, disgusted her, but it was the leer that made her snap.

Unable to resist any longer, her hand flashed out, and she grabbed Kevin by the throat. She slammed him into the wall high enough that his feet didn’t touch the floor. Perusing his pale face, his mouth working as he tried to struggle for breath, she grinned, showing off her pronounced canines, a sign of her age, an age greater than any of the clan in this area even guessed. You tell me, little boy. Are you having fun yet? She shook him for emphasis then dropped him. She wiped her hand on her jeans lest his idiocy prove contagious. You will stop talking now while I find my own pet. You may follow behind but are to speak only when asked. She didn’t bother checking to see if he agreed. Only morons crossed her, right before they died.

Strutting down the stone corridor, she sighed at the theatrics of the place. Bare bulbs hung from the ceiling, cobwebs—not all of them real—hung in the corners, while moans filtered throughout. The sounds of misery at least were real. Kevin and his minions weren’t exactly gentle when it came to capture. The one credit she would give him, though, was, once he secured the pets, they were treated well with no one allowed to feed on them lest they weaken the merchandise, making it unsuitable for purchase. Helen appreciated that, as the last thing she wanted was the stench of another lingering on her dinner.

Having arrived at the holding area, she began to peek in the barred windows, looking for something to fill the gnawing hunger inside. Blonde girl with big blue eyes? Too much hassle. Latino boy with chocolate eyes? Yummy except for the track marks on his arm, which meant he was already tainted by human drugs. On and on she went, mentally discarding the offerings, nothing tempting her to take a closer look. Arriving at the end, she frowned and whirled, causing Kevin to stumble as