Page 6 of Traded to the Alpha Wolf

I look away first, which I despise, but I’m too busy running through escape scenarios. He could snap my neck with a flick of his wrist. If I try to run, I’ll get maybe three steps. If I scream, the hunters aren’t going to care. They’ve made that clear. It’s just me and him and the empty field beyond the fence, and I have to admit, for the first time maybe ever, I don’t know what’s going to happen next.

“Keep walking,” he says, voice low enough that it feels like a warning, but not aimed at me. I take his point and keep up, matching his pace as we reach his vehicle. A massive black pickup, the kind that can handle two feet of snow and anything else the world throws at it. He opens the passenger door witha jerk and gestures for me to get in, keeping half an eye on the hunters who are still watching cautiously.

“You don’t get to act like you saved me, you know,” I say, my voice low and shaking with fury, not fear. “You made a deal. That’s not the same thing.”

Cade’s gaze hardens. “You were about to die.”

“And now I belong to you? You think I owe you?” I shoot back.

Something dark flickers in his expression. “You owe me some answers.”

I hesitate, and we stare at each other for a moment, but he doesn’t blink. Maybe he expects me to bolt, but I don’t. I climb in and slam the door, and as soon as he’s behind the wheel, the whole cab shrinks around him. He smells like cedar, rain, and something sharp and animal. I turn to the window, keeping my face in profile so he won’t see how much attention I’m paying to everything else.

He starts the truck. The engine growls. We rumble over the gravel, out onto the city road, and I have a quick, wild thought about yanking the wheel and sending us into the ditch. But I don’t.

We ride in silence for the first five minutes. The city drops away frighteningly quickly as I mentally catalog every possible chance of escape on this road—if only I could think of how to get him to stop. I keep my eyes glued to the window, counting flickers of passing streetlights as if the right tally will spit out the solution to this new, humiliating equation. Occasionally, I catch his reflection in the glass, the sharpness of his jaw and the set of his mouth, and it’s all I can do not to crawl out of my own skin with frustration as we get further away from where I need to be.

What’s the play here? I’m not dumb enough to think he’s rescuing me. Shifters don’t rescue girls from the Order; they kidnap hunters, interrogate them, and, if you believe the stories, kill them. So, if he’s not going to kill me outright, he must want something. Information, maybe. Or leverage. Which means I’m a hostage. I can work with that.

I give it another mile before I speak. “So, what’s the plan? Are you going to lock me in your basement and waterboard me for secrets, or is this more of a ‘keep the enemy close’ kind of deal?” My voice comes out harder than I mean, but I don’t bother dialing it back.

He doesn’t look over; he just keeps driving, his hands relaxed on the wheel. “Basement’s full,” he says, deadpan. “You’ll have to make do with the guest room.”

It’s almost funny, but I’m too pissed to give him the satisfaction. “Funny. I bet you’ve got a lot of practice with this. Taking girls from the city and dragging them up the mountain. Is that what you do for fun?”

He lets the silence stretch, and then laughs. “You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?”

That stings in a way I can’t explain. I bite back a retort, then say, “I think pretty little of you, actually. No offense, but I’m not exactly impressed with the way your people handle things.” I look out the window again, jaw clenched. “I know what shifters are capable of.”

He barks a low laugh, almost a cough. “So you’re an expert on us now?”

“I know enough,” I say.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then adds, “And I know what humans are capable of.”

The words land harder than I expect because he doesn’t say it like an accusation. Just a fact.

I think I hate that more.

His eyes cut to me, and I wish they hadn’t. There’s something about the way he’s looking, like he’s already figured me out and is bored waiting for me to catch up. I can’t stand it. For some reason, I find myself wanting to say something that’ll rattle him, but I can’t shake the fact that he hasn’t asked me a single question, hasn’t tried to scare me, and hasn’t even bothered to check if I’m armed. He’s just driving, like this is a Sunday errand and not a kidnapping.

His voice is almost gentle when he asks, “What exactly do you think you know?”

I shift in my seat, pull my coat tighter around myself. “That you kill for sport. That you run in packs and attack anyone weaker than you. That you don’t care what happens to the people in your way.” I know I sound like a pamphlet, but I can’t help it. My hands are shaking, but I hope he thinks it’s from anger.

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, just stares at the road before replying, “Sounds a lot like your hunter friends.”

I don’t answer. I keep my eyes on the window, but I can feel the heat rising in my face. He’s right, but I’m not going to admit they’re not my friends.

Something about the shape of his hands on the wheel, the way he holds himself so still, makes me want to throw something at him, just to see if he’d even bother dodging. Instead, I take a deep breath and try to slow my heart. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart.

“You got a name?” he finally says.

I weigh whether to tell him or not, but finally decide it doesn’t give me any leverage for him not to know. “Mara.”

He nods, “Mine’s Cade.”

I don’t bother replying to that; I already knew, because I heard them talking before I got dragged off the roof. I know who all the alphas in the mountains are from my research, so I already know his territory is going to be hard to escape from without a vehicle.