The Mating Rules

Caden’s POV

I growl darkly as I rouse from the blackness, opening my eyes slowly to find that I still can’t see anything. What feels like some sort of bag is pulled over my head, blocking my view, and my hands are suspended above me putting strain on my shoulders. A few moments of straining my wrists, and then my ankles, tells me that my hands and feet are bound tightly. The c******g sound and burning sensation where the cuffs touch my skin, leads me to the realisation that my wrists and ankles are shackled in silver that are attached to a chain.

Tuning my attention to my surroundings, the low rumble of an engine informs me that I’m in some sort of vehicle and from the ruts that the wheels are running over, it’s not a highway or well paved road that we are currently driving down.

As the vehicle tilts precariously, my body lurches forward, my hands unhooking from whatever they are attached too, and I’m unceremoniously thrown off the bench I’m sitting on. My face slams into the floor as the vehicle continues to rock back and forth as the wheels on the left hand side hit a pot hole of some sort. The smell of turpentine and paint fills my nostrils making me scrunch up my nose in revulsion and I try to roll over to get my face away from whatever it is that’s assaulting my senses.

‘Jeysus! Can you try and keep us on the damn road?’ a man’s voice demands, his accent making me think he might be European, definitely not from the US.

‘What do ya want from me, this ain’t no damn road’ a second voice growls back, now this one is definitely American. ‘Might as well be driving over a demolished building, it be more comfortable!’

I try to use my bound hands to push me up from the floor of the vehicle, from the smell, and the fact I haven’t hit the back of a chair in anyway, I’d take an educated guess that I’m in a van of some sort.

Another loud clunk and I’m rolling across the bed of the van again as a string of curses come from upfront and the van slows to a stop.

‘Gahd dammit!’ The Europe guy shouts in frustration before two doors open and shut and silence surrounds me.

I squirm against my restraints as footsteps crunch along the side of the van and the creaking of a door by my head has me trying to see through the bag even if it is fruitless.

‘What the feck is he doing down there?’ the European voice mutters as hands grab my shoulders and haul me upright before shoving me back onto the bench. My hands are lifted above my head again, and I hear the familiar snap of a padlock before the strange hands leave me again. The bloke has now locked my hands above my head, most likely to stop me falling again but this now means my arms are rigidly in place, and are going to be screaming by the time they get released again.

‘Get the tools’ the American grumbles, it seems he is unbothered by my sprawl across the van floor.

A warm liquid runs down the side of my face and sticking out my tongue, I catch a drop of metallic moisture. Great, I’m bleeding from somewhere and my wolf is still out of it by the feel of it meaning there will be no quick healing for me.

A jangle of metal sounds in front of me before the doors slam shut again and im alone again. Seconds later the van starts to jerk back and forth, swinging me into the wall as I growl out angrily when a jagged edge cuts into my arm.

Looks like we blew a tyre and Tweedledum and Tweedle-dipshit are jacking up the vehicle to change it.

Grunting and the occasional swear word is all I can hear outside and I turn my attention to my hands, wondering if I can lift my body high enough that I can pull this stifling bag off my head.

Pushing my back against the side of the van, I tense my thighs, using my leg muscles to push myself upward, ignoring the slicing of my skin by whatever the hell is on the side of this damn vehicle.

I try to lift my feet onto the bench but I’m stalled by the chain that I realise is attached to something on the floor, holding me in place. Huffing out a breath, I continue to push upwards, scraping my back and arms until I’m in a semi standing position, my head by my hands and I’m grabbing at the cloth with my fingers.

Pinching the course fabric between my thumb and forefinger, I drop back to the bench, the bag lifting halfway so I can now see a slither of light at the bottom of the bag. Releasing it, I shake my head tentatively back and forth, trying to get it all the way off but the damn thing wont budge.

Clenching my fists, I’m about to reclimb the wall of the van when the door wrenches open and the voices of the men who took me become louder.

‘ . . . that we would get paid on delivery’ the American voice snarls.

‘I’m just saying that it’s a lot of danger for us and what if this guy stiffs us?’ the other guy mutters as the clunk of a tool box hitting the floor resonates around the small space.

‘The general said we’d get paid so we’ll get paid’ mr American replies gruffly, ‘I’m not going to argue with this guy OK, we get to the meeting point, hand over the cargo and get the hell out of here.’

The other man huffs loudly, ‘fine’ he grumbles, ‘lets get this over with.’

The door slams shut and the front doors open again, as they both get in, the engine starting and we start to roll forward.

I strain my eyes to see through the tiny gap at the bottom of my head covering, I can just about make out a metal floor and what might be a dust sheet? That would explain the paint and turpentine smell, I guess they are painters or odd job men maybe? By what they were saying, this isn’t a regular gig for them, they’ve been offered a price for me and it was worth the risk of coming up against my pack.

I wish I could scent them, see what I’m dealing with but the wolfsbane tamping down on Cobalt and the strong smells from the van make it impossible to pick out what creatures they are.

I inch my toes forward along the floor of the van, questing for the tool box they threw back in here with me. The chain is heavy on my ankles and I find I can only move my feet about six inches before the restraints pull tight.

Despite being amateurs, it looks like these guys have taken precautions around handling me. I wonder if they’ve been told who I am or at least what I am, do they know I’m a werewolf? Do they know about Jamie-Lee or are they being kept in the dark regarding her?

My mind moves back to my mate, confusion bubbling in me, why take me? Why not snatch Jamie-Lee as she is the one they wanted. Dread grips me as I realise I don’t know if they have got Jamie-Lee as well, the bastards could have her in another van taking her Goddess knows where to do Goddess knows what to her.

I slam my head back on the side of the van in frustration, I failed her, my job was to protect her and I f*cking failed! First I let her other mate get separated from us and now I get myself captured and leave her to fend for her damn self.

I take a few deep breaths, willing myself to calm down, I have to believe that our warriors protected her. She had a guard outside plus others dotted around the motel, my mate could still be at the motel panicking about the fact I haven’t returned. I need to get myself out of here and find my way back to her, Jamie-lee needs me to figure out this mess, I cannot let her down.

I start tugging hard on the chains holding my wrists, trying to break the lock holding them up. I may not have cobalt but I’m a God damned Alpha werewolf in my own right, I should be able to break some cuffs!

‘Hey!’ a voice yells from the front, ‘pack that in!’

I ignore the guy, continuing the yank at the chains roughly, gritting my teeth as the metal bites into my skin.

‘I said stop it!’ the voice yells again before the scuffing of feet tells me that the European is heading toward me. So it seems that this Van is open backed so you can get from the front to the back without getting out.

A punch lands on my face through the cloth but I simply snarl and continue trying to get free.

‘He’s going to break free’ the European guy hisses to his comrade, a tinge of fear in his voice, that’s right a*****e, you should be scared because when I get free of these restraints I’m going to rip your head off your shoulders and use your skull as a glass to drink bourbon out of.

‘Here, use this’ the American grunts back, something landing near my feet. Before I can lift my foot to stamp on whatever it is, the guy in front of me snatches it up and opens a zipper. Next thing I know, agonizing pain flows through my muscles as wolfsbane floods my system.

I rear back, trying to get away from the needle but the guy has a hold of the side of my head and is holding me still as he pushes in the last few drops.

‘Motherfucker’ I manage to growl out angrily as my eyes roll back in my head and I lose consciousness.