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Scene #35
Ryman King paced.
No sooner had he left Killington to return to Aspen than his world drastically changed. Attacked and drugged, he lost consciousness—unable to remember anything. His headache told him the trip hadn't been a smooth one. Touching his side, he jolted from tenderness and saw a massive bruise forming. What the hell...?
Recalling the hours before, he'd spent time with his best friend Damon Holt and his wife, Sascha along with their growing brood. He'd left Damon's lodge heading to the hotel to quietly meet Constance Banks.
After one hot and heavy session in the pantry at her father's estate, they'd enjoyed a no-holds-barred, no commitment affair though maintaining a discreet appearance. They lived separate lives but together, they became one.
Ryman remembered running in the open fields behind her father's home—free as the wind. He'd mounted her, thrusting his cock into her waiting body while his front legs held her in place. She yipped when he exploded into her, pressing her soft, brown pelt against his, needing the close contact. Once they returned to the hotel, the night heated up again, Ryman taking her several times while Constance drove him to do things he'd never considered. One thing alpha males had trouble controlling—their desires. Most normal women couldn't handle the raw brutality of a sexually charged night or their size, for that fact. Constance had taken him and wanted more, Ryman giving it without question.
Now, he paced in a cell—caged like a zoo animal—hating every second. He'd always had ideas of how the animals felt being jailed and on display—now he knew first hand. It sucks.
Running his hand through his dark hair, he leaned against the rear wall of his prison and calmed himself. Knowing he couldn't become agitated and he mustn't change, he recalled the teachings of Julian and Elizabeth Hawthorne. If anything gets me through this, they'll be it or a major factor.
****
"Is he here?"
"Yes, Sire," a uniformed guard answered.
"Your report on his movements once he returned from Bavaria..."
"He visited the Holts and a blonde woman—nothing else."
"I see. You're sure the blonde isn't the one?"
"Yes, sir. The bitch you're after is a huntress and deadly in either form. She's been tracked to here in California. Having her destined mate should lure her here without a problem."
"And you're positive King knows nothing?"
"Yes, sir," the man answered. "He's completely in the dark."
"Excellent. I want a copy of the legend but it must come from one of the old books. I need to know the exact wording if I'm to use her against all the others."
"We're working on it but the only copy in English is under extreme security back east."
"Find a way."
"Yes, sir."
He left the man he treated as royalty gazing out the window.
"Soon, Ardalyn, soon."
****
Ardalyn Hunter felt tension in the air. Out for her morning run, her breathing became labored as if the air strangled the last breath from her. Stopping, she slowly took several deep breaths before drinking some water. Yes, California has a reputation for pollution but the green movement's helped plus I live far enough away from its epicenter... Something else had come into play, Ardalyn needing to find out what.
Deciding to walk, she paced herself and arrived home half an hour later. Walking almost a mile up the long driveway, she'd designed it that way on purpose. Once someone entered the drive, they'd better want to see her or be unable to turn around until they reached the house. Valuing her privacy—so far, her efforts had succeeded.
Still, as far removed from the city as the property sat, she still felt the tension. Whatever caused the unrest had to be serious to affect her surroundings telling her to make a phone call as soon as she showered and relaxed her respirations. A few minutes won't hurt—I hope...
Ardalyn walked into her huge house, small by California standards but she didn't care. She'd owned it for years—her sanctuary. Having very few guests suited her—the less who came close, the less she had to protect her secrets. If anyone finds out...
Heading upstairs, she stripped before entering the shower after the temperature suited her. Heat helped her aches and opened her system so she could breathe easier. Once she turned off the water, she toweled dry then stretched out across her huge bed.
The soft satin sheets touching her naked body aroused her but she ignored her desires. Having been on her own a long while, no way would some alpha male come into her life and try to rule her. Refusing to concede control of her life to anyone, Ardalyn needed independence. A huntress didn't need a male following her around trying to do her job.
Grabbing her phone, she pressed a number in speed dial and waited. Moments later, she left a message then rolling over, she stretched, got comfortable and fell asleep. Ardalyn dreamed of running free and hunting before it turned dark with images of a handsome—no, gorgeous—dark-haired man with piercing eyes pacing in a cell. Signs of bruising became more apparent as he paced. Turning, he leaned against the one solid wall the cell had. His hands over his head, she could see he tried calming himself.
"Where is she?" a voice asked.
"Who?"
"Your mate—where is she?"
"What mate? I don't have nor do I intend to take one."
"Think carefully before answering again or I'll make sure your pain worsens."
"I don't have a mate," he repeated.
"If that's the way you..."
Several men entered the cell. While two held him, the third beat him until he couldn't stand.
Bolting up in a cold sweat, Ardalyn couldn't understand why she felt this man's pain. Feeling nauseous, her back ached in the exact places he'd taken hard hits.
"What the hell is going on?"
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