Taken, Lane L.V. [free novels to read .TXT] 📗

He is talking to another guard, a Beta, as they head toward the hall.

I’m cast back to yesterday morning when Hawthorn caught me sneaking about. His big hand collaring my throat, and eyes black with anger. “I will kill any man who tries to touch you, Priya,” he said. “I will not be able to help myself. Your scent is potent, like an invitation to fuck. They would not be able to help themselves, and I would kill a man.” 

I have known Elis since I was a small girl. He is a good man and Alpha, married to a Beta with three young boys. I’m fearful of the man pursuing me, but I’m also afraid of the Alpha, that he might be overcome and rut me, and that by doing so, he might die by Hawthorn’s hand. So many lives ruined. I cannot ruin his life, nor that of his sweet wife and three young boys.

Mere seconds are all I have to decide, for I hear the sound of pursuit. Ignoring a man who might save me if not for my scent, I take off again, in the other direction, along a narrow passage that will lead to the stable block.

The door crashes against the wall as I burst out. People are everywhere. I fling myself into the shadow of the wall, immobilized by fear. Once, this castle was my home and a place of safety. But with my unchanged scent, nowhere is safe. Then there is the sneaking Blighten outlaw who dared to enter the castle grounds. Faces that might have once been familiar to me take on a devilish cast.

I cannot see Hawthorn among the crowd, nor Caden or Brook. I cannot see my brothers either, and they are the few people I trust. Behind me, the thud of approaching footsteps galvanizes me into action, and I slip into the shadow of the stables.

Hearing a faint whinny, my head turns.

Posey.

She snorts as I reach her. “Easy girl,” I say, hands shaking as I grab the saddle and slide it onto her back. My eyes are half on the stable door. My heart is pounding in my chest. I don’t know where I will go, but I’m terrified.

I cannot outrun the man. But on Posey, I can.

I pick up her bridle, counting every second like it is an hour. Fingers clumsy, I drop the bridle and the simple task becomes twice as hard. The need to flee overwrites everything. I slip it over Posey’s head and buckle it into place. An old cloak I dropped in mud hangs over a nearby hook.

Distantly, I recognize that my actions are made with fear and not rationale, but I am too far gone.

Enswathed in the cloak, I trot out of the stable. The crowds in the courtyard are distant, and I look longingly there. My mates and my brothers are there, but between us, many people—one of which does the Blighten’s bidding.

I see him, the outlaw who pursues me, and he sees me. His eyes were trained upon the distant courtyard crowd, thinking I had gone there. Our eyes lock, and I see all the rage in his.

I ride. The guards at the gate pay me no need, more concerned with checking a cart of produce trundling in.

I should trust them, but I trust no one, and instead, I flee the castle.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Caden

HALF THE CASTLE guards left yesterday to support the king, for a Blighten war party has invaded our northern borderlands. With reports of more Blighten scum within the Wittner estate bounds, we have no choice but to bring forward some of the younger lads still in training. To this end, drills are running in the courtyard, under Bram’s watch, to assess and approve them for patrols.

Going forward, two or three of the younger lads will be paired with older, more experienced guards for either morning, afternoon, or early evening patrols. It’s not ideal, but it is the best we can do given the circumstances. For the most part, they are good lads, eager to do their part in protecting the estate. I worry about them, though.

Hawthorn left earlier, his party including the first few green lads who’ve been approved.

Shortly, we will also be taking a few with us on the afternoon patrol.

If not for the Omega now entrusted to my care, I would have left for the borderlands. I’m a man now, bound and mated to an Omega. But I’m also a scarred boy who fought raiders at his home. Thoughts of what they do to the people, both the ones they kill and the ones they enslave, brings such a rage in me to the surface that an unwitting growl escapes my control.

Silas side-eyes me. He is a surly bastard at the best of times, and the drama surrounding Belle’s piglet adoption has put all four of her mates in a bad mood. But alas, she is pregnant, and they were all besotted with her even before, so there is no hope for them.

We form a line: me, Silas, Belle, and Dax, watching Nate complete the construction of a new pigpen under the ever-darkening sky.

I gesture toward Nate, who is hammering a pole into place. “Do you think it’s big enough?”

“It is beautiful,” Belle gushes. Hands clasped to her chest, cheeks pink in the chill, late autumn air, she stands protectively between Silas and Dax.

“It is not big enough,” Dax says. The gruff middle brother frowns as Nate stands back to assess the finished post.

“I agree,” Silas says with a sigh. “Ten is a lot of pigs.”

“We can make a bigger one once they grow,” Belle says decisively. I smirk as her three mates all mutter curses under their breath—especially Nate, who radiates churlish vexation to rival Silas at his worst.

For reasons that escape me, the little Omega has a soft spot for pigs. We are about to have a rehoming ceremony of sorts for the