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

coat. I dare to slow regardless of their instructions, and the nearest man takes a crop to her hindquarter. That destroys me, for I have never once struck her. I press soothing hands to her sweaty neck, praising her bravery, telling her we will soon rest.

Tears begin to fall as I tell her that I’m sorry my foolishness has brought this terrible task upon her.

But she is only a horse trained for casual riding.

Posey’s exhaustion ripples through me, the muscles put to their limits and beyond giving out. She goes down. We crash to the ground.

Flung from the saddle, I’m tossed like a rag. Pain assaults my hip and shoulder, bathing over my whole body, the impact knocking the air from my lungs.

Posey’s scream is a shot of terror. I fight for air as I struggle to gain my feet. Around me, noises become a jumble lost in the darkness, rough curses, and barked orders as the party comes to a stop.

Stumbling to my feet, I see the way Posey is struggling, trying to rise, legs shaking with the effort. I fall to my knees beside her. “Easy girl.” Her neck trembles under my hand. “She needs water!”

I see the shapes of men approaching, but my focus is all on my brave girl.

Then their leader, Derick, is beside me. He plants a boot upon her throat, levels a crossbow, and shoots a bolt through her skull.

Shock renders me immobile and insensible. I stare at the bolt and the trickling blood, trying to grasp that this is real.

Posey does not move. Her stillness is a savage confrontation. I shake my head, swaying with the sickness of my fall, exhaustion, and this dawning understanding that my mind wants desperately to reject.

A guttural cry is ejected from deep in my belly. I cry again, rocking and shaking so fiercely, I’m sure I will be torn apart. The consequence of my action fleeing from my home is manifested in the death of my sweet, beautiful horse.

I hate the men who stole me with an intensity surpassed only by my hatred for myself.

Raglan

It has been a rough day.

It has been rough ever since my fateful rescue-capture, but as I look at the young Omega taken by Derick and Blighten brethren, I find the term inadequate. I knew the bastards were up to something momentous, but I never expected this.

Priya, the young Wittner Omega, sister to the current lord, and mate of Hawthorn Du Pern, makes a mockery of the many tales of her beauty, for she is all that they said and more.

The lass is destroyed. A blind man could see the horse was a cherished pet and not merely a ride. These men do not care. More importantly, Derick, our villainous leader, does not care, and he is in charge.

Half our numbers have dismounted. No one has told me to dismount, yet I’ve done so anyway. The situation has me strung out and ready to snap, not that I’ve been rational since the moment they stole her from her familial lands.

“Put her on a fucking horse,” Derick calls.

Why the lass was out on her own remains a mystery, but pursuit will be coming for us, and the lass. Derick is not the only person here restless with this delay. Hands grip sword hilts in readiness as eyes scan the surrounding trees.

When Jerry grabs Priya roughly, hauling her toward his horse, I can stand by no more.

“Try it, wolf boy,” Derick says, jabbing the center of my chest with a loaded crossbow. It stops me. Derick harbors many heinous qualities, but he is the least stupid of this bunch. He is also without mercy. When first we met, he told me that he would kill me if I presented myself as trouble. I believed him then, and I believe him now. I also believe he would do the same for the lass. We are both high prizes, but I have always understood his conviction.

I sense the imminence of my death, for despite the real and present threat, my blue shifter blood is fired with rage.

“Let me handle her,” I say gruffly. I assess both Derick and the men present in the new light of Jerry having his hands upon Priya, evaluating my chances. They are slim, but I’m still considering it. Derick is no fool. He can be slow to make decisions, for he treats all risks to a measured assessment. “I’m an Alpha. Not a true Alpha as could mate and bond to her, but she will respond to my natural ways.”

Derick takes a single step back and spits at my feet, letting me know exactly what he thinks of my natural ways. Yet, he is thinking about this as an option, and I feel a kernel of hope that this night will not end with further bloodshed. “I’ve heard of shifters bonding with Omegas,” he says like me handling her might present a different risk.

“Not full blood,” I say. Jerry is still trying to heave the sobbing lass onto his horse. She is fighting with all her small strength. Derick is still weighing my proposal. He does not like this interruption to his plans, and the lass is a noisy and constant interruption. He eyes Jerry with open distaste. He does not like Jerry well; we are aligned in this. There was a time when Jerry was an unofficial second of sorts. But over recent weeks, Jerry has fallen out of favor.

The horse is dead. She will need to ride with someone else, and I cannot see her staying with the rough man who tries to wrestle her to the horse. “She will be calm for me. An Omega cannot help but respond to an Alpha purr. I will make sure she gives you no further trouble.”

With a curse, Derick nods, the crossbow lowers. “Jerry,” he calls. “Give her over to the shifter scum.”

Jerry is unhappy with this determination, protesting vehemently instead of doing as he is told. Likely, he was hoping