Clammy with sweat, Vash struggled to stand. His tongue slithered between his front teeth. “Show us your markings, or I take you now.”
They let Wren out of her bindings.
Twisting and covering her body with her birdlike hands, Wren whimpered as Vash ripped the last fragments of cloth once shielding her precious parts. His hands searched every fold and contour of her pathetic body, even the tuft of hair that formed over the mound of her clit was pressed for scars. There were no markings to be found.
“Succulent treat thinks she’s somebody else,” Lucas said. “Or else, somebody was lying to us. Eh, Vash?”
“What?” Wren choked on the stale air of the flat. “What is he saying?”
Killian kicked off his boots and grumbled, “He’s saying you’re not who we thought you were.”
Vash shuddered and reached into his bag where Wren noticed the kits for testing and scent capture. She didn’t know what they were for, but she was sure it was nothing good.
“She is,” he said.
Inching forward, Vash reached only for her to scamper away. “Rat!” he cried out.
Wren cut into the flesh of her collarbone with her nails, nearly enjoying the pain. “I don’t want to remember. I’d rather die.”
There, in the throne of her memory sat the devilish slave trader, proudly staring as the town collapsed over the melted flesh and bone of the townsfolk. The flames still whipped violently against her eyelashes, and she’d forever bear the mark of him.
Now she remembered. The logo earlier. She had seen it before.
“I will show you my marking,” she whispered.
Lucas clapped his hands together and exhaled. “You will be our good girl?”
She nodded and hated that the phrase sent a small rush to her heart. None of the emotions she felt were adding up to clarity. The heaviness of the alphas’ belligerent handling and hypocritical treatment was throwing her into the throes of insanity.
Wren paused, mouth wide open for them to look. If they wanted her to speak, they would tell her, she decided.
Bending forward, Killian wrapped his thick fingers around her lips. Wren quickly closed them and turned her head. Why did they have to use force when she would have shown them in the first place?
“Open,” he said.
Suddenly, she felt the lubricious hands of her first captors open her jaw like the hinges of heaven’s gate. They broke her and managed to squeeze all of their pain into her until she gave a depraved and wet cry to be killed.
Her frantic actions had turned those men into burning pillars of punishment. Now, the memories were coming to light, but Wren still had work to do. She was too fragmented to see it all at once. Still, she tried.
Lucas roused Wren with a light smack on the back of her head. “Open the jaw bridge, bitch.”
Her tongue pried her lips apart. Despite her reluctance to let go, she had been molded before. It was simply a question of whether or not these men were better than the former. She had more questions to ask, but it was obvious to her now that she wasn’t only to be used like a dirty sock puppet. There was more to this.
“I’m Lucas. The big guy you seem to trust? He’s Killian. You’ve met Vash. He pretty much leads our section of the pack,” he said.
Wren was confused. “Pack?”
Killian groaned and smacked Lucas’s arm. “Get back to it,” he said.
Lucas dropped to the floor. Waving for Vash to bring the syringes, cotton swabs, and various holders, he let out a sigh of deep calm.
Killian took a cotton swab from Vash and collected her saliva. She tasted the oil from his hands and hacked, dry. Snatching her tongue, he exhaled, low.
“Here it is,” he said. “Odd placement.”
Wren slithered her tongue back and rested the slippery muscle behind her front teeth. “I’ve… I’ve never seen it,” she whispered.
She’d felt it—although, at times, she forgot about it. But she knew ownership was important. It kept families together. It was the backbone to healthy fertility.