“You…you’re lying,” I whispered, staring at him in disbelief. “My mother died in a car accident—someone T-boned us on the driver’s side and she died instantly.”
McCain gave me a level look.
“You really think that was an accident, girly?”
I felt sick—my stomach felt like it was turning itself inside out.
“You…you didn’t. You wouldn’t!”
My voice was icy and I could feel my nails biting into my palms as my hands clenched into fists.
“Hell yes, I did—your mamma refused to submit and an Alpha has to keep order in his pack. So I had her taken care of.”
“You asshole!” I snarled at him. “That car crash made me an orphan and broke my femur in three places! I spent years in Physical therapy learning how to walk right again!”
“Yeah, well…” He shrugged, apparently completely unconcerned at being the author of pretty much all of my childhood trauma. “What’s that old saying? You can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs.”
“You son of a bitch!” I launched myself off the bed, my fingers crooked into claws. I caught McCain by surprise and managed to rake my nails down one of his cheeks—though I missed his eye, which I had been aiming for.
“You little cunt!” He backhanded me hard and I fell back on the stained mattress, panting and tasting blood.
“My mother wasn’t even a Were, you asshole!” I snarled at him. “You could have let her go—let us both go! Instead you had to kill her and ruin my life!”
“Oh, you only think it’s ruined but it’s gonna get a whole lot worse!” McCain took a tissue out of his pocket and put it to his wounded cheek. When he pulled it away, there was blood on the white paper. “You’re gonna pay for this, girly,” he growled, nodding down at the stained tissue. “Oh yes you are—you better believe it!”
Then he left the shack, locking the door behind him with a final sounding snick that I didn’t like one bit.
McCain’s words left me so angry I was literally shaking. To think, all these years, I’d assumed that my mother’s death had been an accident—just a random piece of bad luck—and now I knew the truth. McCain was the reason both my mother and my father had died—he was the reason my childhood was shattered and I had ended up with the Spauldings for all those awful years!
I wished I could have done more than scratched his cheek. I wanted to fucking kill the man! My rage was so great it even superseded the Breeding Fever—well, at least for a time.
But soon, my body took over, pushing the throbbing anger to one side. I was both hungry for food…and hungry to be bred.
But I’ll die before I let McCain do it! I thought. I need to find a way to defend myself if he comes back.
I had already searched the grimy little kitchenette but I went back again and did a more thorough search. I couldn’t find so much as a dull butter knife to use as a weapon but I did find a dusty box of stale Pop tarts in the far back corner of the topmost cabinet.
Giving in to my hunger, I huddled on the bed again, munching stale strawberry Pop tarts and planning my revenge. If I got half a chance I was going to kill McCain, I promised myself. To hell with being a civilized, evolved woman—a professor of Women’s studies at a prestigious college. The man had fucking ruined my life and I was going to pay him back for it if I possibly could.
The Pop Tarts, washed down with metallic-tasting water from the rusty kitchen tap, helped quiet the gnawing in my belly. But once I was no longer hungry, the Breeding Fever came back with a vengeance. Not even my anger at McCain could push it out of my mind.
My breasts were leaking nectar continuously now and I felt sticky and swollen and more horny than I ever had in my entire life. I wished that Nick was here now—if he was, he’d have no choice but to breed me and then we could admit we belonged together and ride off into the sunset. After I murdered McCain, I corrected myself. But mostly, at the moment, I just wanted to get fucked.
So I was a strange mixture of angry and horny when McCain’s men finally came to drag me out of the cabin and push me into the van again. Deputy Boyd was with them and he handcuffed me for good measure.
“Heard what you did to the Chief’s face,” he said, frowning as he closed the silver metal bracelets around my wrists. “Naughty girly—I think you might get a punishment tonight under the full moon.”
“Fuck you,” I snarled, in no mood to be civilized. “And fuck your Chief, too. He’s dead next time I get my hands on him!”