Wilderness. Barbara J. Hancock
Wilderness
Barbara J. Hancock
MILLS & BOON
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Chapter One
He was chained.
Tess Haverty examined the silver bindings that twined once, twice and again around his bare, muscular torso. Considering her plans, it was lame to mentally go down the list of how well he was bound…arms to chest (check)…wrist to wrist (check)…ankles to floorboard (check). She chalked it up to nerves mixed with a hearty dose of survival instinct. She had known this would be dangerous, but somehow knowing and seeing were two very different things.
His dark eyes followed her movements. Only those eyes reacted to her sudden presence when she came out from her hiding place behind a lopsided stack of crates. Beneath her feet, the cargo truck rumbled and shook. Her steps were unsteady at best, awkward, stumbling and not the least bit heroic at worst.
She braced them apart in a wide stance and tried to ignore everything about him but the chains. It wasn’t easy. The chains, however daunting and relevant to her mission, suddenly seemed insignificant.
Colin Masterson. 6’2”. 220 lbs. Those facts on paper hadn’t translated to a real, solid man in her imagination.
He was real. Too real.
She stood at five feet six inches and one hundred twenty pounds (after a pizza binge), and even the muscular physique she’d managed to build up with a few months of intense preparation and training didn’t seem anywhere near adequate for her task.
His eyes burned with anger, curiosity and interest. She didn’t know which was the most threatening.
Tess reached for the compact bolt cutters she’d stowed in one of her pockets, all the while unable to look away from those all-too-attentive eyes.
He lifted his eyebrows when he saw what she held and for the first time his whole body reacted by stiffening. She saw the tightening of his fists and the resultant bulge of muscle in his arms. She noted how the chains bit into his straining flesh. Even in the gloom, she could see the angry red welts caused by his skin’s severe reaction to the pure silver links.
With a deep breath, she dropped to one knee. This was the do-or-die moment. Tess knew the truck was only about fifteen minutes from its destination. It was time to act. She just wished she didn’t have a sudden twist in her gut that redefined the moment as do and die.
“I’m with H.A.E.S. I’m here to help you.”
Humans Against the Exploitation of Supernaturals. Tess had never been a thrill seeker. Unfortunately, in the past six months the thrills had sought her out and changed her life forever. Funny how you couldn’t turn a blind eye toward government labs capturing and studying supernatural creatures when your twin sister was one. H.A.E.S. had saved Lily from the clutches of scientists, but she’d committed suicide before Tess had gotten a chance to see her, before Tess could try to help her. Ha. Tess helping Lily. That would have been…unusual. Tess had always been the mouse, the timid one, content to let Lily shine while she preferred the anonymity of shadows. After all, her occasional dreams were nothing compared to Lily’s dazzling visions.
Colin Masterson was on his way to the same lab that Lily had been sent to. Once there, hidden in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains less than fifty miles from Washington, D.C., he would be poked and prodded and traumatized with exploratory surgeries.
Of course, Lily hadn’t been a werewolf.
It was crazy and dangerous to get anywhere near Masterson, but Tess was here. She had been too late to help her sister, but she was here, now.
She swallowed and repositioned the tool in her fist so she could get to work.
“Wait,” he ordered. Amazingly, the low growl of his voice sounded unbound, as if he was in command of the situation.
Tess stopped. In fact, she froze. Survival instinct again. It told every nerve ending in her body that his voice must be obeyed.
His voice was human even while it was low and urgent. The only growl in it came from the masculine quality of its tones. It was a whisky-kissed burr of syllables, but, far from monstrous, he had the kind of voice perfect for pillow talk, deep and seductive.
Her heartbeat kicked up a notch and she felt her eyes widen. She knew the involuntary physical reaction that displayed her fear was a mistake. She just didn’t know how to stop it.
Don’t be prey. Don’t be prey.
The mantra didn’t come to her rescue. Her pause extended as he held her motionless with a look that had taken on a predatory gleam.
She knew that her training had been rushed. She knew the people banded together to form H. A. E. S. weren’t experts. Through trial and error, they had learned that Masterson’s kind didn’t change into bushy-tailed canines with soulful howls nor did they become the silly wolf-man from old Hollywood movies. She’d heard the morph described as more subtle and terrifying than either of those myths.
When provoked or when they chose…the jury was out on that one…they simply changed into something that wasn’t quite human.
Tess watched Masterson for any signs of change as he held her in place with the force of his will. His face was angular and well balanced. In spite of the five-o’clock shadow, or maybe because of it, he looked like he could carry off an ad for expensive cologne. He was rugged, but in an attractive, exotic way. Definitely not pretty, but handsome wasn’t a stretch. Of course, his body was perfect. In this instance, under these circumstances, scarily so.
Six pack abs. Serious arms and pectorals. And much of it on display because silver worked best on bare skin. He wore jeans and nothing else. Not even shoes. Rather than make him seem helpless, he looked less-than-civilized, wild. His hair fell to his shoulders in a dark mass of unkempt waves.
But in the dim light, Tess saw no elongated canines marring his firm, perfect lips. His hands had unfisted and she saw no claws.
“If you do this, men will die.”
She hoped he meant “men” as in the two evil thugs currently driving him to hell and not “men” as in mankind. Anyone willing to transport innocent people like her sister to labs little better than concentration camps deserved what they got.
“I understand,” she whispered through lips gone cold with the realization of what she said. The bolt cutters in her numb fingers may as well be the pen signing their death warrants.
So. Be. It.
She wasn’t a mouse. Not anymore.
Suddenly, she was free to move. Her eyes flew to his as she swayed forward. She had to brace herself with her free hand against his chest or fall right in his lap. One of his brows quirked higher than the other, and she thought she saw a corner of his mouth tilt slightly. It did definitely tilt when she jerked her hand away from his warm, firm skin.
“Steady,” he said.
She didn’t know if his amusement was enough of a promise for her safety, but she positioned the sniping head of the cutters over a link