Hunting The Alpha Wolf (Dark Paranormal Romance (Erotic Horror, Erotika))

All
the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the
author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or
names. All incidents are pure invention and any similarity is purely
coincidental.

The
moral right of the author has been asserted.

(C)
Emily Dante

MCM
Short Paranormal Romance 2012

www.mcmparanormalromance.co.uk

[email protected]

This
story contains scenes of an adult nature which take place between consenting
adults, it is not intended to be read by people under the age of 18. Some
people make take offence at some of the acts portrayed.

By
reading it you are asserting that you are over 18 years of age.

How in all of hell did
I end up here?
Sara Buchan thought, flexing her arms, tentatively testing her strength against
the chains which held her fixed securely to the wall.

Her arms, secured as
they were in hardened steel manacles, held high above her head had gone numb
hours ago. She couldn’t feel her fingers; they were like dead weights on the
end of her hands. Sara had almost no sensation above her shoulders, which burnt
with fierce muscle cramps. No matter how much she wiggled her fingers in an
attempt to restore circulation the numbness quickly spread again, preceded by
vicious pins and needles.

Any reprieve from the
sensations was temporary, and almost worse than the numbness.

How long until one of
my fingers goes black and drops off,
she wondered grimly.

Not the most positive
of thoughts,
she grimaced, it was like having knives pierce her hands as she struggled to
move them.

How in the hell did I
end up here?

Shifting her weight,
she moved so that her bottom rested  on the floor and stretched her back slightly.
The reprieve was only very slight, there was very little give in the chains. No
matter what position she put herself in, her back was spasming in agony.

Flecks of brick and
dust fell into her hair and her face as the ring which was bolted through the
flock wallpaper into the wall shifted slightly.

Sarah took no real
comfort from this, the bolts she knew were embedded deep in the wall. They were
secure, however crudely or recently they may have been put in. There was no way
on earth she would be able to pull them out, even if her arms weren't so numb.

What went wrong?
It had after all
started off as a perfectly normal week.

Now, she was chained up
in the basement of a country house, miles from anywhere, next to a man who
seemed to be lost in his own misery, and hadn’t uttered a word since she had
been dragged down here hours ago.

Since she had been
dragged and dumped in this room with him.

He was curled up in the
corner, seemingly oblivious to her presence, and other than low breathing he
had not made any sound, he hadn’t spoken, sighed or even groaned.

That he could remain
silent, given his current situation was odd.

But, although his
silence was unusual but it was not the oddest thing about him.

Nor was the oddest
thing about him that he appeared to be, from the back at least, totally nude.
His body was strongly muscled and covered with hundreds of tiny scratches and
burns. She could see one long, deep cut which stretched all the way down his
back. To her uneducated gaze it looked like he'd been tortured and whipped.

Nor was the oddest
thing about him that he was not chained up like she was. For some reason she
didn’t understand, she’d been chained to the wall, but he was just lying in the
corner.

No, the oddest thing
about him was what was happening to all the scars, and cuts she could see. She
was sure that they were healing before her eyes. For a start the cut on his leg
was visibly shorter than it had been when she’d first noticed it. As she
watched she could almost see the skin knitting together, the flesh healing,
growing paler as the swelling decreased.

By her reckoning by the
time the sun sank, the cuts would be completely healed.

Sara moved her legs out
in front of her, trying, and failing to make herself comfortable, after only a
few minutes of respite she needed to move them again.

God this was maddening.

So now, once again she
pulled them underneath her, ignoring the complaints from her sore calves, and
knelt on the carpeted floor. The back of her legs moaned at her, sharp and
piercing as the circulation was once again restricted.

A line of fire ran
across her knees, running down her calves, it made her feel sick to her
stomach.

Every part of her body
hurt, every part felt constrained, restricted and agonizing.

The only light in the
room came from a small window opposite her which her captors had opened to give
a small amount of fresh air. It cast a faint illumination on the wall, and for
the last three hours as the sun had started to sink had been shinning straight
in her eyes.

She could see that she
was in what looked like a perfectly normal room, one which had been stripped of
any furniture sure, but perfectly normal. The wallpaper was cheap but looked
recently applied, and it matched the colour of the thick carpet on which she
knelt. There was one door, again a perfectly normal interior wooden door.

In fact the only thing
that was unusual about the room were the metal rings that had been imbedded
regularly around the walls.

Oh, that and the rather
unpleasant looking stains on the carpet.

They looked distinctly
like bloodstains to her untrained eyes.

Sara was almost glad
the sun was going down, the stains worried her more the more she looked at
them. Darkness might almost be preferable.

The curtains on the
single window were pulled back. Incongruously they had images of the children’s
tv programme Power Rangers on them, suggesting that this room had once been a
child’s playroom.

That, or her captors
had a strange sense of humour.

But since she'd had a
rough sack pulled over her face and had never seen any of her captors' faces,
or heard them speak, they could be stand-up comedians for all she knew.

She could have been
kidnapped by the entire cast of Green Wing, and she would be none the wiser.

It might have been more
of a laugh through.

Looking down at herself
with some distaste she wished she could rub the mud and blood off her jeans.
She hated the grime which had dried and crusted on her knees. Her shirt was in
tatters, both from the brambles and thorns she had run through earlier and the rough
treatment she had received from the men who had pounced on her in the darkness.

They had not been kind
in her restraint. Nor had they minded where they had grabbed her.

The bruises would take
time to fade as would the affront to her dignity

There was also a rip on
her knee, which made kneeling even more irritating.

All in all it had been
a particularly bad week.

Eleven hours earlier

Sara Buchan sat in the
Black Lion public house in the small market town of Nantwich Cheshire and
nursed her pint. She’d been nursing it for a long time, and she hoped the looks
she kept getting from the bartender were the usual leers she got from men, not
him intending her to ask her to move on.

This was not the sort
of pub that  you often found young women sitting on their own, particularly not
on a night like this.

There was a far more
lively bar opposite, which as she had walked past had been filled with young
people, spilling out on to the street. Which, considering the weather and the
thick snow on the ground showed something of their determination to have a good
time.

She would, undoubtedly
have fitted in far better across the street, but she also would undoubtedly
have become a target for the local lads, desperate to pull on their one big
night out of the week.

She was however as far
from being out on the pull as it was possible to get.

She was busy, worried
and completely broke.

She was also here to
meet someone, and she didn’t have enough money to buy any more drinks. If the
bartender said anything to her, he would get the sharp end of her tongue, and
not in a nice way.

Sarah didn’t want to
attract attention, she was not on the pull, never really was these days, and
would rather avoid any clumsy advances from drunken men.

To that end she had
bought a pint of Guinness, sat in as dark a corner as possible, got out her map
and notebook and tried to fade into the background.

The trouble was, fading
into the background wasn’t really that easy for Sara. She had, for a start,
striking features. She had short, bobbed black hair, a figure which hours in
the open-air and countryside had toned almost to perfection and a face which
would best be described as elfin. Even tonight, dressed in a rather shapeless
grey jumper, an old pair of jeans and a woolly hat pulled down over her
forehead, she stood out.

She stood out rather a
lot when compared to the ruddy faced farmers and small-town business people who
inhabited the bar. Some of whom despite the air of 'Leave me alone' that she
was trying to give off, were eyeing her up. She could see at least one who was
trying to build up the courage to speak to her.

Leave me alone, she
projected, I'll just tell you to get lost if you come near me.

Looking up from her
map, she surveyed the room for the hundredth time. The pub was small but been
recently renovated, and so the uneven floor and slightly grubby bar managed to
look quaint, rather than just tatty. The locals, the regulars as it were, were
gathered around the bar, so she'd had to lean past them to order and pick up
her drink. They had resolutely refused to move to one side for her, and had in
fact simply carried on talking around her as she paid for her drink.

Most of them ignored
her completely, which suited her perfectly.

Taking a sip of the
strong black ale she grimaced. She had no real taste for beer, which was why
she had ordered it. Being a child of the nineties she had grown up on cheap
imported lager and Alco pops. She would have much preferred a bottle of Peroni,
but she knew that she would have drunk that far too quickly.

A pint of Guinness, her
father’s drink of choice, would she hoped, have lasted the half hour before her
contact was due. She liked it just enough to sip it, but not enough to drink it
quickly.

Still it warded off the
cold quite nicely.

And it was a very cold
night.

December the 16
^th
2011, there was thick snow on the ground which would soon turn to slush and a
biting wind in the air. And, she thought, to make matters worse, it’s my
birthday, my twenty sixth birthday, congratulations girl, sitting in a pub alone,
waiting for a contact for a story that she didn’t even really believe existed.