Taken - Lane L.V. (best english novels for beginners .TXT) 📗

“Whoa!” I lift both my hands in surrender, setting the shackles upon my wrists jangling. This despite me secretly willing Jerry to jump because I’m confident the image will provide great merriment on this otherwise dull day.

“Jerry!” Derick calls. “Don’t let the bastard bait you!”

Derick is not so easy to bait. I’m forced to bleat and whine or find particularly potent jibes before he threatens to kill me. It’s a challenge I’m happy to embrace as it passes time and provides light relief from the boredom and pangs of hunger.

I’m about to sit down, despite this presenting an easy target for Jerry’s weak fist, when Derick calls everyone to mount. I sigh heavily as I take to my saddle. “So, we’re braving the wrath of Hawthorn Du Pern?” I ask of Derick when the leading man nudges his horse in the direction of the path that will take us into Wittner lands. We’ll also be sleeping rough of a night, for the taverns or villages between here and the harbor see frequent Wittner patrols. “Must be in a tearing hurry to make that ship.”

“It’s none of your business, whelp,” Derick says, smirking, for he knows that gets a rise despite my best intentions to remain aloof. I’m twenty-eight, and were my wrists not cuffed, I could kill him and every heathen in his party within minutes.

I don’t point this out. I’ve pointed it out before, and it usually sees me get the kind of beating that takes a few days of recovery.

“Although I hear Hawthorn’s not the man he used to be,” Derick continues. “Got himself a little Omega bitch to share with his second and third.” A few men join in with raucous laughter and gestures of fucking ensue. “Too busy rutting the Wittner brat to concern himself with us.” Derick pushes his horse to the front, leaving me to follow behind Jerry, the final dozen other members of the party slot in behind me.

I focus on the path I must take, but my mind is reeling from this news. There is only one Wittner brat, which would be Priya, the daughter of the late lord. I’ve never met the lass, but I’ve heard she has bloomed into a true beauty upon coming of age. A strange fluttering emanates low in my belly at the thought of Hawthorn taking himself an Omega mate. I’m a shifter. We do not usually concern ourselves outside our pack.

A shifter female is never paired with more than one mate, while an Omega might be paired with two or three . . . sometimes as many as four. They need a lot of rutting, or their scent does not stabilize, sending weak Alphas mad with lust.

She must be a very lusty wench for him to share her with his second and third.

I tell myself sharing a woman of any kind does not appeal to me since it usually takes several lasses to satisfy my appetites. Yet, there is something about the little Omega needing the attention and rutting of three virile mates that brings a tightening to my groin. I imagine the poor lass barely making it out of bed or room in a state of exhaustion. My lips tug up, for I’ve heard that as per Derick’s crude assessment, she is indeed a brat, and I imagine the stoic Hawthorn living eternally at his wits’ end.

He was ever a disciplinarian and would have no issue welting her ass before giving her a good, deep fucking to settle her after. Only, it wouldn’t stop there, for there are two other mates who would take their turn after.

Adjusting my position in the saddle to ease some of the pressure, I put the thought of pretty well-rutted Omegas out of my mind. I’ve traveled this way before on more than one occasion, on business for the King and visiting Hawthorn’s familial estate, which lies to the south. So, I’m surprised when we arrive at the bottom of the escarpment and take the path leading east and not west.

West would skirt the most populous parts of the Wittner estate.

Instead, we are heading east, a path that takes us directly toward it.

I have a nose for trouble, and warning bells are ringing. The niggling doubts surface that their business here is more than a simple desire to swiftly reach the harbor town.

I’m a prisoner of the Blighten. It is not my place to have curiosity about whatever business this is. I’ve far more at stake. Yet, I cannot put aside the notion that dark events are about to unfold.

CHAPTER TWO

Priya

“WHAT ARE YOU doing out of our quarters?”

My chest heaves, and a small gasp escapes me as I recognize Hawthorn’s stern voice.

I twist, peeping back over my shoulder. He stands, hands upon hips, nostrils flared, and radiating fury.

I should not be out of our quarters unless one of my mates is with me, but I’ve been stuck inside for weeks, and I’m getting very bored.

Steeling myself, I turn around to face the fury of my mate and first Alpha. “I was bored,” I say. I try to call upon my sense of entitlement and authority, but the words come out sounding small and not bold at all.

Seeing his eyes narrow, I swallow. This will not end well for me.

“Hiding in shadows like a common lass,” he drawls. “Where your scent might send a passing Alpha mad with lust. Are three mates not enough for you that you need to flaunt yourself?”

“I—” My protest dies on my lips. There are no soldiers in this part of the castle, but I can see that I’ve taken a foolish risk.

That I will be punished severely brings an unsteady sawing to the air moving in and out of my chest. I tense, expecting Hawthorn to toss me over his shoulder before carrying me away in an unseemly fashion like I’m an errant child and not a woman and an