Claimed by the Beast(12)

"Let me go!" she yelled, fighting him when he took her other wrist and  gripped them both hard. He dragged her backwards to the closet. "What  are you doing? Let me go!"

"I'm sorry but I can't let you go," he said, his voice calm, frighteningly so.

She looked around the large walk in closet. It had been destroyed,  clothing lying everywhere, shelves broken. He pushed her against one of  the walls and took a tie from a shelf.

"I think," he began, wrapping the tie around and between her wrists,  securing her tightly. "You lied when you said you didn't remember  anything about last night. I think you remember quite well."

"I don't. I swear! This is just a misunderstanding. Please let me go!"

He turned her around but his hand on her faltered as he blinked in what  she thought was pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and made a sound, but it  must have passed because in the next moment, he straightened again, his  face strange, his expression dead serious, his eyes far away.

His eyes.

She stared at them. "You're it," she managed, goose bumps covering every inch of her. "You're the thing from last night."

"I told you remembered," he said. He pulled her along, his hand painful on her arm, her wrists bound too tightly.

She opened her mouth to scream for help but he was faster, pressing her  up against a wall and covering her mouth with one of his huge hands. He  stood with his body pressed against hers.

"Don't scream. Don't make me gag you. Just … " he paused. "Please don't make me mad, Rachel."

She stared at him wide-eyed. That pain flashed in his eyes again. He was  desperate, she could see it, and that made him dangerous.

"If I take my hand away, you're not going to scream, do you understand?"

She made a sound and tried to nod. She would have to wait for Elijah.  Hope he checked his phone and noticed the unknown missed call. Hope he  could find her.

"Be good and you won't get hurt," he said, easing his hand off her face.

She nodded again, breathing hard, her heart racing.

"We're going to go downstairs. You'll be safe there," he said.

She hesitated with every step, looking around her, trying to see if  there was any way to escape him, trying to see if she was close enough  that someone would hear her if she did scream before she pissed him off.

He didn't look at her as he led the way down, his grip hard on her arm,  pulling her along, tugging harder when she resisted. He led her to a  heavy door, the only door that didn't fit with the rest of the  surroundings. He turned on the lights and led her down the stairs into  the basement. It was a large, wide open, and almost completely finished  space. On one side stood a large desk and what looked to be a science  lab-a long counter with beakers and other things she couldn't identify.  The other side of the basement was unfinished where the laundry machine  and dryer stood. He took her in that direction and set a wooden chair in  the middle of the space. He pushed her down onto it and untied her  wrists only long enough to rebind her to the chair. Once he was  finished, he stood back and looked down at her.



* * *



She was a pretty girl. Young and quite petite. Her long straight dark  hair was tangled and he could see from her eyes that she was afraid.  Good. If she were frightened, she would be more likely to behave.

Behave.

What was he doing? What had he done?

He turned away and ran a hand through his hair.

"Please, just let me go. I won't say anything. I don't know anything," she begged.

"Shut up," he said quietly without turning. He needed to think.                       
       
           



       

"Please," she continued. "I … "

He turned. "I said shut up!" he snapped.

She trembled and shrank away from him. But at least she stopped talking.  He looked at the chair, wondering how long he could keep her bound like  this, knowing he would need better equipment.

He turned away again. What was he thinking? He had kidnapped a girl and  brought her back to his house. But she wasn't just any girl. She was the  scent he had picked up earlier in the house and she smelled different  than other women. Was that why he had sought her out? He could remember  parts of the night and the one thing that was clear was the moment he  had picked up her scent when he had been in the woods. He had been drawn  to her like an animal would be drawn to mate. He had been unable to  resist.

He turned to her. "Are you a shifter?" he asked.

She shook her head, her eyes still wide, scared.

"You smell like one," he said, recognizing her scent was similar to the samples he had been working with for so long.

"I'm not."

"Then why do you smell like one?" he asked, coming closer.

"Please don't hurt me!" she begged, once again shrinking away from him.

He winced with the sudden pain in the backs of his eyes. Was it  happening again? So soon? Was he shifting again? He needed to get out of  the lab, get away from the girl in case that happened. Once the pain  subsided, he looked at her. "I won't hurt you if you do as I say."

She nodded.

"You obviously knew what I was asking when I said shifter. How did you know?"

"I don't know. I just said it."

"Don't lie to me either." The pain came again, short but sharp.

"What's happening to you?" she asked.

"You're going to need to stop talking," he said, suddenly feeling very  angry. His emotions were up and down, all over the place. He walked to  the counter and opened a drawer. He took out a syringe and a vial of  clear liquid, wondering all along what he was doing, why he was doing it  as he prepared the needle.

"What is that?" she asked when he came toward her, depressing the  plunger so some of the liquid squeezed out until there was no air left  in the barrel. "What are you doing?" she almost screamed as he squatted  down by her side and held one of her legs tightly, stabbing her with the  needle.

"Ow! What are … "

He emptied the stuff into her, knowing he was bruising her as he held  her, but needing her to be quiet, needing her to be still so he could  think. He pulled it out and stood, looking down at her. It worked  quickly, the stuff. He'd probably given her more than she needed because  within moments, he could see her eyes were losing their focus.

"Just to help you sleep," he said softly, caressing her face.

She tried to pull back but her effort was clumsy. "What … " her head fell  forward and she tried once more to lift it but was unable to.

Lance checked her pulse, which was fine, but he knew she would be out  for a while. Leaving her there for the moment, he went upstairs and  retrieved a mattress from the guest room. He carried it down to the  basement and set it in a corner near one of the support beams. He then  went into the garage and rummaged through an old box, retrieving a pair  of handcuffs an ex-girlfriend had given him years ago before returning  to the basement. He untied her and laid her on her back on the mattress.  He then cuffed her by her wrists to the support beam, ensuring some  freedom of movement. He pushed her hair from her face and caressed her  cheek, inhaling her scent once more. He was drawn to her for reasons he  couldn't quite explain. It was a base animal instinct.





Chapter Nine





Something wasn't right.

Marcus sat up and looked around the dark motel room. The clock read just  after 6:00 a.m. This was a similar feeling as to what had happened the  other night, although not quite the same. This was closer. He would need  to shift to hear more, he knew it. Unless he picked up the phone and  dialed Elijah, but he wasn't ready to do that just yet. Besides, this  wasn't about Elijah. It was something to do with Rachel.

He stood and pulled on the pair of jeans he had draped over the back of a  chair. The last months had been worse than the previous of that year.  He still missed her-that hadn't changed. The way he was dealing with his  self-imposed isolation, his chosen separation from Rachel, was what had  changed. He had become freer and freer with himself, drinking too much,  taking different women to his bed almost nightly, refusing to keep in  touch with his brother. He justified not calling Rachel with the fact  that he wanted her to forget about him. He wanted her to have a normal  life. But it wasn't working, at least not for him. And from what Elijah  had said, it wasn't working for her either.                       
       
           



       

In fact, if he was really honest with himself, didn't he have to admit  the fact that he was being a coward by staying away? Not to mention the  other things. It was time to face the past rather than run from it. The  thought of seeing her again warmed him but it also terrified him. She  would be angry with him and she would have a right to be. But now that  he was here, what if she wouldn't take him back?