Hunting The Alpha Wolf (Dark Paranormal Romance (Erotic Horror, Erotika)) by Emily Dante Page 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