Kept by Shawntelle Madison Page B

crotchety attitude—had more honor than the people I’d encountered tonight.
    A curse in Russian escaped my lips, and I tried to suppress a wave of anger with clenched fists. Darkness suffocated me and made me wheeze with each breath.
    “Calm down,” Thorn said softly.
    I didn’t want to.
    I’d always been like this. Calming the wolf. Restraining it under my desire for order and organization. My hands clenched the seat, ready to form claws. My back hunched slightly. The change was close to the surface.
    “Pull over,” I demanded.
    The car rolled to a stop, and I stumbled out. Like a tightly pulled rubber band I ached for release. Maybe screaming would help. Before I could turn to run for the nearest set of woods, Thorn’s arms slid around me and clutched me tightly. When I tried to fight him, he tightened his grip.
    “Let me go,” I growled.
    “When you calm down I will.” His deep voice held hints of the change. He must’ve sensed the wolf straining to be free within me and was reacting to it.
    Time passed. I wasn’t sure how long. One of Thorn’swarm hands slowly slid upward along my arms until it cupped my face. A thumb brushed a single tear away.
    Instead of feeling comfort, all I felt was shame. A deep ache that made me want to hide my face in my hands and never expose the inner me to Thorn. I’d seen angry wolves before. When they succumbed to the bloodlust, they attacked and slaughtered without thought to their actions. If I knew anything, it was that the Code taught us those kinds of wolves weakened a pack.
    No wonder old Farley Grantham had kicked me out.
    “You’re telling me he just gave it to you?” Roscoe hid his disbelief with a laugh.
    Under most circumstances, I would have wondered if we were fools for coming back, but what choice did we have? I wanted answers, and Roscoe was the only one who could give them.
    I tossed the compact to one of the guards. The man gingerly tried to catch it. I snorted. Why were they bothering to pretend they cared about it? “Here’s your compact. Isn’t that what you expected my father to fetch?”
    The guard handed it to him. Roscoe rubbed his fingers along the ridges before he lobbed it on his desk. Just as I thought—he didn’t care about it. He’d abandoned another video game to chitchat with us. This time, he’d taken the form of a death knight with an elaborate set of armor.
    “Are you sure you didn’t barter your firstborn child?” He appeared smug. “Most goblins don’t take too kindly to folks messing with their profits.”
    “We found a way to persuade him,” I said. “You could say I have a way of seeing through people’s lies.”
    The side of Roscoe’s mouth lifted to show the hints of a smile. “Do you, now?”
    “Cut the bullshit,” I said. “I know very well you warned Scabbard about us. Which pretty much screamedto me that your little bullshit run was to get me captured by another party while you continue to persuade my father to fulfill the job you set for him. What was it you said last time? ‘No one is allowed to harm the family of a debtor in my presence’?
    “The only way you could get my dad to do whatever shitty thing you wanted him to do was to have me captured and then force him into doing it by saying Scabbard would kill me. Do I have that about right?”
    I hate to admit it, but I felt really smug—until I saw the lack of enthusiasm on Roscoe’s face.
    Slowly, he walked over to me. “Fyodor is a strong one. One of the strongest werewolves I’ve hired.” His voice lowered, and his black eyes focused on mine. “I’ve seen him crack a human’s back with his bare hands.”
    “Where’s my father?” I whispered.
    “He lacks something most of my men will always have: fear. I’ve never seen him afraid—only angry.” Roscoe continued while I stared at him, my own fear creeping up my back.
    “Over the years, I’ve come to have many enemies. A few of them needed to learn a final lesson only Fyodor can