Wolfe's Hope

Prologue

July 1997, Genetics Council, Wolf Breed Labs

Mexico

Wolfe growled in fury, his teeth bared, his body taut, ready to spring as they pushed the young woman into his cell once again. She carried his scent now, proof that she was his mate. The mark he had given her the day before was still vividly evident on her upper shoulder.

“You’ll do as I demand this time, Wolfe, or Hope will take the beating instead of you,” Delia Bainesmith told him coldly.

“She’s your daughter,” he howled out in fury. “How can you do this to her?”

“She is a lab rat, no more, no less than are you,” she informed him smugly. “Now breed her. She’s ovulating, and we’ve made certain she’s ready. Fuck her, my little wolf, or she’ll be the one who pays.”

The Bitch walked away, her laughter echoed behind her as Hope whimpered in sexual distress. They had given her an aphrodisiac, ensuring she would accept him.

“Please, Wolfe.” Her slender body shook with tremors of arousal. “It hurts.”

“I can’t, Hope.” He couldn’t look at her. “I won’t.”

She was just a child, barely seventeen. He wouldn’t scar her, either physically or emotionally with what he knew was coming.

“She’ll beat me,” she whispered.

“She won’t get the chance.” He knew that.

“She said you mated with me. How did you mate with me, without taking me?”

He could almost hear the tears whispering over her pale cheeks.

“I marked you, Hope.” He couldn’t stop his eyes from going to the proof of his ownership. “No other will touch you. No other will have you. That mark and the scent it places on you is mine alone. Don’t make the mistake of ever allowing another man in your bed. Because I’ll kill him.”

Cold, hard rage shuddered through him at the thought. He had killed one soldier already over her. The one who had dared to fondle her breasts as they tore her clothes from her the day before.

“I’m sorry she did this. It’s my fault, for loving you.” As always, she would try to take the blame on her slender shoulders.

“No, Hope, it is my fault,” he told her bleakly. “Mine for ever desiring to try to hope for more.”

* * * * *

Explosions ripped through the compound. Gunfire exploded around the small house Hope was locked into; the smell of burning buildings, the sounds of horrified screams echoed in her head.

“Wolfe!” She screamed his name out. Huddled in the bedroom on the opposite end of the house, terrified it would go up in flames at any minute, she prayed he would find her.

The ground rocked, plaster showered from the roof as she pressed herself closer to the huge dresser that she prayed would deflect the ceiling should it fall. She screamed out Wolfe’s name again. He would come for her soon.

The sound of the front door slamming had her on her feet, racing for the doorway. Her abrupt halt just inside the living room had her rocking on her heels. Her mother stood there, furious, shaking, her normally austere composure crumpled.

“Wolfe,” Hope couldn’t stop her cry, her unasked question.

“The son of a bitch is dead. They all are,” she sneered. “They hit the Labs first, and it’s an inferno. Forget it, Hope, save yourself now. Don’t worry about that mongrel excuse for a man.”

Hope slid to the floor, the wall supporting her body, her mind unable to accept, unable to process the meaning of her mother’s words.

“He’ll come for me,” she whispered.

Cruelty echoed in Delia Bainesmith’s demented laughter.

“Wishful thinking, daughter. That bastard will never cum again. Too bad. You might have enjoyed it.”