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“Pick him up! We’re taking him and making a new camp.”

“What about the others?” someone asked.

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A voice that Morgan hadn’t heard speak yet chimed into the conversation. “They won’t follow. If theirs is only a pack of three, then they will go to the nearest pack for shelter. Their kind won’t want to risk any more deaths. We should take what bounty we have and just go.”

Morgan managed to pull together enough energy to lift his head and look at the speaker.

The guy had a friggin’ eye patch over his eye like some kind of pirate. Morgan didn’t know people actually wore those in real life.

Morgan didn’t know why or what it meant, but the man’s one eye met both of Morgan’s and something passed between the both of them that he didn’t fully understand at first.

When he did, he wanted to sigh with relief.

Whatever this guy’s motivation, he was trying to allow Morgan’s friend and mate to escape.

“Is that true?” asked the younger one.

“Sometimes,” said their leader. “It depends, but these three must have been a pack on their own. Otherwise they wouldn’t have been wandering around out here by themselves, especially in last night’s weather.”

They all seemed to think it over for another solid thirty seconds. It was the longest half minute of Morgan’s life.

“We got one for today, and we know there are others out there,” said their leader. “Selling his pelt and the ones we already have will more than get us through the winter. Now everything else we catch will just be profit.”

The faces of other hunters seemed to light up with that news.

“Let’s get him tied off, we’ll make a new camp, wait until he turns again, and have him skinned in a few days. Then we can start looking for others.”

That was the best news Morgan had heard in his entire life. Nick and Terry were going to make it back to the pack, they would be safe, and if he could hold out long enough and keep them from skinning

96                          Marcy Jacks

him, maybe he could either escape on his own or be rescued by his

friends.

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Chapter Eleven

Now that he was no longer in wolf form, there was no need to be gentle with him.

At first they tried tying his hands behind his back, and Morgan was still so run down and out of energy that there was little he could do but let them.

Then the rope had gone around his neck, and they’d tied the other end to the seat of one of those Ski-Doos they were riding around on.

They’d alternated between speeding up and slowing down, forcing  Morgan to try to run to keep up, but with all the snow he kept tripping over, it was impossible. After he fell over for the fifth time, this time flat out refusing to get back onto his feet, even when they dragged him by the neck a little, they were forced to admit defeat and someone had to get off their ride and walk with him, holding him by his leash.

It was degrading, but he was too tired to argue. His body wanted to give in and pass out now that he’d worked through all his adrenaline. He hoped they planned on feeding him. Something with protein, preferably. Having only a bowl of rice yesterday for supper, and this morning for his breakfast, was definitely not enough to keep his engine going. If he just got some energy in him, he could fight back, stay awake at the very least. If he accidentally shifted into the wolf in his sleep, he was fucked.

The man with they eye patch was the one walking with him, both of them stepping awkwardly over the slightly flattened trail of snow that the snow mobiles were making.

It shamed Morgan that he couldn’t even pull together the strength to break the ropes binding his hands and attack the man.

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Overriding that was the curiosity he felt as to why he would basically offer his vote to allow the others to escape and why he didn’t smell entirely human, either.

He wanted to ask him what he was. The man walked with a stick

up his ass that Morgan knew had nothing to do with the fact that he  was guarding a prisoner.

He was scared that Morgan was going to rat him out. What the  hell was he?

Morgan was better equipped to handle the cold, even without a fur coat on him, but now that he was walking, stumbling, through so much of it and his body was hardly producing any heat at the rate they were walking, he soon started to freeze.

Again, the man with the eye patch spoke up for him. “I think we should find someplace soon. It’s starting to turn blue.”

The leader of the hunters stopped the snow mobile he’d been riding to turn and look back at them. He’d since bandaged his hand with a strip of a shirt one of the other men had been wearing under a jacket, but blood still seeped through and stained the yellow material.

He frowned, staring at Morgan, as though determining whether or not this was a decent place to stop.

“We’ve been moving for nearly three hours now. Those other wolves aren’t coming back,” Storm―the name Morgan had heard―said.

Their leader looked around the huge expanse of white in all directions. There was nothing surrounding them except more snow and the skeletal reaching hands of leafless trees and shrubs. The only green came from the pines, and there was very little of that either considering the blanket of snow that covered them.

“We’ll keep on for another hour. If we find a suitable campsite that we can hide from those wolves before then, then so be it. I want

no chances.”

Morgan nearly fell over again as he was forced to walk some more. He could hardly feel his legs, and the urge to fall asleep was a

Mated to the Wild Omega