Defiant: Book 2 of the Forbidden Series

Chapter Twenty-Four: Axl

Van

Van gripped the edges of her pillow and pulled them toward her face to cover her ears. Whoever was in charge of the music was going through something, listening to the same jarring song on repeat. At last, the final notes faded away, giving her a few blessed moments of relief, but within seconds, the pounding tempo started again.

"Oh, my god. I can't take it anymore," she screamed, throwing the pillow at the yellowed and scratched bedroom door. It hit hard enough to make the wood splinter, and immediately after, the music ceased.

With a contented sigh, she sunk into the mattress and closed her eyes. A few hours of sleep to get rid of the headache her trip to a prison dimension had caused, and she would be in fighting shape. That's all she wanted.

But it seemed she wasn't going to get it. The door flung open, and one of her captors entered. Sickly yellow eyes glared at her beneath overgrown brows. He wasn't the same man who took her from the bathroom, but he was just as ugly with jowls and skin pitted with acne scars.

"Can I help you?" she asked, keeping her eyes closed and adopting a bored tone even as her heart pounded in her chest. There was a strong possibility these men were werewolves, and she didn't know enough about them to be confident she could fight them. Especially not when her abilities were unreliable.

"Did you throw something at this door?" he spat.

"Yes."

Her eyes flew open when he hauled her off the bed by the front of her shirt. Eyes aglow, he snarled, and wiry hairs sprouted from his elongating nose. Definitely werewolves.

"This is my home, and I don't take kindly to people destroying it."

"And I don't take kindly to being held prisoner," Van snapped back, far more confidently than someone should when their feet were dangling off the floor.

To her surprise, the anger in the man's face faded, and he lowered her to the ground. "I don't suppose you do, but I have to do what my Alpha tells me to do."

"Your Alpha..." She knew a little about alphas from the Shifter world, but she doubted it worked the same for werewolves. "Is he the one from the restaurant?"

"He is."

Surprised by his honesty, she stuck out her hand. "I'm Van."

He took it and shook hard. "Axl."

Of course, his name was Axl. He walked out of the room, leaving the door open, and she assumed that meant she was free to follow. Dingy carpet–likely once cream colored but now decidedly yellow–stretched across the entire house. From the hallway to the living room and from what she could see, into the kitchen.

Aluminum foil concealed the windows, and wood paneling covered the walls. Here and there someone had nailed boards in what appeared to be random spots, but when she stopped to inspect one, she spied the jagged edges of broken wood behind it. And he had the nerve to be angry at her for throwing a pillow at the door?

"You hungry?" he asked when she settled herself on the sagging orange and brown sofa pushed against the wall.

She nodded enthusiastically. The few bites of burger and fries she managed at the diner were long gone. An aching rumble went through her stomach, and she put her hand over it to muffle the noise. How long had it been since the diner? She had no clue how long she had been unconscious.

But before she could ask, Axl said, "I was starting to get worried about you. You've been out cold for three days."

"Three days?"