Read Online Wolver's Gold (The Wolvers) by Jacqueline Rhoades - Free Book Online
Authors: Jacqueline Rhoades
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said as if that excused his behavior, "You know you want it. You know you'd enjoy it if you let yourself go. Your wolf must be driving you crazy and I've waited long enough."
"I'd rather die," she spat, stepping away as he stepped toward her.
"Time's running out. Your father wants you mated and he'll approve of a mating to me."
"Then you'll both be disappointed. I don't know how many times I have to say it. I won't be mated," she snarled and started to turn away, muttering, "Particularly not to you." Her only thought was to get to the door, lock it behind her, and wait until he left.
But h e lunged at her again when she turned, grabbed her shoulder with one hand and forced her up against the post from which her laundry lines were strung. His free hand forced her chest back as her basket tumbled over and her snowy cloths spilled onto the dirt.
" I told you. Time is running out and my patience is at an end. You've got no choice."
"Let me go," she choked against his hold.
His lip curled. "You'll mate with me, Rachel Kincaid, or…"
Rache l had been surprised and angry before. Now, she was afraid. She'd never seen him use the ruthless force of his wrath, but she'd seen the results of the unleashing of it. She'd always had a sense that his wolf lay close to the surface and there was something about the creature that set her nerves on edge, but this was different. She could feel his wolf, snarling and violent, almost feral, and lunging to get out.
The hand at the neck of her dress pressed harder. She thrashed with her free arm and fist, but with his body tightly pressed into hers, her blows meant nothing. It was the same with her kicks. She knew she could breathe, yet no air reached her lungs. Panic gripped her.
Like a hide stretched on the barn wall , she was well and truly pinned. With his hand at her neck and his knee pushed between her legs, pressing painfully against her, she couldn't move. He was still talking, but the rushing in her ears prevented her from hearing what he said. The fire in her lungs exploded into her eyes in bright flashes of light.
A shadow, darker than the night, filled the space behind her attacker and the hand at her neck, along with the body it was attached to, was suddenly gone. Rachel slid down the post, her legs no longer having the strength to support her. Her body melted into the puddle formed by her skirt and petticoats, next to the pile of wet and now muddied tablecloths.
Gulping for breath and holding her hand to her throat, it was the sight of those cloths that erased her fear and replaced it with anger. As she gasped to replenish the air in her lungs, something inside her began to boil. Those cloths would have to be rewashed and hung, taking the one hour a day that was hers and hers alone. She was sick of it! Sick of the cooking and the cleaning, sick of being treated like a child, sick of men who did as they pleased with impunity.
She grabbed the handle of her wicker laundry basket as she rose and swung it with all her anger behind it. It wasn't until she heard and felt the satisfying smack of basket on head that she realized she'd hit the wrong man. Her unexpected blow caused the man to stagger a bit, which was enough to turn the upper hand over to her attacker, who quickly began to pummel the newcomer with flying fists.
"No!" she shouted in dismay at what she'd done.
The newcomer, who'd just regained his footing and was once again holding his own, stopped and looked at her, thinking her shout was an order. His reward for obedience was an uppercut to his jaw that lifted him off his feet and sent him stumbling back. Rachel now recognized him as the hotel's guest and, according to Eustace, the town's new sheriff. His dog, hackles raised and watching the scuffle intently, seemed to second her shout with a sharp bark.
"No!" she cried again, this time to her attacker who'd raised his massive fist for a finishing blow. She didn't know what possessed her. She'd never done anything
"I'd rather die," she spat, stepping away as he stepped toward her.
"Time's running out. Your father wants you mated and he'll approve of a mating to me."
"Then you'll both be disappointed. I don't know how many times I have to say it. I won't be mated," she snarled and started to turn away, muttering, "Particularly not to you." Her only thought was to get to the door, lock it behind her, and wait until he left.
But h e lunged at her again when she turned, grabbed her shoulder with one hand and forced her up against the post from which her laundry lines were strung. His free hand forced her chest back as her basket tumbled over and her snowy cloths spilled onto the dirt.
" I told you. Time is running out and my patience is at an end. You've got no choice."
"Let me go," she choked against his hold.
His lip curled. "You'll mate with me, Rachel Kincaid, or…"
Rache l had been surprised and angry before. Now, she was afraid. She'd never seen him use the ruthless force of his wrath, but she'd seen the results of the unleashing of it. She'd always had a sense that his wolf lay close to the surface and there was something about the creature that set her nerves on edge, but this was different. She could feel his wolf, snarling and violent, almost feral, and lunging to get out.
The hand at the neck of her dress pressed harder. She thrashed with her free arm and fist, but with his body tightly pressed into hers, her blows meant nothing. It was the same with her kicks. She knew she could breathe, yet no air reached her lungs. Panic gripped her.
Like a hide stretched on the barn wall , she was well and truly pinned. With his hand at her neck and his knee pushed between her legs, pressing painfully against her, she couldn't move. He was still talking, but the rushing in her ears prevented her from hearing what he said. The fire in her lungs exploded into her eyes in bright flashes of light.
A shadow, darker than the night, filled the space behind her attacker and the hand at her neck, along with the body it was attached to, was suddenly gone. Rachel slid down the post, her legs no longer having the strength to support her. Her body melted into the puddle formed by her skirt and petticoats, next to the pile of wet and now muddied tablecloths.
Gulping for breath and holding her hand to her throat, it was the sight of those cloths that erased her fear and replaced it with anger. As she gasped to replenish the air in her lungs, something inside her began to boil. Those cloths would have to be rewashed and hung, taking the one hour a day that was hers and hers alone. She was sick of it! Sick of the cooking and the cleaning, sick of being treated like a child, sick of men who did as they pleased with impunity.
She grabbed the handle of her wicker laundry basket as she rose and swung it with all her anger behind it. It wasn't until she heard and felt the satisfying smack of basket on head that she realized she'd hit the wrong man. Her unexpected blow caused the man to stagger a bit, which was enough to turn the upper hand over to her attacker, who quickly began to pummel the newcomer with flying fists.
"No!" she shouted in dismay at what she'd done.
The newcomer, who'd just regained his footing and was once again holding his own, stopped and looked at her, thinking her shout was an order. His reward for obedience was an uppercut to his jaw that lifted him off his feet and sent him stumbling back. Rachel now recognized him as the hotel's guest and, according to Eustace, the town's new sheriff. His dog, hackles raised and watching the scuffle intently, seemed to second her shout with a sharp bark.
"No!" she cried again, this time to her attacker who'd raised his massive fist for a finishing blow. She didn't know what possessed her. She'd never done anything
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