She hurt all over; her ribs and abdomen ached horribly. She lay there, sprawled in the dirt, panting in an effort to breathe lightly and avoid the band of sharp pain squeezing her chest with every inhalation. She could feel the coarse sand, rough against her cheek, and smell the dust caused by her wheezing. Every breath pulled some of the dirt into her nose and lungs. Licking her dry lips, she tasted her own blood oozing from the cut there. Her mouth was dry; she didn’t have any spit left to wet her lips. The gritty dust coated her tongue. She could feel it between her teeth.

The sun beat down on her; she should have been hot, but she wasn’t. She was cold and shivering. Chills raced along her skin, and she could feel the hair prickling along her arms. Her hands and feet felt icy and bloodless. A shudder racked her body, and in turn, sent another wave of hurt through her. Concentrating, she separated herself from the pain. Retreating into her mind, she felt her muscles relax and her body sink into the sand. The pain became a distant drum beat. Shock. I must be going into shock.

Run. She needed to run. But she couldn’t make herself move. Damn it, Jane. Get up. Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth against the agony to come, she gathered the last of her strength and sat up. Pain shot through her ribs. They must be cracked. She’d never had cracked ribs before, but she’d heard others describe the vise-like pain of broken ribs. She’d never had so much as a sprained ankle. Before.

Before Anthony.

Before she told that stupid lie.

But she had them now. Still, broken or cracked ribs were better than being dead, and if she didn’t move, she knew soon she’d be dead. When Anthony came back he was going to kill her. If he didn’t, Roman would. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ear, drowning out all sounds. The smell of her own blood and sweat crowded her senses. That was why she didn’t hear or smell him coming. But through the eye that wasn’t swollen shut, she saw him.

A giant of a man, with large, brutal hands, he strode toward her. No pity or compassion was reflected on his face or in his eyes. Jane scrambled, trying to get to her feet, but she couldn’t make her deadened limbs work. All of her coordination was gone, her legs limp noodles. In desperation, she scooted backwards, in an awkward crab walk. His shadow fell across her, blocking out the sun. Clutching her by the hair, and not giving her time to get to her feet, he began to drag her forward. Despite her slight weight, it felt as though he was ripping her hair out by the roots. Jane tried to get to her feet, but he was moving too fast. She grabbed his hand, a useless effort to loosen his grip. Still, she fought him, her nails digging into his skin. Then Jane felt her body flying through the air as he slung her forward. She landed with a jarring impact that made her teeth slam together. Stunned, she lay there, the band of pain around her ribs so tight she couldn’t breathe. Her head was aching and stinging where he had gripped her hair.

A foot came flying out of nowhere and connected with her ribs. It was too much, Jane thought. She was going to throw up. She couldn’t breathe, her lungs wouldn’t work. Her vision darkened, and she wondered if she was going to pass out. Another hand knotted in her hair and forced her to her knees. Her head was pulled back until she thought her neck was going to snap. Opening her eye, Anthony’s face filled her limited vision. She couldn’t stop the whimper of fear from escaping. Using his grip in her hair, he forced her to her feet. Jane balled up her fist. If she was going down, she was going down fighting. Before she could strike out, she was flung away. Caught off guard, she stumbled and went down again.

“What the hell are you doing? Have you lost your fucking mind?”

The voice came from above her. She couldn’t see him, but she knew who it was. It was Roman Silva. Anthony had brought her to the one place guaranteed to reveal her lie, the one place that guaranteed her death. If he didn’t kill her, Roman would.

Jane felt him crouch down in front of her. When she refused to open her eyes and look at him, he cupped her chin in his hard, callused palm and tilted her head up. An angry hiss of breath raced over her face. She tensed, waiting for the blow. Instead, he dropped her chin and stood. He took one step forward and stopped.

“Stay right where you are. I would hate to have to kill you,” Anthony said. Jane turned her head in the direction of his voice. She saw he had a gun pointed at Roman.

“She says the bastard in her belly is yours.” There it was. Her lie. Her only avenue of escape revealed for the lie that it was. Jane tensed, waiting. She didn’t know what would happen. Didn’t know what Roman would do. She turned back to look up at Roman. His face was hard, the expression chilling.

“A bastard for a bastard.” Anthony’s voice was vicious. “What a way to start a pack,” he mocked.

Roman lunged for Anthony. Shocked, Jane stayed kneeling in the sand. A shot was fired, and she flinched, expecting to feel a bullet ripping through her flesh. After a moment, once she realized she hadn’t been shot, she sagged in relief. Falling forward she knelt on her hands and knees. A door slammed and she looked up. A woman had run out of the house onto the porch and skidded to a halt, a look of horror on her face. She couldn’t identify her, knew the stranger wasn’t part of her pack. In a flash, Jane realized they must be at Roman’s house, his pack’s compound.

Turning, Jane glanced to see what was happening behind her. Men were tangling, cussing, and dust was flying. Roman was fighting one of Anthony’s men. His opponent was huge, he slammed his fist into Roman’s face. Roman jerked back his head, stumbled and almost fell. The other were took advantage of Roman’s misstep. Ramming his head into Roman’s stomach, he threw Roman down onto the ground and pulled his leg back to kick him. Jane heard a howl from behind, and seconds later, the woman leapt from the porch onto the man’s back.

This was her moment and Jane seized it. Crawling on her hands and knees, she skirted around the ruckus. No one was playing any attention to her. Everyone’s attention was focused on the brawl. Halfway around the scuffle, Jane looked up to make sure she was still unnoticed and to get her bearings. Just ahead of her, Anthony’s gun lay in the dirt. Anthony was a short distance away, shaking his head, trying to clear it. Roman must have punched him and come close to knocking him out. Immediately, Jane’s plans changed. Adrenalin pumping, all her aches and pains disappeared as her attention narrowed down to the weapon in front of her. Tensing her muscles, she crouched low, preparing to spring. She lunged and when her hand closed around the cold handle, she felt a savage sense of triumph.

Werewolf instinct took control, and the need to close in for the kill overrode all sense of pain. Shakily, she rose to her feet, gun in hand. Standing behind her enemy, her tormentor, the need for revenge welled up in her. Looking up, she took note of the chaos around her. No one, not even Anthony, was aware of where she was or that she now was in possession of the gun. All attention was focused on the fight.

The woman was riding the back of Roman’s opponent, fighting with all her might. Jane concluded that she must be Roman’s mate. Punching, scratching, growling her fury, she raked her nails down the side of his face and ripped the skin away, leaving bloody trails behind. He reared back and threw her from his back. Whirling around, he backhanded her, knocking her to the ground. Roman jumped to his feet, spun the man around and punched him in the face. He staggered back, but remained on his feet. Before he could charge Roman again, Jane fired a shot in the air. Then she pressed the smoking barrel to the back of Anthony’s head. Everyone turned to stare in her direction.

Anthony sat in the dirt, none the worse for wear, except for the gun pressed against the back of his head. They had forgotten her in the midst of the fray, but she had their attention now.

“I should kill you.” Her voice was soft, but full of loathing. Cocking the gun, Jane jabbed the barrel against Anthony’s head. Hate welled up within her, and Jane had a hard time controlling it.

No one moved, waiting to see what she would do. If in her place, after receiving the beating she had, many would have pulled the trigger. This was werewolf business, the authorities would never be contacted.

Roman’s mate took a step forward. Jane jerked her head up, but she didn’t take the gun from the back of Anthony’s head. Her finger was still on the trigger.

“Don’t.” She spoke to Jane in soothing tones. “Don’t do it.”

“Why not?” Jane’s voice did not reveal any of her rage. It was too deep, frozen inside.

“What will you gain?” She took a step closer to Jane.

“Satisfaction.” She felt rage twist her battered features, pulling the tender, brutalized skin into a horrible grimace. The urge to pull the trigger almost became more than she could bear.

“Not for long.” Roman’s mate sounded so sure. Jane wondered if she had ever felt the abusive side of a man’s hand. Because she was a were, Jane had taken a beating that would have killed a human woman. But being a were didn’t alleviate the pain. She wondered how Sabine would deal with the agony.

“Tell me why he should live.” The gun in her hand trembled as wolf and human battled. The wolf inside really wanted to pull the trigger, while the human shuddered in horror at taking a life.

“Because if you do, you’ll have to live with the knowledge that you’ve killed someone for the rest of your life.”

“So? He deserves it.” She could feel the need to kill him bubble up inside. She struggled with herself. It was not her nature to kill in cold blood. It was not in her nature to kill. She had never even participated in any of the pack hunts.

“Yes, he does, but you don’t deserve living with a guilty conscience.”

Jane lowered the gun, but didn’t take her finger off the trigger. The human side had won, but the wolf was but a heartbeat away. For the first time, it was howling for blood. If Anthony made one move she would kill him. He seemed to know that, because he stayed where he was.

“Give Roman the gun and come in the house with me.” The gentleness of the request reached her, allowing her to push the killing rage back.

Never taking her eyes off Anthony, Jane made her way over to Roman. She placed the gun from her hand in his outstretched hand. He closed his hand over the weapon.

“Go on into the house. We’ll take care of this.” Both women heard the intent in his voice. Jane felt a primal sense of satisfaction well up. Roman was going to kill him.

“You can’t kill him either. Get him off the island, beat the hell out of him. Just don’t kill him.” Roman’s mate objected to what was so obvious on his face.

“I won’t shoot him.” Roman looked down at Anthony and grinned, showing a lot of teeth. His expression said it all. Anthony was about to receive the beating of a lifetime.

She motioned Jane to follow her, not attempting to touch her. Jane was grateful, she didn’t know how she would have reacted if the stranger had tried to touch her. Rage? Hysterics? Silently, Jane followed her into the house.

Walking into the kitchen, Jane was motioned to sit down at the table. The rush of adrenalin was over, and she was beginning to ache again. Her ribs hurt, as did her scalp and face. She didn’t sit in the chair, she fell into it, her legs giving out. Her hostess left the room, and Jane just sat there in the silence. She listened; there was a scuffle outside. She could hear grunts and groans, and the impact of fists connecting with flesh. She felt a savage sense of satisfaction. Anthony was getting the beating he deserved. The bastard. She was sorry she couldn’t give it to him. Was sorry she wasn’t out there to witness it. But she didn’t think her legs would carry her out there.

“Well, I think we might as well introduce ourselves. I’m Sabine.”

Jane’s head jerked up. The woman had returned, with a tray of first-aid supplies in hand. Moving swiftly and silently, she crossed the room and set the tray down on the table. Jane said nothing as Sabine pulled a chair over to sit in front of her.

“Jane.” Her voice was hoarse and barely audible even to her own ears. “My name is Jane Lyke.”

Sabine’s smile was sympathetic. “Well, Jane. I’m not going to lie to you. I’m going to clean up your face, and it’s going to hurt. But it’s got to be done.”

Sabine didn’t lie. It hurt like hell. The water stung, the antiseptic burned. By the time Sabine was finished, silent tears had pooled in Jane’s eyes and she thought her face was on fire. But she sat through it all, without making a sound. When it was over, Sabine gave her an ice pack for her eye. Then she clasped Jane’s free hand in hers. Jane looked down at their hands. Sabine’s hand was long and slender, the nails well manicured and of medium length. Jane’s hand was smaller, paler, and the nails were jagged and torn. She’d destroyed her nails trying to escape Anthony.

Facing the door, Jane couldn’t help but stiffen when she saw Roman enter the room a few minutes later. She immediately pulled her hand away from Sabine’s. Frowning, Sabine turned around, her face clearing when she saw Roman. She introduced them.

“Roman, this is Jane Lyke. Jane, this is my mate, Roman.”

Jane jerked when Sabine announced Roman was her mate. She had known that, had sensed the connection between the two of them immediately. Yet it was still a shock to have it said aloud. It was just verbal proof of the horrible mistake she’d made.

“Please don’t worry, he would never hurt you.” Sabine covered Jane’s hand. Jane marveled at the conviction she heard in the other woman’s voice. Earlier she had wondered if Sabine had ever experienced the rough side of a man’s hand. Now she knew. Sabine had never been struck in her life.

“Sabine, has she told you why she was brought here?” He spoke calmly, but the timbre echoed in the room, and Jane felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach

“No, we haven’t discussed that yet.” There was a slight edge to her voice.

“I think she should.” He stated it calmly, almost blandly, yet it was a demand.

Jane couldn’t help the slight whimper that escaped. She really didn’t want to give voice to what she’d done.

Sabine pinched her lips and glared at him. “Not now.” There was a stare down between them. Jane shifted in her seat, nervous and scared. She hadn’t expected this.

“It’s okay.” She spoke quietly. She didn’t want them fighting over her.

“No, it’s not. Roman has no right to bully you.” Sabine squeezed her hand, while glaring at Roman. Jane took heart in the silent show of support.

Cringing inside, Jane blurted out, “I told Anthony I was pregnant with Roman’s baby.” Then she waited for the explosion. It was a massive lie. In the world of werewolves, it was an unforgivable lie. Were women were to remain chaste until being claimed by a mate. The accusation of a male mating with an unclaimed female and abandoning her was horrendous.

That got Sabine’s attention. Her head snapped around to look Jane.

“What?” Sabine’s voice was incredulous. Roman crossed his arms and leaned against the wall facing them. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” How could she explain the fear, the desperation that drove her to do something like that?

“Oh, yes, you do. I’m sure you didn’t think of his name out of the blue.” Sabine’s voice had an edge to it now.

Jane peered about the room, everywhere but at Sabine and Roman. Licking her lips, she started to speak, but couldn’t. She might as well tell it. There was no escape.

“I didn’t know he would be that mad. When I told him, he went crazy. I thought he would just leave me alone or cast me out.” She didn’t say anything more, afraid she would break down completely and sob hysterically. She could feel the need to do so building inside her. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, her chest ached with suppressed screams. She refused to let either the screams or tears escape. If anything, she wanted to preserve some dignity. Breathing heavily, she exerted a tremendous effort not to cry.

Sabine handed her a tissue and sat back down across from her.

“Calm down. You’re going to make yourself sick. Get yourself together, and then start from the beginning.” Sabine’s voice was gentle. Why did she have to sound so understanding?

A deep breath shuddered from Jane’s chest, and she dropped her hands into her lap. Twisting the damp tissue, she found it easier to stare at her hands than into the eyes watching her.

“Anthony said that when I went into season he was going to claim me. I wasn’t ready. I told him I needed time. He just laughed and told me it wasn’t up to me to decide when or who.” She started shredding the tissue.

“The closer my time came, the more frantic I got. I didn’t know what to do. So I started thinking of things I could do that would make him not want me.” Jane turned to look up at Roman.

“I remembered you. He was afraid of you and your brother. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I didn’t think he would...”

“You didn’t think.” His voice was cold, and the dam holding her tears broke. She started sobbing again. She should have known better than try to explain her actions, her desperation. He was male. He had no reason to fear being claimed, possessed by someone larger, stronger.

“Calm down. Take a deep breath and calm down.” Sabine patted her on the shoulder.

“I thought if I told him I was pregnant, he wouldn’t want me anymore.” She’d thought Roman’s reputation and Anthony’s fear of him would keep her safe. She’d had no idea Anthony would confront Roman.

“What did you think he was going to do when you told him something like that, especially naming me as the father?” Roman’s voice was sharp. Jumping up, Sabine shooed him out of the kitchen.

“Get out. You’re not helping. Let me calm her down and talk to her. Just go!” Throwing up his hands in a sign of disgust and frustration, Roman left the kitchen.

Sabine sat down across from Jane. They sat there in silence. Jane worked to get her emotions under control. She’d cried more in the last few minutes than the entire time with Anthony. Maybe it was in reaction to being safe. And she was safe. No matter how mad she made these people, they would not kill her. If Roman was going to kill her, he would have done so by now. Anthony would have.

Raising her head, she studied the woman across from her, taking in the long, black hair, and beautiful, composed face. Sabine Silva didn’t look as if she had ever had a moment of doubt or insecurity. How could she explain to her the fear and revulsion she felt at the thought of being forced to mate with someone she found so unappealing. How could Sabine ever understand the desperation, the need for escape that drove Jane to tell such a lie? How to explain she’d rather spend the rest of her days in exile than tied to someone she did not, could not love.

“I’ve known Anthony my entire life. He was there from my earliest memories. His grandfather and my grandfather are friends. My father was a strong force in helping him regain the alpha position. At first, I didn’t pay much attention to Anthony, he’s older than me and we never hung out in the same crowd. But he was always there in the background.” Jane looked over Sabine’s shoulder, thinking what to say, how much to say. Did Sabine know her mate was Anthony’s older brother?

“Then I had my first season. I didn’t handle the rush of hormones very well.” That was an understatement. The strange rush of feelings and impulses coursing through her body had been both terrifying and exhilarating. “So I changed and took to the woods. I planned on staying out of sight and smell until I could adjust to the changes in my body.”

The plan had been a good one at first. She had not come into contact with any males and the overwhelming urge to mate had abated. Then she had run into Anthony. He had been out on a hunt with several other pack mates. As with most pack hunts, they had separated to herd their prey to a particular destination, then would close in for the kill.

Jane had been rolling in the grass, enjoying the physicality of being a were, when he had burst through the bushes. Jane had leapt to her feet and prepared to run, but Anthony sprang forward and clamped his teeth to her neck. She shuddered in remember fear and revulsion. He’d forced her down, until she had kneeled in the dirt, and had stood over her. His wolf body had overshadowed her smaller wolfen form, causing fear to prickle her fur.

“He would have mounted me there. I have no doubt of that. I could sense his intent. Then another pack mate came upon us, and he let me go.” She didn’t know why he’d let her go, but she counted it a blessing that he had. Jane didn’t know why she had rejected him. It had been instinctive. Something in his smell had repelled her.

She hadn’t had much of a reprieve. Anthony had gone to the pack and immediately announced his intent to mate with her. Jane had begged her parents, but to no avail. Mates were decreed by nature. Seeing that she would get no help from her pack, Jane realized there was little she could do to stop Anthony from claiming her during her next cycle.

“So I thought of the one person that everyone in the pack feared, even Anthony’s grandfather. Roman Silva.” Jane paused. Taking the ice pack from her face, she played with the ice in the plastic, pushing it first one way, then another. She wished she could manipulate her life as easily as she did the ice in the makeshift ice pack. Bracing herself for the condemnation she was sure she would see in Sabine’s eyes, she looked up. Instead of the censure she expected, she found understanding and compassion. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“I had no idea that Anthony would react the way he did. He went crazy.”

In the middle of the night he had come for her and dragged her out of her home. No one stopped him. Not even her parents. Some part of her hoped that they had no idea he planned to beat her the way he did. Yet the newly cynical part of her whispered that they did. Even if she could go back, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t be part of a pack that let males brutalize females. Wouldn’t be part of a pack that completely subjugated the female’s will to that of the male. She would rather be an outcast.