Blooded (jessica mcclain ) Read online

  Blooded

  ( Jessica McClain )

  Amanda Carlson

  Jessica McClain was born the only female in an all male race. The only problem is — she's no wolf. Called a curse, a witch and the Daughter of Evil by the superstitious wolves, Jessica decides to fight for her freedom, at age nineteen, the only way she can — in the ring.

  When she's brutally attacked right after her fight, is it enough to finally earn her freedom off Compound, or will she be forced to endure the hatred even longer...

  Blooded

  Jessica McClain - 0.5

  by

  Amanda Carlson

  Chapter One

  I hit the ropes hard, my body bouncing back into the ring like a shot. My face unfortunately landing right back into of the fist of the werewolf who was pounding the shit out of me. I wheeled backward, my neck catching the brunt of the impact, the force propelling me into the corner, right where the little stool would sit if I had one. I hit the post and collapsed in an unceremonious heap.

  I was a mess, mangled and bloody. One of my eyes was swollen shut and at least two of my teeth were loose. Despite my poor showing thus far, I wasn’t even close to giving up this fight. “Is that all you got?” I taunted, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the mat. I braced my arms and slowly pushed myself up. “The busboy at Selma’s hits harder than you do.”

  Mitch Jacobson sneered down at me, his teeth half exposed, his lips drawn in a tight, cruel line.

  Even though he was in his human form, his irises sparked a deadly amber, like a pair of flickering candles lit from within.

  A low, predatory growl issued from deep in his chest. “Get up.” His fists balled. “Fight me.”

  “That sounds like a great idea,” I said, stalling. “But the beach just called and they want your highlights back.” With his tan skin, slight build, and blond hair, Mitch was relentlessly teased for his California good looks.

  I used what I had.

  Challenging Mitch to this fight was the biggest risk I’d taken to date, but I’d made a decision. It was time to go all in. After years of enduring hatred, fear, name-calling, and threats for being female, I was ready to stand up for myself or die trying. After my eighteenth birthday, Pack dynamics had changed. The bullying and skirmishes had become more intense, and the small altercations were escalating in frequency and becoming bloody, the outcome likely ending with me losing my life in a fight I hadn’t planned on.

  And I had no intention of dying.

  I’d picked the perfect opponent. The one who’d give me the greatest likelihood of success. Mitch was not only pretty, but he was the least skilled alpha-born wolf. The bottom of the hierarchy on the Compound, and I was ready to win. Surviving meant keeping him occupied—and slightly enraged—

  while using every spare moment to recover.

  I needed every single second, because I was human.

  “You’re really funny,” he growled. “Now get the fuck up and fight me.”

  I rose to my knees slowly. “You’re just too pretty, you know that? Almost feminine with those delicately high cheekbones. You should be carrying a surfboard under one arm instead of boxing a girl in the middle of the north woods.” We weren’t technically boxing, since neither of us wore gloves, but the ring served its purpose. All Pack challenges were fought here.

  It was the first time I’d been on the inside looking out.

  What we were engaged in was highly forbidden and unsanctioned by Pack—or by my father, Callum McClain, who happened to be head of Pack. There would be severe consequences for fighting.

  Clearly that wasn’t stopping either of us.

  “Shut up, you piece of shit,” he snarled. “I’m going to silence that mouth of yours once and for all.

  You’re an abomination to the race of wolves, and I’m going to rid the world of you tonight. Something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

  “Those are big words, Mitchy.” I staggered to stand, gripping the nylon ropes beside me. “I hope you have something to back them up.”

  “I’m going to make it hurt too,” he said, advancing on me. “You’ll beg me to stop.”

  “Then do it already,” I snapped. “You’re wasting my time. Or maybe you need a break? I brought some Band-Aids. Your brother can slap on a few and wipe your nose for you. I can wait.”

  Josh Jacobson, the more tentative of the two brothers—on a werewolf scale of tentative,which meant he was beta-born, not alpha-born—stood just outside the ring. He glanced over his shoulder every two minutes, like he expected someone to bust through the doors at any moment, catching us breaking Pack Law.

  But nobody was going to interrupt us. I’d made damn sure. I’d bolted the huge double doors behind me and added a heavy chain. Plus, it was two thirty in the morning and we were surrounded by several feet of solid, soundproof concrete coupled with state-of-the-art insulation. My father took every precaution to keep us a secret.

  No one else besides Josh was in attendance to witness me getting my ass handed to me.

  “I haven’t needed a fucking Band-Aid in my life.” Mitch swiped a forearm under his dripping nose, smearing a long bloody streak across his right cheek. I’d landed a few good kicks before he’d had a chance to wreck my face with his fists.

  “That’s not what I heard.” I stepped out into the ring. “I heard Doc Jace had to rebreak a few bones for you not so long ago. I’m sure he needed plenty of Band-Aids for that.” Holding a wolf down so their bones didn’t align as they healed was considered bad fighting form, but was incredibly useful when you were trying to teach someone a lesson—which was exactly what my brother had been trying to do. “Isn’t that right? Something to do with a squabble you lost to Tyler? And by lost I mean… lost.”

  My twin brother was fierce and carried incredible status for his young age. Tyler had stepped in on my behalf when Mitch had started needling me a few months ago, and tried to pound some much-needed sense into him.

  It clearly hadn’t worked.

  “I’m going to wipe that smile off your face for good.” Mitch seethed, the hair on his arms morphing, growing thicker, triggered by his intense emotion, which was a glaring, telltale sign I was getting to him.

  I grinned, loving the knowledge I’d pissed him off, that I’d weaseled under his skin like a bad rash.

  “So you keep saying,” I said. “But I’m still up, and you’re still an asshole.”

  He came at me faster than I could track. I hit the floor and rolled.

  I was too slow. Sharp claws raked my back, shredding my flimsy tank top, gouging deep, bloody furrows into my skin. Breath left my body.

  If I lost my focus now I was dead.

  Mitch pressed in behind me. I swung my elbow up before he completely overpowered me, connecting with his jaw. He swore, but didn’t move. Instead, his hand wound around my neck and he mashed my face into the mat like he was putting out a cigarette. “How does that feel?” he growled.

  “Looks like you’re down now.”

  With every ounce of strength I had, I forced my head up, arching my neck and shoulders. I managed to gain a little space between me and the mat. His hand was like iron, unforgiving and hard, but I was leaking fluids. I used the slipperiness to my advantage, and in the small space I’d won, I twisted my body to the side in his grasp, but just barely. I brought my leg up and pressed it into his shoulder, and with gargantuan effort, pushed him back less than an inch.

  It was all I needed.

  “You’re not getting away,” Mitch snarled. “I’ve waited to do this for too many years. I’m not letting you bring our race down, Daughter of Cain. It’s time for you to go back to your Maker.” He grabbed a fistful of my hair, which had come loose
from its bindings, and yanked. My head wrenched to the side at an impossible angle—vanity payback for keeping my hair long when I should’ve cut it

  “No help is coming for you now, Jessica, so it looks like I win.”

  “And,” I gurgled out of my distorted throat, “it looks like you have…my heel”—I smashed the back of my perfectly positioned foot into his face as hard as I could—“in your fucking eye.”

  A satisfying crack sounded and Mitch sprang back, staggering away from me, cupping the wound, blood flowing freely between his fingers. “Goddammit!”

  I gulped in a few breaths, compensating for the lost oxygen. Sticky blood streamed down my back in hot rivulets, but I couldn’t let it distract me. I had to find a way to erase it from my mind—and taunting Mitch sounded like the best place to start. “What’s the matter? Did that hurt?”

  Mitch snarled fiercely.

  I scuttled back out of his reach. Even though I’d likely shattered both his frontal and maxillary bones, it would take him only a few moments to recover. Stupid werewolf healing. And even though he was a wolf, he still felt pain, which always worked in my favor.

  After a moment, Mitch dropped his hand, fury roiling across his features in churning waves of hate.

  Blood coated his face, red leaking slowly out of the still-healing wound, dripping onto his formerly white T-shirt, making it look like a horror-soaked tie-dye. As I watched, the fractured bones began to set themselves in real time. It was completely unnerving, even though I’d seen live-action healing many times before. It was straight out of a sci-fi movie on the FX Channel—only this was the real thing. Mitchy was going to be good as new in less than a minute.

  A low-level growl sounded from outside the ring as Josh nudged himself closer to the ropes, his agitation clear, his eyes sparking more than a little yellow. Shit. Betas, overall, had never given me as much trouble as alpha-born wolves, but they were still stronger than I was. If the fight moved along at a quick pace, Josh should keep to himself. Instinct would demand he let his superior-status brother, and Pack mate, have the kill. If Mitch went down, Josh could feasibly jump in. But fighting two wolves was not on the agenda tonight, so I had to make sure that didn’t happen. Lucky for me, Mitch was ready to play again.

  “You’re about to hurt.” A slow smile crept over Mitch’s bloodied lips. He dove for me, his sharp nails latching on to my arms before I could get clear, and with one fierce tug I was airborne. I spun, crashing into the corner headfirst. I fell into the mat, a long gash above my hairline, fresh blood rushing into my eyes. I’d lost my advantage—or rather my perceived advantage—and had to think fast.

  I dug deep into my arsenal of survival skills while I was down, my brain flipping at warp speed through tactics. There was only one real option left, so I stilled my breath completely, relaxed all my muscles, and lolled my head to the side.

  I played dead.

  Wolves could scent a lie. They could hear your heart beating in your chest. Mitch would know I wasn’t completely dead, but hopefully—especially since he was fueled by a hefty dose of male arrogance—he would assume I was well on my way. Fortunately for me, the bias all macho wolves shared was: Females were weak. It should work in my favor. Killing me in cold blood should be next to impossible for him, his instinct demanding a chase and a fight, though he was so riled at this point I couldn’t exactly rule it out. But I had no choice. I needed more time.

  “Get up,” Mitch spat. The floor bounced as he stalked toward me. “I know you’re not dead. Stop playing with me. I’ve had enough of your bullshit to last me multiple lifetimes.”

  I didn’t move. My heartbeat slowed considerably with each breath.

  “I said get up.” He kicked me in the side. Hard.

  Air whooshed out of my lungs, but my eyelids didn’t waver. My body rolled like a rag doll. I knew

  I’d have only a millisecond to react once I decided to make a move, and I had to time it just right.

  “I mean it.” Mitch pressed his heel into my abdomen and jerked my body. “Get the hell up and—”

  I sprang, wrapping one arm tightly around the foot prodding me, using it as a pendulum to swing myself around, bringing the palm of my other hand forward as hard as I could straight into his kneecap. Several small bones in my hand snapped on contact, but there was a satisfying crunch as

  Mitch’s patella shattered under the force of the blow. He went down on his injured knee with a yowl. I used my other hand, the unbroken one, to grab his other ankle. I jumped up and dropped my weight onto it until I heard another snap. “This up enough for you?” I panted as I staggered back a few steps, trying to find my equilibrium. My head rang as I impatiently swiped at the blood still leaking down my face.

  He would heal quickly again, but if I was lucky, I’d get a minute or two before the next round.

  Mitch snarled, clasping on to my leg in the next breath.

  I’d stayed too damn close. He whipped his arm out and I landed flat on my back, the pain of my wounds blinding me as I hit the mat. His nails embedded deeply in my flesh. He pulled me closer, ripping my skin as he went. He wasn’t letting his prey go this time. “I don’t care if they kill me for this. It’s worth it,” he spat. “I will die knowing I put an end to you.”

  “That doesn’t sound good to me. How about I kill you instead?” I arched myself up, bending at the waist and twisting my fist like a sledgehammer, pounding it into his trachea.

  Mitch sputtered, but didn’t let go. Rage fueled him, which was so not in my favor. Instead, he rolled on me from the side, crushing the air from my lungs, his ankle and knee already fully healed.

  Without letting up, he sank his teeth into my thigh. Pain exploded behind my eyelids. “You are not… going to…win.” He lifted his head, blood dripping from his teeth, his voice ragged through his injured windpipe. “I’m a fucking wolf…and you’re nothing.”

  The pain in my leg blinded me to almost everything else. It burned like a terrible, hissing fire, threatening to derail me. For the first time since I’d entered the ring, a twinge of regret raced through me. I wasn’t a wolf. I wasn’t as strong as a wolf. And I’d never engaged one on this level. It was foolhardy in every way, but dammit, I had to change things. I had no other choice. No wolf had ever challenged me, because if they had, my father would’ve killed them. Before today, it had kept the balance on the Compound in check. Fighting Mitch in the arena was a defiant move—a move to mark myself, to prove to Pack I was ready to defend myself and stop living in the shadows. It hadn’t taken much to convince Mitch to come here, his fear and anger clouding his judgment—if he’d had any to start with. But if I died at Mitch’s hands right now, then it would defeat everything I was trying to achieve, and all would be for nothing.

  Pack would win and I would be gone.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  I wriggled one of my arms out from under him and grabbed the thing closest to me, which was a wad of his blond locks, twisting them around my fist once for good measure. I yanked as hard as I could, wrenching his head away from me. Vanity’s clearly a bitch for any sex.

  He snarled, snapping his body back, ripping his hair out of my grasp right as his fist collided with the side of my head.

  For a split second, everything flashed to black. When I opened my eyes, Mitch was gone. But before I could register anything more than foggy shapes, hands grasped me around the middle and I was tossed against the ropes. I bounced once, but snared myself with the cuff of my wrist. I stood on both feet, my head bowed, my ears ringing.

  “Fight me, bitch!” Mitch shouted. “Or are you too weak, you human freak?”

  “Weakness has nothing to do with it,” I panted, leaning forward, unhooking my arms and locking them on my thighs to keep me upright. I had to keep talking; it was either that or have him kill me and be done with it. An enraged wolf was a sloppy wolf. “If you haven’t noticed, you just let a human female break your bones—repeatedly. How does that feel, big, strong werewolf?�
� I tilted my head up and met his eyes for the first time. It was a defiant gesture meant to enrage. Direct eye contact and wolves didn’t mix. It sent them to their crazy place. “I can’t wait until word of your pansy-assness spreads to all your cronies. I’m sure they’ll only razz you for a few years—”

  He had me by the neck, his breath foul and nasty against my cheek. “Bye-bye, Jessica.” My blood stained the edges of his mouth. “So sorry to see you go.”

  “I’m not”—I took a sharp breath in, forcing my jaw open so air could reach my windpipe—“ready to go… yet.” My fingers found what they’d been seeking. Not hard, since it was a big target. They usually were. I gave a fierce squeeze, locking my entire hand around it, nails and all. Mitch yelped, his eyes widening. “How does this feel, you piece of shi—”

  “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?” The double doors into the arena exploded off their hinges, clattering loudly against the walls.

  Mitch leapt away from me at the sound of his Alpha’s voice, but I still had a tight hold on Mitch’s jewels. There was an accompanying loud rip of fabric, followed by a strangled howl of pain. My hand came away bloody, strips of material caught between my fingers. Served the asshole right. I smiled, which, given my state, must’ve made me look like a madwoman. “That’s what you get when you mess with me,” I slurred.

  “Jessica! Explain yourself!” My father stormed in, followed closely by my twin brother, Tyler, and my father’s second-in-command, James Graham. Then he turned his gaze fully on Mitch. “And what the hell do you think you’re doing in here with my daughter?”

  I’d chosen this particular day because the Pack Alpha, my father, was supposed to be off

  Compound. It was likely the only reason Mitch had accepted.

  James vaulted into the ring with us and grabbed Mitch by the throat, putting him into a tight choke hold. Instead of answering his Alpha, he gurgled like a child.

  My father switched his focus to me, crossed his arms, and waited for a response. “Well,” I mumbled, dashing more blood from my eyes with the back of my wrist. I scanned the ring slowly. “It seems pretty obvious from here. Mitch”—I gestured absentmindedly toward him—“and I were just in the middle of a little pissing contest. And, unfortunately, because of the interruption, a winner has yet to be declared. But quite honestly, I was on my way to sealing the deal. I had my fist wrapped around his Johnson, so things were looking pretty bleak for poor Mitchy. He would’ve had to sing like a girl or lose his manhood completely, which I know for a fact you guys can’t grow back—”