3. CAPTURED

BIANCA'S POV

I froze immediately, for a second I couldn't move an inch, I was being surrounded on all.

I was panicking the whole time. It wasn't just that they were shifters. It was the look in their eyes which screamed hunger and lust.

I took a step back, feeling a sudden weakness in my feet.

"She's a nice catch," one of them sneered again, licking his lips.

His tongue dragged across his bottom lip slowly. The others chuckled, a sound like gravel scraping against bone. They weren't just threatening me; they were enjoying it.

I realized my mistake too late. Dartmoor was a prison island. Most of the convicts were male. A woman—even a scarred, rejected one like me—was a prize.

I'd been on Dartmoor for less than twenty minutes.

I tried to retreat, but the hedges behind me rustled. Two more men stepped out, blocking my path to the port.

Trapped.

My wolf snarled, urging me to shift, to fight. But I was outnumbered and exhausted from the journey. Even at full strength, I'd never faced odds like these.

"How fascinating," the leader purred, stepping closer.

He was big, with a thick mustache and biceps the size of tree trunks. The words "El Paso" were inked into his skin.

He looked at me like I was a meal he couldn't wait to devour.

"Stay back!" I yelled, dropping my backpack.

My hand found the silver knife at my belt. I pulled it free, the blade catching the dying sunlight. It was a pathetic weapon against nine shifters, but it was all I had.

I calculated the odds. Nine male shifters. One half-breed female who barely knew how to fight.

I was screwed.

"Ooh, she's got claws," one of the men mocked, his voice dripping with amusement. "I like them feisty."

"Don't be like that, sweetheart," El Paso laughed.

He reached for me, but a low growl vibrated through the air, stopping him cold.

The sound came from everywhere and nowhere, resonating in my chest. 

It was something primal, the kind of growl that made even predators remember they could be prey.

A truck roared up the road, screeching to a halt. Two men jumped out.

The air shifted instantly.

The first man was massive, shirtless, with elaborate dark tattoos covering his chest. He looked like a war god carved from marble.

But it was the second man who stole the air from my lungs.

He wasn't as bulky as the tattooed giant, but he radiated power. He had wavy hair and a face so handsome it hurt to look at him. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, his eyes a piercing amber that seemed to see straight through to my soul.

Everything about him screamed danger.

My wolf stirred. 'Pay attention', she whispered urgently, practically clawing her way to the surface.

I couldn't look away from him even if I wanted to. Something invisible pulled at my chest, like a hook lodged between my ribs.

"Logan," the tattooed giant cheered, cracking his knuckles. "Nice seeing you here."

"I can't say the same," Logan the leader of the gang surrounding me spat back. "This is my catch."

The wavy-haired stranger ignored Logan completely. His eyes locked onto mine.

He froze.

His mouth parted slightly, shock flooding his features. He stared at me, his gaze burning into my soul. He didn't look at my scar. He looked... right at me. Into me. Like he could see every broken piece I'd tried to hide.

For a heartbeat, the world fell away. The threatening rogues. The tattooed giant. Even my fear. There was only him and the inexplicable electricity crackling between us.

I flushed, wanting to hide. I didn't want him to see me. I was broken. Rejected goods. Why was he looking at me like I was something precious?

"That lady," the wavy-haired man said.

His voice was deep, commanding. It wasn't a request. It was an Alpha command that resonated with power.

It sent shivers down my spine, and my wolf practically purred in response. Traitor.

"Hand her over," he ordered.

Logan laughed, but it sounded nervous. Even he could feel the shift in power. "I saw her first. She's mine."

"Yours?" The wavy-haired man took a step forward, his eyes flashing dangerously.

The amber in his irises began to glow, his wolf rising to the surface. The temperature seemed to drop, and every rogue took an involuntary step backward.

"Mine!" Logan roared, desperation bleeding into his voice.

Chaos erupted.

"Take her to the truck!" Logan screamed at his men. "Go! Now!"

Logan shifted mid-air, his bones cracking as he turned into a massive wolf, throwing himself at the newcomers to buy time.

I didn't get to see the fight.

Two of Logan's goons grabbed me, their fingers digging painfully into my arms.

"No!" I screamed, kicking and scratching. "Let me go!"

I drove my elbow into one's ribs, heard the satisfying crack, but the other backhanded me across the face. Blood filled my mouth.

"Shut up, bitch!"

They didn't care about my struggle. They tossed me into the back of the truck like a sack of potatoes.

My head slammed against the metal floor, stars dancing in my vision. Pain exploded through my skull, and for a moment, everything went white.

"Drive!" one of them yelled, slamming the doors shut.

The engine roared, and the truck peeled away, leaving the wavy-haired man behind.

Through the haze of pain, I heard something that chilled me to the bone—a roar of pure rage that didn't sound entirely human.

I scrambled to the back window, looking out as we sped away. My vision swam, but I forced myself to focus.

Through the dust, I saw the wavy-haired man rip a wolf apart with his bare hands. Blood sprayed across his chest, but he didn't stop. He looked up, his eyes locking on the retreating truck.

Even at this distance, I felt his gaze like a physical touch.

He roared—a sound of pure fury that shook the trees. Birds scattered from their perches. The ground itself seemed to tremble.

He was coming for me.

But as the truck turned a corner and darkness swallowed me, I realized something terrifying.

I had escaped one monster only to be stolen by another. And on Dartmoor Island, no one heard you scream.