Chapter Three

 

Tristan woke when the broker’s van jerked to a stop. He was cold and cramped but wide awake. Holding still, he listened, hearing the van’s engine switch off followed by the thud of a door closing. He held his breath while he waited to see if the broker opened the back door of the van but all he heard was the sound of footsteps moving away. He waited as long as he dared before pushing open the hatch and climbing out. His arms and legs were stiff, the cold not helping. His hand cramped and he flexed his fingers, grimacing silently as he crawled to the doors, hoping they could be opened from inside.

He ran his hands along the seam between the doors twice before his fingers found the handle and were able to push it down. The door clicked, and he cautiously pushed it open, wincing when the metal creaked.

Dull light met his eyes, reflecting on the white snow on the ground beneath the van. He was outside. But was he free?

Once he was sure no one was in sight, he crept out, easing the door shut. There was a house to his left and woods to his right. The way to run was clear. He hoped there weren’t more barbed-wire-topped walls in his path.

He started walking, quickly breaking into a run until he was sure he was out of sight of the house. It also served to warm his body up before the cold could seep in. But he quickly grew tired and slowed back to a walk, looking for any sign of civilization: a town or a road where he could hitch a ride out of there.

The ground rose to a hill on his right, and he decided to climb it to get a better view before it grew fully dark. By the time he reached the top, he was breathing hard and, despite the exertion, the chill was spreading through his body. If only he didn’t have the metal bracelet on his ankle. He’d be able to shift to keep warm and cover far greater distances. As a human, he was hobbled.

He moved in a slow circle at the hill’s peak. There was nothing. No lights in the distance, no sounds of traffic, no smoke. The only sign of life he could see was back at the broker’s house. With the temperature falling and him dressed for a night curled by a fire rather than trudging through the snow, he knew there was only one option. He’d have to go back. Even a night in the back of that van was better than a night wandering out there in the cold.

It felt like giving up to take those first few steps back, but survival was the name of the game so he’d do what he had to. It was almost full dark by the time he found himself huddled behind a tree opposite the house. Keeping low to the ground, he started to cross the driveway toward it, keen to see if there was a way he might sneak inside. There was more than just warmth to consider, there was also food. He was still quite a distance from the house when a bright light flooded the area. He panicked, diving around to hide behind the van out of view of the house. His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he waited to see if the broker was alerted to his presence. He winced when he heard a door open, crouching down flat on the ground and sliding under the van. He heard footsteps crunching through the snow, but they didn’t come near him.

“Damn coyotes,” the broker muttered after a few seconds, the footsteps fading before the door slammed shut.

Gulping in a relieved breath, he slid out by the back door of the van, eased it open, and climbed inside. Scrambling around in the dark, he managed to find a blanket, curling up in a ball and wrapping it tightly around him. In the morning, he’d come up with a new plan.

 

His new plan, when he did eventually wake, boiled down to three simple aims: keep warm, find food, find a way out. The first two were a problem, seeing as he could find no easy way into the broker’s house despite circling it twice. The third was limited to getting out of there on his own two feet which, with snow still falling freely, was looking increasingly more difficult. He left the van, bringing the blanket with him, and found a crawl space under the house itself. It was a little warmer than the van thanks, he guessed, to heat from the house seeping downward. He curled up and fell asleep again, knowing that it wasn’t a good idea but having no better ideas right then.

The sound of another vehicle had him up and moving. A way out, maybe?

He crawled toward the front of the house and peeked out. Three shifters stood around a truck, surveying the house. Two of them went toward the door while the third walked away, circling around the side of the house.

He craned his neck to see their truck. Was it empty? It looked it. There was a tarp over the back. If he crawled under, he could hide there until they left again.

But before he could move, he heard voices, the broker’s and the strangers’. Despite himself, he moved closer, finding a vent where the sound was the loudest. Settling down on crossed legs, he listened. They were talking about alphas and omegas. Selling, buying. But not… in general. They were trying to track a sale. No, not a sale. Two separate sales. Twins. An alpha sold to a fighting school. An omega sold elsewhere. The details sounded oddly familiar, like he’d heard them somewhere before. He cottoned on to what they were looking for faster than the broker did, reading it not just in their words but in their tone. They were trying to find this omega, and whoever he was, they cared about him.

Realizing he’d lingered too long, and it sounded like their meeting was coming to a close, he crawled back out and searched for the other shifter. He was there, by the truck. Damn. There was no way Tristan could sneak onto the back with him standing right there. But, as if the alpha had heard his thoughts, he moved, walking around the side of the house again. Tristan took his chance and dashed out to the truck, clambering in under the tarp. There wasn’t much else in there, which was a shame as it would have been easier to hide from a casual glance if there had been. He’d just settled down as far to the front as he could when he realized he’d left the blanket behind. As much as he wanted to go and get it, he knew it was too big of a risk, confirmed a moment later when voices approached. The truck coughed into life a minute later and then they were off. He planned to jump out as soon as he knew they were somewhere more populated. Surely, they had to be heading toward a town or a city? But as he quickly succumbed to the cold, he forgot all that and let the rumble of the engine lure him to sleep.

He woke too late, the truck going silent. His body was stiff and aching from the cold. He could barely feel his fingers and his toes weren’t much better. Wiggling them to get some feeling back into them, he started inching his way toward the back of the truck. He was sleepy. It wasn’t a good sleepy but a dangerous one. If he didn’t get somewhere warm soon, the next time he drifted off, he might not wake up.

He blamed his tiredness for the fact that he didn’t notice the shifter until it was almost too late. He froze, hearing movement right outside where he was crouched. The tarp loosened on one side and then the other, and he knew he was seconds away from being exposed. Gathering every bit of energy he had left, he jumped and rolled out, hitting the ground only to launch himself into a run.

Arms like steel wrapped around him, stalling his escape. He fought: scratched, kicked, punched, even tried to bite. The alpha holding him acted like it was nothing, carrying him toward a towering house. Tristan didn’t want to go in there. He was afraid, if he went in, he’d never come out. The door loomed ahead of him, but he never saw them reach it.