Free Taken by H.M. McQueen

 
     
    Chapter One
     
     
    Isen Wolfe rode his motorcycle at break neck speed toward Sanctum, the nightclub where his pack would congregate.  His body tormented in pain, his jeans and t-shirt soaked in blood. It took all his concentration to keep the machine up driving along Ocean Boulevard. Plus the heat radiating off the bike’s big v-twin motor didn’t help the pain in his leg.
     One of the bastards had bitten through his jeans and into the thigh muscle.  Damn, it hurt like hell.  The others who rode alongside him also suffered from injuries sustained in a fight against the pack encroaching on their Devlin Beach territory.  The attackers, a group from Panama City, had a grudge and they came not only in kick ass mode, but strung out on some kind of strange drug, which seemed to make them impervious to pain.
    Yeah, he was a wolf, and right about now he wished for the freedom to shift form and hide somewhere dark until he healed.  The rumble of other bikes behind him as well as the black Jeep on his right made Isen feel a little more secure.  If he lost consciousness and wrecked the bike, at least his pack had his back.  That’s if they didn't run him over.
    He leaned into a sharp right turn and cut across Sanctum's parking lot, the tires sliding just a bit over the rough asphalt.  Dropping the kickstand and killing the motor he managed to stand and lift his leg over the bike.
     Dismounting hurt like a bitch, he steadied himself by holding onto the handlebars until he could clear the dizziness from he brain. After glancing at those around him he started walking toward the back door, knowing he probably looked as bad as he felt. The others following along behind him looked just as bad though. Anyone seeing them would probably mistake them for the cast from that TV show “The Walking Dead.” And they wouldn’t be the live members.
     Not in the mood to go with the rest of the wolves to the shower room, he made a beeline for the office spaces instead.  If he was going to be in pain, better to whine alone until his wounds began to heal.
     If they hurt like hell right now, the healing process would probably be even worse.  Damn those fuckers.  Next time he'd be ready and not hold back.  Fuck the code of not killing another wolf.  The pack from up north seemed to have missed that memo. They went straight for the throat every time.  It took all his fighting ability just to keep from losing his head.  Literally.
     In the pack leader's office, he poured a generous amount of twenty-year-old scotch into a glass and downed it, then refilled it before collapsing onto a chair. When the door opened, he didn't bother looking up.  Whoever it was better get what they came for and back the fuck out of the room.
    "Isen? You're not the kind who normally hides in a corner to lick your wounds." The damn woman stood over him and looked down without a lot of concern that he was bleeding like a stuck pig.  "Why don't you take a shower and wash all that off?"
     She swung her long pink tipped hair behind her shoulders and popped her gum.  Her pretty green eyes looking him up and down. "Taden's gonna be mad you're dripping blood all over his office."
    True. Taden, her brother and the pack leader, would probably blow a gasket at the puddle at his feet.  Isen sat in the center of the male's prized Persian rug at the moment. He frowned at the stain and the trail of blood leading into the office.
     She shrieked when he sprung to his feet and rushed at her. "Leave me the fuck alone, Baby, you're such a pain in the ass." With a loud growl, he grabbed her arm and pushed her out the door slamming it behind her.  
    "I'm going to tell Taden you..." He didn't hear the rest, didn't care at the moment.
     The fight against the Panama City pack had been a tough one.  In the last couple years it had become pretty peaceful among packs. The various groups stayed to their own territories and left one another alone.
     Yet even though the