Wolf Captive

My head pounded so hard that my eyes watered from the pain. Lying flat on my back, my body jostled, and even without opening my eyes, I sensed I was moving. Fast. In a car maybe? But the softness underneath me felt more like a bed than a seat.
“Slow down. You’re going to miss it.”
The harsh female voice drifted in through the cracks in my awareness. Unfamiliar. And with an edge I didn’t like.
With another bump, my body was thrown hard to the right. Hands wrapped around my arms and legs to steady me.
Someone groaned, and it took me a long moment to realize the sound came from my own mouth. But the noise only made the headache worse, so I choked back the rest of it and tried very hard to remain perfectly still. Anything to help calm the drum beat going on inside my skull. Could you die from a headache? Because that’s exactly what this—
“She’s coming to,” said an unfamiliar voice.
This one male.
Not cruel, exactly, but definitely not concerned.
I’m not sure how I knew that, but something inside me—some instinct—recognized he wasn’t my friend.
A growl escaped me, and before I knew it, my wolf was rising to the surface, pressing against my skin like it was a cage to escape. If it would help me get rid of this damned migraine, I was more than willing to let her out.
“She’s going to shift,” the male said. Urgent now. Worried.
I already didn’t like him.
My wolf wanted to shut him up. For good.
I cracked my eyes open, squinting against the single overhead light that sent sharp lances of pain through my skull. Rubbing my hands down my hips and thighs brought small relief. My clothes were still on, though that fact didn’t mean their intentions were pure. We were in a van. Or maybe a bus? It was small but large enough to fit me on a stretcher inside.
What the hell was happening to me?
My memory felt just out of reach.
I blinked.
A man loomed over me, frowning in earnest as another figure moved in close beside him.
A woman.
Harsh features. Worn. Like she hadn’t aged well.
Something about her eyes felt familiar, but it was there and gone so fast before my headache eclipsed everything else.
She held a syringe up, and I immediately bucked against whatever she intended to do with it. But leather straps held my arms and legs firmly in place. Another had been fastened across my torso just over my ribs. I couldn’t sit up, and I couldn’t get away.
“No,” I gasped. “Don’t.”
“Hurry up,” the man insisted.
The woman complied. My skin pricked as the needle slid into the crook of my arm.
I hissed then snarled at them both, my human teeth bared as my wolf imagined their blood coating her mouth.
Enemies, she screamed inside my mind.
But then my veins turn cold with whatever the needle contained, and the headache receded—right along with my grip on reality.