by Everly Frost
A smile grows on his face. He has maintained a partial shift for longer than a minute now, showing his wolf’s strength while his physical strength is revealed in the hard muscles extending down his chest, stomach, and thighs.
My senses buzz with the oncoming threat, my feet moving through the grass and leaves, taking me toward the center of the clearing.
I am nothing more than entertainment to Cody Griffin.
My choices now are slim.
If I maim or kill him, his pack will come after me. If I reveal my wolf, every pack will come after me.
If I don’t fight back, I may as well choose to die.
I flip the axe over so that the back of it will act as a bludgeon, and then I slow my pace, allowing Cody to reach me.
He’s already swinging his fist, a blow that will knock me flat and subdue me.
I duck the hit, spin, and aim the iron at the back of his thigh as I stride past.
If I’d landed the blow, it would have knocked him to his knees while breaking his thigh bone, but his reflexes are rapid. He sidesteps and the axe flies wide. Its weight pulls me forward, but I was prepared in case I missed. I spin with the momentum, drop the axe head to the ground, and somersault over it and back to my feet.
I don’t have time to check Dawson’s response as he watches us, but I sense his confusion. I’ve never fought like this before, never shown any skill in combat. As far as he’s concerned, I’ve always been an easy target.
I let the axe handle slide through my palm so that I’m gripping the axe head at its base. This way, I can control its weight. I stride toward Cody at the same time.
Using the axe head like a fist, I aim it at Cody’s face, allowing the handle to slide smoothly out through my gloved palm. He dodges the hit, and I pull the handle back, flipping it in my hand and swinging it side to side and then forward as he darts left and right and jumps back to avoid the crushing blows aimed at his shoulders, ribs, and stomach.
If I landed the hits, the damage would be catastrophic. The axe head is heavy enough to shatter his bones.
To avoid me, his reflexes have to fire so fast that his expression reveals only his concentration. For a second, I’m satisfied to see that his smirk is long gone, but then his eyes brighten with every attempt I make. I catch a glimpse of his animal in the hungry smile that grows on his face.
He’s enjoying this even more than if I’d been easy prey.
I’m now a challenge to be conquered.
I spin to gain speed, letting the axe head slide through my palm as I extend my arm, and this time, he isn’t fast enough. The iron smacks his shoulder. He turns in time so that the impact doesn’t break his bones, but he roars with pain.
Dawson and Cameron take a step toward us, moving as if they’re going to get involved in our fight, but Cody is already retaliating. He throws himself down and forward—a reckless move—to tackle me around my thighs. Lifted off my feet, I raise the axe, preparing to smash it against his exposed spine, but I’m already falling.
He tips me over his back and onto my head.
I don’t have time to scream. I manage to turn my shoulder to take the brunt of the fall so I don’t break my neck or my wrist.
Get up!
My body takes too long to respond.
Cody’s booted foot crashes down onto my axe arm, nearly breaking my bone before I can roll to the side. I whimper when he drops his other knee onto my chest, a knock that makes me wince.
He wrenches the axe from my pinned hand while I thump at his knee with my fist.
“Get off me!” I shout.
My cry strangles short when he leans over me and rests the side of the axe head against my clavicle. It’s a casual move, but the handle is turned to the side and the blade is pointed at my throat, positioned a mere inch away.
I keep my axe sharp. It will take a single upward thrust to sever my neck.
Cody leans over me, his chest heaving from the exertion of avoiding my axe, his free hand pressing against my shoulder. His brown eyes are bright, somewhat expectant, as if he thinks I’ll find a way out of his hold. As if he’s looking forward to it.
A puzzled crease appears in his forehead and his smile fades when I remain frozen beneath him, my chest heaving, panic rising inside me because of the blade resting so close to my throat.
“Tessa Dean.” He sounds disappointed. His full lips purse. The light in his eyes fades a little. “Don’t stop fighting me.”
He leans lower. Slowly. Cautiously. Dropping his cheek to mine, he watches me with every inch he comes closer to touching my face with his, clearly expecting me to fight back at any second. Darting forward the final distance, he nudges the side of my neck with his lips. This close, he smells like a field of grass warmed in the sun, an alluring scent that shouldn’t belong to this asshole.
His breath is cool against my skin, a shivery puff of exhaled air.
Then I sense him inhale a deep breath, the air sucking into his chest.
My stomach sinks.
Damn.
I close my eyes, waiting for my unusual scent to register in his senses.
Cody’s teeth suddenly sharpen against the skin beneath my right ear. His hand clenches around my shoulder and his claws rake against my skin so sharply that I fight against the scream rising inside me.
“Your scent is…” His growl vibrates through my neck before he draws back, his eyes blazing into mine, his irises becoming even more animalistic.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
If I could count the number of times I’ve heard a shifter tell me that my scent is messed-up…
I smell like a wolf, but not like a wolf.
I have the scent of a human, but not like a human.
My father once explained to me that all shifters will find my scent unsettling and unnerving. It will make them avoid and shun me. But he also warned me that the strongest alphas will be able to distinguish the layers of my scent—the high and low notes. Only the most powerful alphas will be able to detect my true scent.
He told me I didn’t have to worry about that, though, because neither my half-brother, Dawson, nor our alpha, Peter Nash, are strong enough to detect my true scent.
But Cody… His reaction tells me I’m in trouble.
He presses the axe head so hard against my clavicle that I’m afraid my bones might snap.
“Tessa Dean.” His growl is rough, wild, and reckless. “I can’t decide if I want to fuck you or kill you.”
He darts forward and brushes his lips across my neck and jaw all the way to my mouth, where I gasp for breath. His chest expands as he inhales even more deeply, drawing my scent in through his lips.
His eyes meet mine and his pupils dilate so fully that his eyes appear completely black in the fading light. A shudder runs through his chest, fierce enough to make me tremble.
Rising up, he pitches the axe into the ground far from my reach.
As he moves, his weight lifts, and I see my chance to get free now that he’s abandoned the axe.
Shoving at his knee, I punch his thigh, followed by his shoulder, and aim a third rapid hit at his face, a boxing combination that I’ve practiced a thousand times—just not lying down. He jolts back and I make it halfway up before he shoves me against the ground again, putting his whole body weight behind his fists as they knock into my shoulders and his knee drops onto my chest again.
My head hits the ground, my chest squeezes, and my vision blurs as I gasp for breath.
His growl washes over me while I try to focus. “Don’t fight me now, Tessa,” he says. “Or I will hurt you.”
His claws catch my hair and rake across my left shoulder, ripping through my shirt from my collar to halfway down my sleeve.
His knee slides to the other side of me, releasing my chest. I inhale as deeply as I can. Now that he’s straddling me, I try again to fight my way free with my human strength, but a different power rises inside me.
The pain aching across the back of my head and the
sharp sting of the cuts on my shoulder are like a flame to a very short fuse inside me—a fuse that leads to my wolf.
I’ve heard shifters describe their wolves as energy inside themselves—a separate being with its own needs and wants. Its own personality. A creature that obeys pack law, that can bond with a true mate, and form connections with other wolves.
My wolf has none of that.
She has no soul. Obeys no laws. Has no mind of her own. She will never bond with a true mate.
Nobody had to tell me this. I’ve known it all my life, deep in my soul, as surely as knowing that my eyes are blue and my hair is the color of blood.
My wolf is pure energy.
Before now, I’ve pushed her away when I was threatened, smothered her with all my might to make sure she stays hidden. Only my father has seen her—seen me—when I shift.
But if I don’t use her energy now, I won’t escape Cody. I’m done with hiding her. Not when she’s strong enough to kill these assholes—even Cody—before he lays another finger on me.
I scream for the first time since the men arrived. Letting out my rage, my cry shrieks around the clearing, growing more fierce as I exhale the sound. My cry tugs at the air, becoming a high-pitched howl.
My vision turns electric blue as my wolf’s energy rises to the surface inside me, giving me strength without shifting. The clearing, Cody’s silhouette above me, and the trees in the distance—everything becomes brilliant sapphire. The clearing around me is suddenly lit in my vision like it’s made of cobalt fire.
My wolf’s energy changes my view of the world into heat and power signatures. Dawson and Cameron are pale, insignificant forces compared to the powerful life flowing through the distant trees—their ancient trunks and branches surviving centuries. Cody is bright and strong in my vision. Except that his power signature is made up of confusing swirls of cobalt and crimson, forces at war with each other.
I don’t have time to consider the meaning of what I’m seeing.
I need to fight him and escape.
Both Dawson and Cameron flinch as I continue to howl. They drop to the ground, clutching their ears, but my scream only makes Cody more frenzied, only makes the light of his silhouette grow stronger and sharper.
His pupils remain dilated. He continues to focus on my left shoulder and my exposed skin. His jaw shifts and his teeth sharpen to points. My eyes widen with shock when he grips my face with one hand and my shoulder with the other, a possessive move I’ve seen dominant wolves make with their mates.
He leans across my neck as if he’s going to nip me.
Holy damn.
He’s not trying to kill me or tear me apart.
He’s trying to mark me as his.
I shove Cody hard against his chest, my wolf’s strength flooding through me.
Nobody will ever own me.
The strength behind my push finally knocks him off me—so fast that he gains air. He lands with a heavy thud, blinking and shaking his head. He’s only down for a second before he leaps upright and charges back toward me.
I roll to my feet, growls growing in my throat, the sensation of energy filling my palms and chest. I retain my human form by choice right now, but my wolf’s power flows strong inside me.
Blood drips down my shoulder from the claw wounds he gave me, but the pain is a distant ache now that my wolf’s energy has taken over. My hair has come completely loose, falling all of the way to my waist, static making the strands cling to my shape.
Cody launches himself at me.
His right fist knocks into my shoulder, his left swinging toward my face, trying to force me down again, but I twist and absorb each blow.
I retaliate with a punch to his face that sends him sprawling on the grass. I could run, but I have to end this, knock each of the men out so I have a head start and a chance to get away. Already, I’m plotting my course down the other side of the mountain away from the main village.
My boot connects with Cody’s side—a hard kick against his ribs as he tries to roll away—before I stomp again, this time at his face.
My foot cracks across his cheek.
“You want to mark me, asshole?” I scream. “Take this and be damned.”
Right as I stomp my boot again, preparing to break Cody’s jaw, rough hands rip me away from him. I inhale Dawson’s musky scent a second before his fist knocks into the side of my face, but my wolf’s strength is like armor, preventing concussion.
I spin, drop, and sweep his feet out from under him.
Cameron throws himself at me from the other side, but my hand darts up, wrapping around his neck and squeezing as I use my upward momentum to hurl him backward, flinging him across the clearing. He hits the splitting block and slumps to the ground, unconscious.
I turn back to Dawson just in time to discover he’s picked up my axe. I dodge the downward cut he aims at my chest and dart to the side. Shoving both of my hands against his ribs, I knock him to the ground.
Kicking the axe out of his reach as he tries to catch his breath, I drop onto his chest, wrench off my gloves, and wrap my hands around his throat, squeezing tightly. He struggles to free himself, thrashing beneath me and thumping his fists against my sides and chest.
I take the blows without wincing.
I will be bruised. Badly. I’m not immune to damage right now. But my wolf’s energy protects me from the pain temporarily.
“How about I break your bones, little brother?” I ask, memories of the thousand times he’s hurt me rushing through my mind.
Dawson’s blue eyes grow wide. He struggles harder. His friends can’t help him now. Cameron is unconscious and Cody groans in the dirt a few paces away, clutching his bleeding face. If my scent was controlling his actions before, I’m sure his current pain has driven all thoughts of marking me from his mind.
Dawson’s fingernails extend into claws that rake at my clothing, shredding the side of my shirt as he tries to free himself from my grip around his neck. His vocal chords vibrate beneath my hands when he tries to shout, but I squeeze harder, cutting off his sound.
Strength flows through my arms, my vision flickering sapphire again as my wolf’s energy courses through me in a new burst. Battle rage is hot inside me, volcanic enough that I don’t think about what I’m doing.
“Tessa!” My father’s shout breaks through my rage. “No!”
My head shoots up.
I didn’t sense his approach—or the approach of the alphas.
My heart sinks as five men and a woman race from the forest into the clearing, followed by their betas. They pull up sharply at the edge of the forest. Every one of them is taller than the average shifter. The men are chiseled, their bare chests tattooed. The woman is dressed in a black leather bodice and tight ebony pants, her blond ponytail drawn high and tight.
The power pouring off them floods my heightened senses, washing across my vision. Despite their strength, none of them matches the cobalt flame of Cody’s form that remains bright even while he groans on the grass several paces away.
His focus remains on me despite the pain he must be in. A determined intensity fills his expression. His gaze unsettles me, but I can’t worry about him right now.
I have bigger problems.
I’ve never met any of the seven alphas other than Dawson’s father, Peter Nash, but there’s no doubt in my mind I’m looking at them now.
Except… where is the seventh?
The absent alpha isn’t my largest concern.
The other alphas won’t miss the fact that three alphas-in-training lie wounded or unconscious around the clearing. It’s not as if I can hide the fact that I’m squeezing my half-brother’s throat, or that I must be responsible for defeating all three of them—despite the fact that I’m supposed to be weak.
My father’s fear punches me like a fist as his gaze darts from me to the alphas. “Tessa!”
Dad launches into a sprint toward me, but Dawson’s father is faster. Peter Nash races across
from the side, cutting Dad off with a punch to his face, forcing my father to veer off course.
My father is strong, as big as any other alpha. His dark brown hair is shaved close to his head—the best haircut I could give him with clippers. The tattoo of his wolf looks outward from his shoulder and chest, one half of its face realistic, while the other half blazes with flames.
Forced aside by his alpha, my father retreats to the side of the clearing, the color bleaching from his cheeks.
He has no power here. He lost everything the day after I was born when Peter Nash accused him of weakness for not killing me at birth. On that day, Peter Nash fought and defeated my father, forcing Dad to retreat to the mountain with me. My mother chose to reject both of us and become Peter’s mate.
My father has spent every day since then trying to protect me from this moment.
Now, if he wants to stay alive, he must remain completely silent and not interfere.
“Nobody goes near that bitch!” Peter Nash roars, pointing at me. His brown hair is cut short, but not by necessity. Apparently, he prefers it that way. His neck and chest are thick, the muscles across his shoulders bulging. His biceps and thighs are just as solid. He always reminded me more of a bulldog than a wolf. The tattoo across his left shoulder depicts the skull of a wolf’s snarling head, a promise of death to anyone who dares to challenge him. He has worked hard to try to build a reputation as ruthless as Tristan Masters and Baxter Griffin.
Compared to him, I’m like a blade of grass trying to stand in a storm.
He could cave in my skull with a single hit.
I jump to my feet, releasing Dawson, who rolls to the side with a groan. His voice is raspy, his vocal chords damaged, but he manages to laugh, a scratchy sound as he wobbles to his feet. “You’re maggot food now, Tessa.”
Two of the betas break off from the edge of the clearing, running to Cameron and Cody and dragging them away. Cody struggles against them, his gaze darting from Peter Nash to me. Whatever concussion I gave Cody, it appears to be clearing.
