I pivoted, digging my claws into the nape of his neck and his back. With a grunt, I used the wolf’s momentum to propel him headfirst into the wall. The entire building rumbled, chunks of brick fell like hail, and a crack the size of my wrist split the mortar above his head. He shuddered once and slumped, his head firmly fixed to the building.
I’d expected more of a fight. And so had his buddies. They exchanged shocked expressions and paused, trying to calculate their next move. I used their momentary confusion to race toward the wall. In a single bound, my hands grasped the ledge of the wall. Before I could throw my legs over, one of the wolves grabbed my ankle. I kicked with my free leg. Agonized howls blasted through the night. I made contact, yet he wouldn’t release his grip. He fell back and took me with him. We landed hard with me on top. My one-hundred-and-ten-pound frame wasn’t enough to knock the wind out of him, but my jabs to his gut were.
His friend, a redhead, hauled me off, yanking my arm painfully behind my back and dislocating it from my shoulder. I roared and raked my remaining stiletto down his shin, stomping it into his instep. My dominant right arm hung uselessly at my side, but my left connected straight up to his jaw, silencing his pained howls. The second he loosened his hold I shifted.
My body, clothing, and anyone I took along for the ride dissolved into minute particles, sliding through soil or concrete as easily as sand through a colander. The downside? I couldn’t breathe or see.
By luck I sprang up as the wolf twisted his back to me, his fists up, his head scanning the alley. I kicked him squarely across the knee. Bone crunched on impact and he fell with a sickening splat. My instep connected with the back of his skull before his buddy with the Mohawk tackled me to the ground. Taran’s shoe remained firmly nailed to his face, perhaps a disturbingly comical sight to some. Not to me. I roared when his weight sent jolts of agony into my shoulder like the rapid bullets from a gun. I shifted down and across the cement floor, my lungs out of breath, screaming for air.
Thank God I’d moved far enough. I resurfaced on my back and scrambled to my feet. Mohawk growled and swore, furious. My shifting had left him fused to the concrete from the elbows down. He kicked his legs uselessly.
“Stupid bitch!”
I kicked him in the face, snapping his jaw. “Watch your mouth.”
The redhead rebounded unexpectedly and swung at my face. I dropped my head to avoid him, but he managed to graze me. The force from his powerful blow sent me spinning. He came at me again and again, legs and arms swinging like a blizzard of windmills. I dodged and scooted, off balance from the shoe still attached to my foot, my ineffective arm, and the horrid ringing in my ears.
The redhead’s speed remained quick, but hasty. The moment I saw an opening, I spun and grated my back claws against his stomach. His bowels spilled like overdone spaghetti. I’d barely gasped at the sight when a more dangerous predator blindsided me at full velocity.
My back slammed against the wall and my eyes locked onto the fierce gaze of my opponent. “What are you?” asked the wolf with the smoldering brown eyes.
CHAPTER 8
Oh, my God.
The wolf pressed the weight of his powerful form against mine, his forearm glued to my chest. But the pure intensity of his presence was what held me in place. I didn’t dare shift, move, breathe. My mind froze, unable to concentrate on anything but him.
The fierceness of his eyes softened as a phenomenal heat surged across the length of his arm and into my body, electrifying my already racing pulse. I shuddered.
And so did he.
The wolf abruptly released me. I stumbled, off balance and undeniably freaked out. He reached to catch me, but I staggered away.
Blood and ash saturated his long-sleeved shirt, and a chunk of fabric hung loose over his bloody right thigh. I swallowed hard, awestruck as the damaged muscle knitted together and re-formed into new pink flesh.
I staggered back two more steps. He followed, palms out. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered.
His deep voice hummed with soft reassurance. I wanted to believe him, but his soaked shirt and the attack by his pack cautioned me against it. And yet despite all the danger and my growing trepidation, my tigress settled into a strange sense of calm.
“What are you doing?” Mohawk screamed. “Kill her!”
The wolf’s spine straightened as rigid as a steel pole. “Does she smell like a vampire?”
Mohawk stopped his snarls, but exhaled in short, angry spurts. “No.”
The wolf continued to watch me. “Then I will not harm her—and neither will you.”
I didn’t know why he felt obliged to defend me. He didn’t know me. Didn’t he see I could defend myself?