Broods Of Fenrir - By Coral Moore Page 0,1

shift back before he decides he should kill you while you pose no threat.” Brand realized why they were concerned. No other among the Broods of Fenrir could shift at the new moon, and he had done it his first time. Even his powerful sire had a difficult time shifting past the half moon. Individuals who surpassed his sire in any way soon found themselves bleeding out on the frozen ground.

With no idea what he looked for, he searched for a switch he knew must be inside him. A few seconds later, frustrated with the effort of fruitless probing, he grumbled.

His mother rubbed his side and spoke in a soft voice.

“You have to relax. You"re trying too hard.” 3

Ingrid snorted. “You"re coddling him, Kolla.” She knelt next to him and grabbed the ruff of fur behind his neck. Her eyes glowed like molten silver. “Breathe in as deep as you can.

Where you feel tightness, push.”

He inhaled, pulling the winterberry and earthy scent of Ingrid all the way into his chest. At once, he understood what she meant, and pushed at the odd tension under his breastbone.

He convulsed as pain once again lanced through his body.

The second transformation took less than half the time.

Afterward, he lay on the ground exhausted and shivering. The pain had been much less, but still enough to make him wish he"d left the wolf in control a while longer.

His mother covered him with the clothing that had slid off when he shifted to wolf form. She rested a hand on his forehead. “He tried to kill you.”

He closed his eyes. “I couldn"t let him hurt you again.” His parched throat hurt when he spoke.

She smoothed his hair away from his face. “You mustn"t intercede again. Next time, he won"t hold back. Killing a newly transitioned wolf would be seen as an act of weakness.

That is what stayed his hand.”

He opened his eyes and looked up at her. The concern on her face made his stomach clench. “I"ll do what I can to protect you, no matter the danger.”

“You"re a stupid, arrogant fool,” Ingrid said in a harsh whisper as she stood. “One day you"ll be a match for him, but not today.”

“I don"t care. I will no longer stand by and watch him brutalize every female in this brood. It"s barbaric.” Anger shook his voice.

Ingrid turned her attention to his mother, a frown drawing her face tight. “Take him somewhere out of sight and talk some sense into him. I"ll see that Geir gets enough mead to keep him from reconsidering his decision, at least for tonight.” After Ingrid walked away toward the center of the village, his mother helped him to his feet. She groaned under 4

his weight. “I think you"ve gained weight since you transformed.”

Looking over himself, he thought she might be right.

His chest seemed thicker, as if his muscles had rearranged themselves into a bulkier alignment. “Is that normal?” She patted his arm. “I"ve never seen it happen so fast, but your first transformation marks your turn into adulthood.

You"ll get bigger and stronger than you ever imagined.” Her smile warmed him.

Strong enough to protect her, he hoped. Strong enough to defeat his sire and make sure he couldn"t hurt anyone again.

A high-pitched scream rent the cold night air. His mother shuddered and drew her shawl closer.

Brand turned, pulling away from her.

Ingrid struggled in the grip of one male while shrieking curses at another who writhed on the ground at her feet. She kicked at him, connecting once with his head as he dragged himself out of her reach. Blood streamed from her neck where he"d bitten her, coating her bared breasts.

His sire strode toward her across the path in front of his longhouse, his face a harsh mask of annoyance. Ingrid shifted her stream of profanity to him. Irritation gave way to wrath as he lifted one hand to her jaw, shutting her mouth so all that emerged were muffled grunts. He spoke too softly for Brand to overhear, but when he was done, Ingrid"s eyes were wide with fear.

Geir pulled a knife from his belt and drove it into her right shoulder. His hand stifled her scream. The stab was obviously calculated to wound and weaken, not kill. Geir had used that move before to subdue her for the worst of his brutality.

Unable to bear the thought of what his sire would do to Ingrid, Brand headed toward them. His mother"s hand on his elbow stopped him.

She pitched her voice low, and