Gone with the Wolf - By Kristin Miller Page 0,70

during the shift, he was liable to bleed out.

Emelia moaned breathlessly, dragging Drake’s attention to the stage. Her icy blue eyes gripped him, reached through space between them, and struck him like a bolt of lightning.

He had to win this fight. For Emelia. For both of them.

Silas attacked, charging with newfound strength. Drake bounded aside, but he’d lost too much blood. His reactions were slowed, his instincts muddled. Silas slammed into him, knocking Drake to the ground. Drake refused to be on his back, so he scrambled. Kicked. Rolled onto his feet. Silas used Drake’s own move against him, pinning Drake beneath him with his hind legs.

Defending himself, fighting with every last ounce of strength in his body, Drake snapped as Silas lowered himself over him.

…

Emelia couldn’t watch, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Mere seconds ago, Drake had the upper hand in the fight against his psychotic brother, but things had soured so quickly. He’d been bitten, though Emelia felt the pain as if she was the one who’d had Silas’s fangs thrashing in her neck. Drake had lost so much blood, but Emelia felt the effects. She was woozy, her head light, her heart thumping in a hot, wild rush.

Silas rammed Drake to the ground and pinned him. Emelia felt the pain of the bites stinging through her body. Could taste the metallic flavor of Drake’s blood as if it was on her tongue.

She could sense Drake’s strength waning.

As Silas took a second and third bite out of Drake’s neck, Emelia felt a surge of strength unlike anything she’d felt before. Her blood flushed differently through her veins. Her vision cleared to the point she could see air particles floating through the room and dust bunnies settling on the tables.

It wasn’t the physical changes that had Emelia bursting through the ropes on her wrists and ankles. It was the pure, fiery flood of wrath coursing through her.

Time slowed to an impossible halt.

Anger seeped from her pores. Skin shrank over her bones. Her teeth ached, elongated, stretching her gums and brushing against her lips. Her muscles and tendons tightened into knots, shaking and trembling from the sheer force of her transformation. Clothes shed from Emelia’s body as her back arched, and she dropped to all fours. Sleek, white fur flattened across her skin, and her gaze sharpened on Silas.

Hearing her approach, Silas stopped his assault on Drake and craned his neck around to meet her gaze. She was hurting where Drake hurt, feeling more powerful than ever, and hungry for blood.

Instead of attacking her, as Emelia expected, Silas backed away. She continued to stalk forward as he retreated, the excitement of the hunt fueling her on. She wanted him to run so she could follow. She wanted to taunt him, challenge him to get away from her. She felt unusually cocky—odd considering she hadn’t tested out her wolf body yet.

Then Silas went and did the unthinkable. He lowered his muzzle to the floor in a mock bow.

What the hell?

Disappointed she wouldn’t get the chase she craved, Emelia stopped over Drake’s slumped body, her breath coming out in hard pants. Although Drake wasn’t moving, he was alive; she could sense his heartbeat as if it were her own. How long he’d be alive was another question entirely. He’d already lost a lot of blood.

Get up, Drake.

Emelia eyed Silas carefully. His inky black fur and his dark, soulless eyes. Could he understand her if she told him to get the hell out of her bar and never return?

A growl tickled Emelia’s belly, reverberated through her chest and escaped out her lips.

Silas raised his snout off the floor, stared deep into Emelia’s eyes, and lunged for her throat. In a single, adrenaline-sparked move, Emelia clawed at Silas’s jaw, sending him careering to the floor. His massive body slid along the hardwood and knocked into the wall. He hit so hard, the dartboard above his head rattled and shook, dislodged from its hook and toppled onto his head.

Confused, Emelia stared at the damage she’d created from a single swipe of her paw. Silas was bloody. Staring at her in shock and covered in darts and a busted board. Where Silas had hit the wall, there was an enormous hole.

She was strong. More powerful than she could’ve imagined.

Giving a solid shake, Silas clambered to his feet, the hair on the back of his neck rising into in a spiny black mohawk.

Don’t die on me, Drake. I need you.

As if her silent plea awoke something