Or maybe she just didn’t want to kill the coyotes. He didn’t have that problem, and dispatched at least two of them before the rest finally took him seriously. They managed to bite his legs and nearly broke his arm, but he shook them off and charged toward the witch. He didn’t know who the hell she was or what she wanted in that part of the city, though he wouldn’t get a chance to find out if the coyotes killed her first. And he wasn’t about to let shifters kill a young woman when he could do something about it, even if she wasn’t technically his to protect.
She screamed and kicked at one of the animals that got too close, whatever magic she had forgotten in favor of swinging a massive bag around to beat them back. Henry growled and charged, determined to get her to safety so he could figure out what kind of a threat she actually was, and shouldered aside one of the large coyotes to lean against the girl’s legs. She staggered and almost fell, and as she lost her balance, her hand brushed his side and sent fishhooks of magic right through him.
It felt like she tried to pull his guts out through his skin. Henry howled and backed away, baring his teeth, as the girl’s wide eyes found him. She started to speak but the coyotes took his distraction as an opportunity, and leapt.
Chapter 3
Ophelia
My stomach dropped and turned over when the good-looking man who’d appeared out of the shadows turned himself inside out and ended up as a wolf. I nearly tossed my cookies right there in the street on top of the coyotes, which would have served them right, but then there wasn’t time to think about anything. The dogs and coyotes started nipping at me and trying to drive me away from where the wolf started tearing them all apart. The scent of blood made the bile rise in my throat until my whole mouth tasted bitter, and I struggled to control a wild surge of magic.
I didn’t like uncontrolled magic. I liked order and neatness, and evenly woven spells. Delicate patterns and predictable connections. Like weaving and knitting and crochet. But as panic consumed me... all of that disappeared. The urge to survive, to fight until there was nothing left, replaced that need for order, and I lashed out at the coyotes with all of my might.
Everything blurred into chaos and darkness and pain as the sharp teeth of the animals found my legs and even my arms and wrists a few times when I wasn’t careful. Magic kept them at bay for only so long. Then I turned and the enormous timber wolf—his shoulder easily as high as my hip—was beside me. I braced myself to die, since there was no way I could have fought him off, and marshaled what remained of that wild magic as a defense, just in case.
It ended up discharging off against the wolf, and he gave me a look like I’d somehow betrayed him. The very human expression on a lupine face threw me off-balance, and I stared at him without moving. What the hell was going on? Had I lost my mind? Humans didn’t turn into animals. Even with magic in the world, werewolves didn’t really exist. It had to be a glamour or some other spell.
Tears blurred my vision and I stomped my foot, magic rolling out in a tidal wave that knocked everyone else down. I wasn’t too proud to run, since I’d just about expended all of my magic, and bolted. One or two coyotes chased after me half-heartedly but gave up after about a block. I tried not to look a gift horse in the mouth and didn’t look back. No doubt I’d used enough magic that Rocko could find me easily.
I held my side with one hand and kept my bag secure with the other, panting for breath as the street numbers finally grew closer to the shelter’s address. It was so late I thought the place would be closed, but when I finally careened up to the entrance, a young woman stood up from behind a desk and walked around to unlock the door and let me in.
I practically fell in on top of her, collapsing on the floor, and panted, “Thank you.”
“Are you being chased?” she asked. “Do I need to call the police?”
“Maybe animal control,” I wheezed, but I tried to smile to