Protecting the Wolf's Mate (Blood Moon Brotherhood 3)

“Ellen,” Hollis pleaded. If she’d look at him, she’d understand. “Ellen, dammit, don’t.”

But she wouldn’t look at him. No matter how hard he stared at her—no matter how much his wolf pleaded with hers.

“I give you my word,” Cyrus said, holding his hand out to her.

Ellen’s gaze fell to the ground, searching the blood and carnage for something. His gaze followed hers, hunting until he understood. The vials. Two empty vials. As much as he wanted to believe they’d have an effect on Cyrus, he wasn’t willing to risk her life on it. Or the life of his child. “Her mother?” There was resignation in her voice and it turned Hollis’s stomach.

“I prefer my dinner young and tender, but waste not, want not.” Cyrus glanced at Kim. “She’d be tastier. A snack, but filling.”

Ellen glanced at Kim’s form, crumpled in the corner. “Put the blade away, Cyrus.”

Hollis watched as the fight drained from Ellen. He knew, deep down, she’d already made her decision. And his wolf was mad as hell.

“I’ll go with you,” she mumbled.

Cyrus nodded, tucking the blade back into his jacket with practiced skill. He moved quickly and tugged the small blade from Hollis’s hand. The slide of metal on his bone set his teeth on edge, but he kept quiet.

“Shall we?” Cyrus asked, gesturing toward the warehouse door. He pressed a button, the large metal garage door sliding up and revealing the empty loading docks outside. Beyond that were three unmarked white vans waiting.

She was leaving. Walking away. But when she looked back at him, he saw only trust. Her wolf. She knew what he was capable of—and trusted him to do it.

Cyrus’s hand rested on Ellen’s back, his voice low. “You understand you will be punished, Ellen. You know that. And this child of yours? Belongs to me.”

A sort of bloodlust descended on his wolf. His vision burned red. Cyrus’s words echoed in his ears until his skull was bursting. His skin was hot and tight, lancing with a relentless and blinding pain. Hollis understood how pain worked. Specialized sensory receptors detected unpleasant stimuli, transforming the stimuli into electrical signals, and passing them to the central nervous system. It was a chemical process all living things experienced. To free his wolf, pain was necessary. And welcome.

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

The roll and twist of muscle made him freeze. Bones moved. Each click and snap more pronounced than the last. A surge of strength crashed into him. The tape couldn’t hold him, the chair he was tied to shattered beneath him. His spine and hips realigned, pushing him forward onto his hands and knees. And still, the pain was welcomed.

Kim’s scream was faint, a distant echo.

His heart was thumping, the liquid squish of his lungs growing heavy and full. His chest collapsed in on itself before swelling forward and expanding. Skin split, the tearing searing sensation raw—but bearable. Fingers and toes broke and came together. Hands and feet twisted, long claws slicing through the newly layered muscle and fur.

His heart thumped on. Out of rhythm and irregular. Squeezing.

His jaw dislocated, the grate of bone-on-bone as the hinge joint ground into place. His nose, already broken, lengthened—allowing scents to sharpen. Sounds echoed, reverberated, the hum of the c

omputer, and Kim’s panicked crying.

When he opened his eyes, his world was forever changed. Minute details magnified instantly, providing added depth and perception. Breathing was easier. The wounds Cyrus and the Others had caused were gone. But his heart shuddered to a near stop, leaving him dizzy and disoriented.

His wolf refused to be stopped. Whether or not Ellen agreed with him, their child needed protection. Nothing would stop him. He was a wolf and it was time he started acting like it. He gritted his teeth as his heart pumped, torqued hard, and stilled for one long second. It began again, beating strong and steady for the first time in his life. And the power of it rolled over him.

“Dr. Robbins?” Kim asked.

His wolf was in charge now. And he wanted blood. A long, low howl split from his throat—calling out a challenge—as he ran out the open door. The first white van came to a screeching halt, the door slid open, and Cyrus climbed down—smiling ear to ear.

Hollis’s wolf didn’t hesitate, he charged. He didn’t care about the vans, the Others shifting for a fight, or how outnumbered he might be. It didn’t matter. Where was she? As long as she was safe, as long as she was alive… His gaze swept the parking lot, scenting the air, until he found her.

The doors to a van was opened. She lay on the floor, her hands and feet tied, and her mouth gagged, her nose bleeding and her eyes closed, a silver collar around her neck. It was all the motivation he needed. His wolf said they could do it. If she believed him, he wasn’t about to argue. His wolf would lead, he would follow.

They both agreed—no one would take her from them.

Cyrus shrugged out of his jacket and shirt, waiting. He held his blade in his hand, braced and ready. No shifting. No fear. Only anticipation.

Big mistake.

The door stayed open, giving his wolf all the incentive he needed.