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

sp; “You…did th-this?” His words were thick and slurred, but the hate and fear in his eyes was enough. He knew he was dying and Hollis—and Ellen—had killed him.

Hollis’s wolf nodded. He wanted Cyrus to know. One way or another, he had killed the Others’ Alpha.

With an anguished cry, Cyrus pressed his hands to his throat. Body swaying, his chest expanded severely, then popped as his skin, muscle, and bone collapsed in on itself with a sickening wet crunch. He dropped to the ground, his pale eyes murky. The shift incomplete, Cyrus’s remains were grotesquely broken, twitching and heaving on the blacktop.

And then nothing.

The silence stretched until the fur on the back of his neck bristled. The Others’ wolves were breathing hard, panicked, ready to fight but hesitant to start something with an unknown outcome—and no one to lead them. They wouldn’t just be facing him now, the scent of Finn and his pack assured him he was no longer alone.

Ellen was struggling to sit up in the van, eager to fight but unable. A silver collar circled her long, slim neck, infuriating his wolf, keeping him ready and willing for whatever the rest of the pack might throw at them.

“We don’t have to fight.” Finn used his Alpha voice—commanding and strong. “Your Alpha is dead. Whatever you do now is your choice.”

The Others’ confusion was understandable. Their leader used fear and intimidation. How would they react when confronted by the people who Cyrus had convinced them were their enemies.

His death would divide them. Some would hold on to his teachings. Others would be open to change.

A lethal growl sounded before three wolves attacked, two more following.

Hollis answered the growl, planted his front paws, and bared his teeth. The two that followed broke off and turned back, hiding behind the protection of their pack.

The clash of teeth and claws was quick. His wolf wanted this, needed it, and offered no mercy. When it was over, they lay dead and he was bleeding from the snout and neck—but the overwhelming urge to kill was beginning to fade.

“Better?” Anders asked him.

Hollis snorted.

“What the hell happened to him? This is seriously fucked-up shit,” Mal whispered, staring down at what was Cyrus. “What the fuck did you do?”

“He sort of…exploded,” Dante added.

Anders grimaced down at Cyrus. “That was—is—the nastiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Hollis’s wolf stared at the pulpy mess. Only one thing mattered, and his wolf wasn’t going to wait any longer. Hollis might be angry, but his wolf was ready to move on. He pushed past the rest of the pack and climbed into the van. He bit through her ropes, groaning at the feel of her hands sinking into his fur. Nothing in his life came close to it. Being near her, having her touch him, was heaven. He stared down at Ellen, nudging her with his nose. But the tears streaming down her cheeks caught him off guard. Why was she crying? Now, when it was over and the danger was gone. He nuzzled her face and throat, drawing her scent deep. Her scent. His mate. She was the only one who could tame his wolf.

…

“Oh, Hollis,” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. He was beautiful and strong and safe. Watching him fight had been the most exciting moment of her life—and the most terrifying.

His wolf groaned, nudging her with his nose. It was a simple gesture, but it spoke volumes. Neither of them were good with words. But this, now, was enough. It was good, even when his satisfied groan shifted to a reprimanding growl.

She’d broken her promise. “I’m sorry,” she said, nodding. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t let them hurt you—”

He nudged her again, baring his teeth.

“I couldn’t stand by and let them hurt you.”

This time he snorted. His wolf would forgive her, he told her that. But Hollis the man was hurt. He believed she hadn’t trusted his wolf—that she’d fought because she feared he wasn’t able. And Cyrus’s insults and digs only made matters worse.

She cradled his face, searching his vibrant green gaze. There was so much to ask, say, and forgive. But there was time now. With Cyrus gone, they had so much time.

His wolf rubbed his head against hers, a long groan rumbling from deep within his chest. She wished she could shift. Her wolf longed to meet her mate, to touch him, smell him, and experience the bliss of his touch. Happiness bubbled up inside of her, tentative and fragile.

He’d shifted to save her.

“I love you,” she whispered against his ear. Her beautiful wolf, this beautiful man.

His groan turned into a soft growl, a warning of sorts.