Rescued by the Wolf (Blood Moon Brotherhood 2)

Mal hesitated. He couldn’t let the wolf go. The Others were uncertain how many were in Finn’s pack, and that’s the way they wanted to keep it. That might have changed since he’d left, but he wasn’t going to risk it. Add Olivia’s presence, healthy and alive, and they’d know he’d turned her.

“Mal?” she whispered.

“Stay here,” he said, knowing the helicopter was overhead. “Dante is here. Sad eyes, floppy hair. Go with him.”

“No, Mal—”

“Go with him,” he snapped. She didn’t understand, not really—not yet. But she would. The bastard couldn’t get away.

She released him.

He shrugged off his coat, the shift already running over his flesh and stretching his muscles. It wasn’t easy, he was agitated—worrying about Olivia, worrying about not getting the wolf before it ran. He fell forward, grunting against the snap of bone, the shift of vertebrae and joints. Claws tore through knuckles. Flesh gave way to fur. His heart picked up, his breath pulling the rival wolf’s scent deep into his lungs. His ears cocked forward, tuning in to his adversary.

The hunter had become the hunted. And Mal’s prey was braced for a fight.

...

Olivia wanted to throw up. Watching Mal tear apart was mesmerizing and terrifying. Hearing each snap and pop, the wet rip of skin and scent of blood—this was Mal. Her Mal. His beautiful body split wide to leave something different. She wanted to block out the sounds and un-see what had just happened. But she couldn’t. Even the spinning blades of the helicopter and the whir of the engine didn’t drown out the sounds of his shift.

Mal was gone. And breathing, thinking, moving, was impossible.

When hands gripped her shoulders, she jumped, screamed, and shrugged away from the touch.

Mal—the wolf—stared back at her, the thick black fur of his neck bristling. She stepped back, unable to stop herself. This was Mal. This was Mal. Mal was a big, scary black wolf growling at her. No, not at her. The man behind her. She looked—a man in a harness, holding a rope. From the helicopter.

“I’ve got her,” the man said, nodding at Mal.

Mal snorted and tore across the snow, leaving her behind.

“Dante,” he said, extending his hand.

She stared at his hand, his face, and stepped back. “Sad eyes,” she muttered, glancing at him. “Dante?”

The man nodded, studying her. “You are?”

She stared after Mal, her heart throbbing. He couldn’t leave her. She was supposed to be with him, at his side—no matter what he was facing. The urge to follow him was powerful, pulling her forward.

But Mal’s command echoed in her ears. “Go with him.”

Where the tears came from, she didn’t know. Incredible sorrow and pain engulfed her. He’d left her. Left a hole right through the middle of her. He wasn’t supposed to leave her—not ever.

The hand returned to her shoulder. She didn’t like it, didn’t want anyone to touch her.

“He’ll be back,” Dante said. “Trust me.”

She nodded, fighting the urge to go and the hold Mal’s words had placed on her.

“Your name?” he asked again.

“Olivia Chase.” She sounded…angry. Because she felt angry. At Mal.

“Let’s get you into the helicopter,” Dante said.

She glared at him. “No.”

“Mal said to go with me, Miss Chase,” Dante reminded her.

Her eyes burned violently. He had told her to go. She sniffed. “Fine.”