Heartsong (Green Creek 3)

I punched the ground in fury, my muscles rippling under my skin as I fought against the magic that held the wolf at bay.

The wolves stepped closer.

From above, the witch appeared, looking down at us. “Chris,” he snapped, “Tanner. Carter. Pulling him out of his shift won’t last. Don’t hurt him. You hear me, whatever you do, don’t—”

They were distracted.

I lunged for the Omega wolf, as it was closest. The other two wolves yelped and stumbled back, tripping over each other and falling to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

I feinted left as they started to recover. The gray wolf fell for it, and I went right.

I took off, running as fast as I could, crossing under the bridge.

I didn’t make it far before the Alphas crashed down in front of me, muscles coiling.

I skidded in the ground, rocks tearing at the soles of my feet.

They took a step toward me.

I took an answering step back, only to hear a low growl behind me. I looked over my shoulder. The other wolves had recovered and were coming toward me, slowly and deliberately, like they were hunting.

“Fucking werewolves,” the witch said as he and the brown wolf slid down the hill next to the bridge. “And we just had to do this so near a full moon. Because of course we did. Hey, let’s just make things as difficult as poss—Mark, if you don’t stop pushing me, I will end you.”

The brown wolf huffed in annoyance as they came to stand next to the Alphas.

“Robbie.”

I whirled around.

The man from the bridge pushed his way between the wolves.

Kelly.

The gray Omega tried to stop him, but he pushed its head away, gaze never leaving me, as if he thought I would disappear right in front of him.

I was surrounded.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Kelly said. “I swear it.”

“You’re Bennetts,” I bit out, trying to force my shift. My skin rippled, but I couldn’t burst through. “You’re the enemy. You want to kill my Alpha.”

He looked stricken. “No. That’s not—”

But oh. He lied. His heart tripped the smallest amount, the barest of stutters.

His eyes widened. “Not like—Robbie. It’s not like that. You have to believe me. You’ve been lied to. They did something to you. Something to your memory. You know me. You know me.” And he stretched the collar of his shirt away from his neck. The shirt with my name on it.

There, at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, was a scar.

The perfect formation of a bite.

And he said, “You’re my mate.”

It was like a punch to the stomach. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t focus. “No. No. No. You’re not. You’re not.” I bit through my lip, blood filling my mouth. “I don’t have a mate. I would know if I—”

“Would you hear me, dear?”

The ocean parted.