Her Biker Wolf (Obsessed Mates 2)

I wait until I hear the sound of fabric, moving, tearing, and the crunch of bones and a groan as his body stretches out into its wolf form. Then Griff and I exchange a glance, and our animals burst out of us.

We attack, taking them by surprise. Despite their bravado, they’re slower to react. And the fight is bloody. We don’t mess around. Three against two, we’ve got to be fast. Jaws snapping, gnashing.

I hate that Maya has to see it. But there’s no other option. My beast’s razor-sharp teeth tear through Easton pack flesh, spraying blood, crunching bones, until the carcasses of three large werewolves are splayed across the floor of the cabin.

Griff looks at me. I tilt my head at the door.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Maya interprets for me. I’m not so keyed up that I don’t notice something new in her voice. She doesn’t sound scared. She sounds calm, powerful. I snatch up my clothes in my jaws and, to my amazement, Maya jumps onto my back and wraps her arms around my neck. As I dash to the exit of the territory, my heart swells at the sensation of having my mate on my back, connecting with my animal, her hands gripping the thick fur around my neck.

When we arrive at our bikes, we shift back. I know Maya wants to hug Demetrius, but she holds back and I admire her judgment. There’ll be time for all that later. Now, we’ve got to focus on getting away from here, before the rest of the pack figures out what’s happened.

“Get on,” Griff tells Demetrius curtly, slapping his hand down on his passenger seat.

Demetrius does as he’s told. He looks stunned, confused. Like he’s finally figuring out that his dream of retribution isn’t exactly going according to plan.

Maya jumps up fast behind me and wraps her arms tight around my waist. I’m longing to be alone with her, so I can check in with her. See how she’s handling the scene of carnage that she just witnessed. I know she’s used to werewolf ways, but there’s a seed of doubt in my mind that she won’t feel the same about me now.

No,she’s my mate, I remind myself as I start up my motorcycle’s powerful engine. Whatever doubts she might have, I’ll iron them out. Do whatever it takes to prove that I’ve always got her best interests at heart.

We ride hella fast,Griff and I both pushing our motorcycles to the max.

Before long, the Easton territory is just a cloud of dust.

I’m not heading for anywhere in particular. My priority was getting in and out of there with as little distress for Maya as possible.

Well, that part didn’t go exactly according to plan.

But at least we have Demetrius. That’s the main thing.

When we’ve been riding for forty-five minutes, I signal to Griff to pull over at the next gas station.

The moment Griff brings his bike to a stop, Demetrius leaps off the back.

“Why the hell did you do that?” he bawls.

The normally unflappable Griff looks stunned. “Do what? You mean, save your ass?”

“I was making progress. I’d convinced them to go after my father’s killers!”

Maya jumps off my bike and tears off her helmet. “You big dummy!” she yells at Demetrius. “You have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused?” She’s hopping mad. A tiny ball of fury, and it’s kind of awesome to see. Awesome in a way that connects directly with my cock. “They were about to kill you, not help you, you idiot.”

“No, they weren’t. We were tight.” Demetrius puffs his chest out, but a look of uncertainty crosses his face.

“Are you wondering how I know this?” Maya shouts. “Because you sure as hell should be!”

He frowns. “How did you find me?”

She jabs a finger at me. “Thanks to Forge, my mate.” And it’s hardly the most romantic moment, but I love the way she puts her claim on me like this.

“And his friend.” She points at Griff. “And some other guy I’ve never even met. They’ve been helping me track you down, so you don’t get yourself killed—”

Just then, there’s a roar of motorcycles behind us.

I turn to face them. “Fucking Eastons,” I mutter. “Guess they’re a lot smarter than I gave them credit for.”

And then my heart almost stops.

Because it’s not the Easton pack. It’s a bunch of bikers I know very well. Dismay rolls through me at the sight of my own pack’s colors.