Alpha Knight (Wolf Ridge High 2)

Of course, they don’t want to get caught by the cops, either.

I just have a feeling Sloane’s going to get screwed on this deal.

I leave my motorcycle behind a concrete hut of some kind. I can’t tell what this place used to be. Then I walk around and get in the passenger side of Sloane’s car.

“You have a gun?”

She jerks like I shot her. “Fuck, no. You think we need one?”

I shrug. It’s not like I know how to use one, anyway. But it might be good to wave around and threaten assholes with. But seeing her anxiety ramp up, I wish I hadn’t said it. “Nah, I think we’re fine. I could probably take three guys, maybe four.”

I’m speaking realistically, but Sloane frowns. “You couldn’t take the three guys at the dance.”

Right. Shit.

Because I’m trying to calm her, not freak her out more, I opt for the truth. “Honestly, Legs? I was holding back. My coach would’ve killed me if I got in trouble for fighting at another school’s dance. I mean seriously kicked my ass down the field and back.”

She stares at me. I hear the thud of her heart, and I wonder if I said too much. If she realizes there’s something different about me.

“So that’s why you were smiling,” she says incredulously. “You really didn’t care at all about getting hit.”

I catch her arm, my sensitive hearing picking up the sound of car tires on gravel. “They’re coming.”

We both climb out of the corvette. I shake out my limbs, like I’m getting ready for a big game.

Or a fight.

Three guys climb out of a white Cadillac Escalade, and I swear to fate, I smell menace on them. They circle the Corvette, admiring her.

As they should.

“Which one of you is Jorge?” Sloane asks. The girl is a pro at not allowing her fear to bleed through her tone or body language. She doesn’t look like a high school student who is way out of her depths.

She’s a badass criminal, who looks hot as hell while she’s breaking laws and skulls.

“I am.” Jorge has the driver side door open and is looking in at the ignition. “Where are the keys?”

“You’ll get the keys when I get the money.”

He shakes his head. “No can do. I need to make sure she runs.”

“She runs. Are we making a deal or not?”

Jorge strolls over to Sloane, casual-like, but I don’t trust him for a minute. I step closer, looming behind her, my arms folded across my chest like a personal bodyguard.

I’m watching his hands. They are casual, by his sides. “The keys, bitch. Give them to me. Now.”

His fingers curl, but I’m too late to stop it. He punches her in the gut.

My fist connects with his temple, and he goes down hard.

He comes up with a gun pointed in the center of my chest.

“No!” Sloane screams and the crazy girl tries to jump in front of me.

I shove her—way too hard because I’m already shifting. The sound of her body hitting the pavement makes me snarl in fury. One bullet hits my side.

My teeth snap. Another bullet catches my hip. My clothes rip, and I’m on the shooter in a single leap. The gun gets knocked away, but I miss his throat, biting a chunk of his shoulder instead. His arms come up in protection, and we wrestle, me trying to finish the fucker.

There are shouts behind me. Sloane screams No! at the top of her lungs.

I whirl to see one of the guys bending over her, and I leave my prey, growling and snarling, ready to pounce.

I’m too late, though. The guy leaps through the open door of the Corvette and starts it up. He’s driving it away before the door’s even shut.

The Escalade peels out, too, stopping to drag the guy I mauled into the vehicle.

And then they’re both gone.

They’re gone, and Sloane’s retching on the pavement.

And she just saw my wolf.

Fuck.

Sloane

Bo is a wolf. As fucked up and crazy as that sounds, I can’t be wrong. The clothes he was wearing are tangled around the giant wolf’s body. And there’s no mistaking his father’s dog tag hanging from the chain around its neck.

Even knowing it’s Bo, I crabwalk backward on the pavement when it comes near me.

It’s scary as hell—way bigger than a normal wolf, it’s teeth dripping with blood, silver eyes narrowed with fury. It’s fur is silver, too, only bloodstained from the gunshot wounds.

There’s a blur of motion, a crunch and cracking of bones, and then Bo’s crouching over me, his ripped clothes hanging off him.

“Fuck, Sloane,” he curses. His eyes still glow silver with rage. He scoops me into his arms and runs for the bike. He sits me on the seat, then opens the saddlebag and produces a pair of jeans. I guess when you can spontaneously turn into a wolf, you have to keep extra pants around for moments like these.