Sunglasses at Night (Claws Clause 3)

You didn’t have to be a witch to work certain types of magic. It was like how witches sold wards that came with timers coded to their human owners. With the right touch and the right word, a magic-free slayer like Tabby could pull off some magic of her own.

The dime-sized charm expanded in seconds, growing into a silver collar that would trap any shifter. She hid it against her side, shouting nonsense words at the wolf, trying to anger it and distract it and maneuver it right where she wanted it.

It didn’t work right away. The wolf kept charging her, getting closer and closer as she missed its snapping jaws time and time again. Tabby hit the ground hard, but she always got back up. Adrenaline pushed her through most of the scuffle, keeping her alert until she could turn the fight around in her favor—

There.

Finally. It seemed like forever—it seemed like no time at all—before Tabby managed to get behind it. Barrelling at the back of the wolf, avoiding its whipping tail, she launched her

body at its hindquarters. Gripping the coarse fur by the handful, the wolf tried to buck her off but she stayed seated. She shimmied up as far as she could go, said a prayer that she could pull this off before it realized what she was doing, and yanked the collar past its muzzle, over its wolfish head.

The second it reached its throat, the collar tightened.

Yes!

When it came to shifters, the collar worked immediately. As soon as she collared him, the big wolf’s body bucked, transforming from animal to man in a blink of an eye. It took everything Tabby had to hold onto him, squeezing her legs around his side as the back of the wolf became the smooth expanse of a naked male’s torso.

His knees buckled. With her added weight, it threw his center of gravity off, forcing him to the ground. Tabby tumbled with him. As soon as they hit the ground—and she realized she was straddling the guy’s bare ass—she rolled off of him, drawing Venice from her sheath before she was back on her feet.

The male shifter lifted his head, shock splayed across his narrow, thin face. Shock, she realized, and pain.

“Are you going to try that shit again?” she said softly once his dazed golden eyes found her face. “Because I wouldn’t suggest it.”

His eyes dipped to the point of her dagger. Then, to her surprise, he pulled himself up so that he was on his knees.

Tabby purposely kept her eyes on his face since checking out the junk on the shifter who tried to gut her made her stomach twist—and not in a good way. Shifters might be extremely comfortable with nudity, and Tabby was definitely no prude, but she still had some moral standards.

Besides, she wasn’t really worried about him attacking her again. Thanks to the collar, she took away any and all of his weapons. No wolf meant no fangs and no claws. Tabby had Venice. He could try to knock her down, but she was confident she could take him, even if her body felt like she’d just finished a tumble cycle inside of a beat-up, old washing machine.

She won the fight the second she got the collar on him and they both knew it.

Now if only she could figure out why they’d had to have the fight in the first place…

“Can you talk? Do you understand me?”

He jerked his head.

Tabby wasn’t sure if that was an answer or if he was just trying to shake the collar loose.

She decided to go with the first option. “What’s your name?”

“Ronald,” he spit out. His face scrunched up, like it really did hurt him to tell her. “Bowers.”

“Ronald Bowers.” She committed that to memory, just in case. “Okay. You listen to me, Ron. Hey. Can I call you Ron?”

A whine keened out of his human throat.

She took that as a yes. “Ron. You got to listen to me. Who did this to you?”

He shook his head. His face scrunched even tighter, a mess of wrinkles and lines. His mouth was clamped shut. Eyes, too.

That wasn’t helping anyone. “Ron. You need to tell me what kind of magic made you feral. Do you understand? Are you in control, or is someone making you do this?”

“Slayer,” he bit out.

She could tell from the agony in the word that he wasn’t blaming her for this, but pointing out the very obvious truth of what she was.

“Just because I’m a slayer, it doesn’t mean I’m just going to kill you,” Tabby assured him. “I want to help. You’re under a spell. You didn’t mean to attack us, did you?”