Tyler remains in a plank position where he was crouched protectively over the girl, and it’s only when she nudges him that he drops, stretching out across the floor. Though his fingers wiggle, he’s still as frozen as the rest of us—vulnerable.
My beast snarls in agitation. Tyler isn’t weak, he’s an alpha in his own right, but he’s still only a fox. While he can be as cunning and cutthroat as the rest of us, just as savage, he has a soft spot for strays—especially cute damsels in distress that have legs for days…though he normally doesn’t bring them home.
I’ll admit, he has good taste.
She’s a tempting little morsel, full of spunk and moxie, but she doesn’t belong here.
We made a vow to never bring our fuck bunnies home.
“Kick over my bag,” the minx orders me. I’m ready to snort at her demand…then my eyes widen when I do exactly what she says.
What the fuck?!
I wait for my beast to break her hold, but instead of being outraged, her voice soothes the creature, and he calms, as if waiting for her next order.
Again…
What the fuck?!
It’s like she siphoned all my rage, leaving me floundering with…emotions.
Fuck!
The girl begins rummaging inside the backpack, and I tense when Garth growls, the mutt trembling with rage.
Yet he remains frozen.
Who exactly is this girl?
I’m unsure if I’m worried for the twit if he breaks loose or concerned about what she is grabbing from the bag. It’s the reason we interrupted them in the first place. The instantTyler had his back turned, she began rummaging inside…for a weapon?
We couldn’t take the chance.
But instead of pulling out a knife, she’s holding an innocent-looking bottle. Ignoring us completely, she leans over Tyler, concern clouding her expression. “This will be painful, but it will help you heal faster.”
I want to tell her to fuck off, but the blood is still pooling below him at an alarming rate.
He’s not healing.
At least he’s not healing fast enough, and my gut churns with dread. What the fuck is wrong with him? Did she do something to him before we arrived? “Why isn’t he healing?”
The girl twitches, like I shocked her with a cattle prod, her grip tightening protectively around the bottle. “His fox is overtaxed and can’t heal all his injuries. The more he tries, the faster it wears down his animal. He’s been trying to heal the same injuries over and over again for weeks, and his reserves are exhausted.”
She focuses back on Tyler, her touch hesitant on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
Before he can respond, she vigorously shakes the bottle, then pops off the lid. She murmurs a connotation in a musical language that tickles my brain, the potion in the bottle glowing brighter and brighter, the liquid swirling with little specks of light.
Just as she finishes speaking, steam rises from the mixture. She doesn’t hesitate to lift the bottle and pour the concoction directly into the raw wounds along his spine. Tyler arches away from the pain, his mouth opening on a silent scream, and I watch in horror as the liquid seems to grow fangs and claws and burrow itself into his flesh. Tiny bumps move under his skin, like critters crawling beneath, and bile threatens to rise in my throat.
A shudder passes through him, his body rigid as he fights whatever poison she dumped into him. A constant snarl rumbles from Garth, the poor asshole lost to his feral rage. He fights her hold as well, but I very much fear that if he broke loose, he would slaughter us all—which leaves me to deal with the little intruder myself.
I fight the command holding me, but I remain frustratingly immobile. My beast is agitated, more pissed that I would dare harm the girl than worried about our pack. It’s fucked up. Yet no matter how I struggle, I’m unable to break her hold.
Wait!
Tyler was able to move when she poured the mixture into his wounds.
The pain snapped him out of whatever trap she set.
