Page 121 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

“You took my fucking magic, you bitch!” Blackthorn roared and surged to his feet. Then he charged Rebecca. She simply stood, eyes wide. Like she couldn’t believe what was happening.

Axel surged forward. He didn’t think. Didn’t care. All he knew was that the threat to his mate was right there. And every instinct screamed to end him.

Axel hit Blackthorn at full speed just before he reached Rebecca. They went down together in a tangle of limbs, but this time there was no magic to blast him away. For whatever reason, whatever had happened, Blackthorn didn’t fight back with anything beyond his physical abilities. As if he was just a man—weak, mortal, prey.

“Wait—!” Blackthorn tried to scramble backward, hands scrabbling against the stone floor. “I can still⁠—“

He didn’t finish whatever he was about to say. Couldn’t do anything but gasp for air as Axel’s teeth elongated, his face beginning to shift. Then he clamped his mouth around Blackthorn’s throat and bit down into the soft, mortal skin.

Blood. Hot and copper-sweet, filled his mouth. Then came the wet sound of tearing flesh as he pulled away, ripping out his throat.

Blackthorn’s eyes went wide, mouth opening in a silent scream as he died.

He twitched and gurgled, then went still.

Axel got to his feet and stood over the body, chest heaving. The chamber was silent except for his ragged breathing.

The wolf wanted more. Wanted to make absolutely certain. Wanted to tear and rend until there was nothing left of the threat. Wanted Blackthorn’s body in pieces⁠—

“Axel?”

Her voice cut through the red haze. Soft. Shaking. But alive.

His mate.

He turned.

Rebecca stood by the knife. It was on the floor now. Her hand was bleeding, dripping onto the stone. Her scent had changed. There was still the chamomile and honey he loved. But it was accompanied by something else. Something powerful and bright and wholly hers.

“Axel,” she said again. Her eyes were on him. On his bloodied face and chin. His extended claws, the patches of fur on his arms and neck. He must have looked like what Blackthorn accused him of.

A mongrel.

He waited. For fear. For disgust. For her to recoil from what he was. From what he’d done.

Instead, she took a step toward him. Then another.

“Are you…?” Her voice trembled. “Are you okay?”

The wolf receded. Slowly. His claws retracted with small bursts of pain. The fur faded back into skin. He was left standing there, just a man again. Bloodied. Broken ribs still healing. But otherwise unharmed.

“Aye,” he managed. His voice came out rough. Raw. “Aye, lass. I’m okay.”

“He’s...” She looked at the body, then back at Axel. Her face was pale, but her jaw was set. “Is he dead?”

“Aye.”

She nodded once. Processing. “Good,” she whispered. Then her eyes rolled back and her legs buckled.

Axel caught her before she hit the ground, ignoring the sharp protest from his ribs. She was light in his arms, unconscious but breathing. Her pulse fluttered against his throat where he pressed his fingers to check.

Alive. Safe.

His.

Even if only for a little while longer.

He took one more look around the cave’s chamber, then fled.