Page 16 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

He strode over.

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the wolf by the scruff and hauled it up. The weight settled across his good shoulder—still heavy as hell. His injured shoulder screamed in protest. He’d felt pain a thousand times worse than this, so he clamped his teeth together and ignored it.

Then he made the hike back to his cabin.

Hours later, the crack of a setting bone rang out into the forest—a spine snapping back into place. Axel stood from where he’d been propped against the trunk of a tree, waiting. His opponent was in human form now, having shifted back while unconscious. It was fortunate, because it made him easier to chain to the tree.

The shifter opened his eyes.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he drawled, both eager and reluctant to get started. There used to be a time when he did this sort of thing for his previous pack—extracting information. He’d been good at it, too. It was only when he started to enjoy it that he knew he was cracking, that his age was catching up with him. That his mind was deteriorating.

Animal shifters lived long lives, but he wasn’t a shifter. He was a turned wolf. Turned wolves lost their minds before they ever lost their battle with time.

He studied the male before him. His hair was a sandy blonde. He had the features of a supernatural: uncommonly attractive, built with muscle. But it was the pointed ears that gave him away. Shifters were distant relatives of the fae. Just as elves were. Just as many other races were.

The magic of the fae was what gave them the ability to shift, or drink blood, or whatever else it was that they got up to. Witches were one of the only races that hadn’t come from the fae. Their magic was different. More limited. Unless they delved into blood magic…

The male groaned, blinking several times. “What the fuck?” He began pulling at the chains, hissing at the irritation of iron on his skin.

Axel had kept the chains in the shed as a precaution—mostly for himself. But they were proving useful here.

“We’re going to play a little game.” He tossed his knife into the air before catching it. “I’m going to ask you questions, and you’re going to answer. Lie—I cut you. Fail to answer—I cut you. See where this is going?”

“Fuck you.”

He sighed. “How did you find me?”

The shifter spat on the ground, so he lunged, burying the knife in the man’s gut, feeling the familiar resistance as the blade sank all the way to the hilt. The man hissed, letting out a string of profanities. He pulled against the chains, caring little for the red welts springing to the surface of his skin.

“How did you find me?” Axel asked again.

Still, the shifter just glared at him. So he stabbed him in the shoulder, payback for earlier. “Let’s try something simpler. What’s your name?”

“Fuck off.”

This time, when he stabbed him in the leg, he twisted and twisted until the screaming began. Until a garbled name finally fell from his lips. Garrett.

“Finally, some cooperation.” He took a step back from Garrett. “Did Magnus send you?”

“Who the fuck is Magnus?”

“You know, Magnus? Alpha of the Pacific Northwestern Pack. Ring any bells?” Garrett’s eyes flared with recognition. “Ah. So you do know him. Good.”

“Might’a heard of him once or twice.” Garrett’s voice was serrated now. From all the screaming.

“Why did he send you? How did you find me?”

Garrett just stared at him. He stabbed again and this time Garrett’s scream made several nearby birds take flight into the forest canopy. He twisted the knife until the shifter began babbling. “I don’t know, man. Don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not here for Magnus.”

“Why else would you be here?” He twisted again. And again. “Why?”

“The girl,” Garrett blurted finally. “The witch. Rebecca.”

Axel froze, the knife stilling in his hand. “What in the bloody hell did you say?”

“The witch. We came for the witch.”

At those words, he saw red.