Page 228 of The Werewolf’s Wrong Mate

“You cannot kill me,” he choked. “Alpha blood answers blood.”

I pushed my face close to his.

The words came out wrong, more growl than speech. “You should not have touched what was never yours.”

Then I broke him. Not cleanly, he didn’t deserve clean. I tore through the old strength and the polished cruelty and the schemes dressed as law. I tore until Silas stopped being Alpha and became meat under my hands. I tore until the rain could not wash the stone fast enough. I tore until the wolves around us fell back from the ruin of him.

When it was done, I stood over what remained.

Breathing.

Bleeding.

Empty.

The binding hung in me by threads.

Cassie was distant.

Too distant.

Good.

Run.

The wolf turned toward the west route. Ronan stood between me and the courtyard steps, blood on his face, his eyes gold and wide with something too close to grief.

“The humans are gone!” he said.

Yes.

Good.

Then his head snapped toward the service arch.

“Find them,” he ordered.

No.

The word was the last clean human thing in me.

No.

Ronan’s wolves moved. I shifted fully before they reached the arch. The change ripped through me without grace. Bones broke into what they had always wanted to be. Hands struck stone as paws. My spine lengthened. My jaw pushed forward. Fur rose wet and dark across my body. The last of my torn clothing fell away under rain and blood.

The wolf stood where the man had been. Larger than most. Larger than any wolf should be. The courtyard went still. I placed myself between the pack and the route Cassie had taken.

Mine.

No.

Free.

Protect.

Kill.

Ronan turned slowly.