Page 1 of Bewitching the Wolf

PROLOGUE

Nobody in their right mind chooses to be a werewolf.

But then, I wasn’t in my right mind when I walked into a den of wolf drug smugglers.

I was desperate, needing something—anything—to ease the pain of working as a minion, a mere shell of a man, doing the bidding of evil humans.

Those drugs were the only hope I had. So I decided to steal them.

That’s how, three years ago, I got mauled by the most dangerous wolf pack in the Labyrinth.

Bitten.

Clawed.

Beaten.

I should have died.

I almost did.

There were at least eight wolves tearing at my limbs, ripping my clothing to shreds, when another even bigger, fiercer wolf jumped into the fray, huge paws pinning my chest to the ground.

Ice blue eyes lasered into mine. Its snout twitched as it scented my blood.

I screwed up my eyes and waited for oblivion.

I felt the razor cut of the wolf’s fangs puncturing my skin, sinking deep into my flesh.

Then I blacked out.

When I came to, my sister Clem was driving like a maniac toward Sparkle City hospital, sobbing and begging me not to die. I had no idea how I got out of the Labyrinth and into her little hatchback, where I lay bleeding and spent on the back seat. I could barely croak a response from my parched lips.

And yet… and yet… something was different.

With shaking fingers, I felt around the base of my blood-soaked neck.

There was no lump under my skin.

The chip that controlled me was gone.

I could remember who I was. I could recall what joy and love and fear and anger felt like.

What freedom felt like.

I laughed, even as I writhed in agony.

Because physical pain is not a patch on what it is to feel nothing.

To be nobody.

And while I was a totally flawed human (a total fuckwit, some would say), I was finally me again.

Jax Summers.

F-R-E-E!

Hall-e-fucking-lujah!