Page 58 of Bewitching the Wolf

The Bradens know they are no match for me.

I turn to leave, but another one, bigger than the rest and even more feral, launches at me. It catches me off balance and I stumble, and then its jaws clamp around my throat. I feel a sharp puncture to my flesh, then wetness that signifies blood. Another claw scratches my face just above my eye.

We tumble, snapping, snarling, each trying to bite and claw the other. In this moment, I lose sight of my human self. In this moment, I know what it is to be wolf. Truly wolf, a wild predatory animal, in tune with nature.

A primal power like I’ve never experienced before, takes over. I open my jaws and bring them down on the wolf’s neck, biting into flesh and sinew, tasting it’s sour blood. I shake it within an inch of its life. Then I drop it and watch it run pitifully away.

My wolf could have killed that disgusting animal, yet it chose not to. Its instinct was to survive, not to take life for the sake of it.

I raise my snout and let out a long howl. The sound echoes into the distance, to be met only by the silence of a pack that have fled and gone to ground.

As I pad away, my heart slowing, I sense my human returning. My body starts to complain at the bites and scratches I’ve encountered. I catch sight of the Braden outbuildings in the distance. Broken down shanties, not even hewn into the rock, because that would no doubt require too much effort from their drug-ravaged bodies. They can’t manufacture drugs here in this gods forsaken wasteland, so they merely exist, finding what prey they can, meager as it is.

That could have been my life, if I’d even lived through the ordeal of them savaging me.

But fate took me down a different path.

As I turn and prowl back toward the barbed-wire fence, my spirits soar.

We did good, my wolf and I.

“Thank you,” human Jax whispers, from somewhere deep inside my wolf form.

My wolf growls, soft and low.

I let myself settle into its sinews and bones, into the easy tread of its huge body as it takes us home.

Home?

Yes. The Trojan pack are my home.

And Tippy is my mate.

It’s time to make that clear to my wolf.

About Tippy. I firm my voice. You will respect my—our—mate. Do you hear me? No more belittling her, no more sexist, macho comments.

I’m about to say more, but then I stop. Really, what does it matter? My wolf knows my feelings intimately. It shares them. I swallow hard, and finally I find the words. I say them out loud. “I love her. Okay?”

Silence.

“You heard me.”

Silence.

“What’s more, you fucking love her too.”

My wolf emits a deep rumble, a sound that is soft and warm around the edges.

It’s as much of an admittance as I’m going to get.

But it’s enough to make my heart swell with joy.

Because finally, I can tell Tippy how I really feel, with no fear of harming her.

I shift into my human self once I’m over the barbed-wire fence, and skid onto two legs inside the boundary of the parklands.

I’m dressed in my black jeans and tee, though they do feel a tad… crumpled. And I do need to clean my face, my mouth. I find a stream and douse my face and take mouthfuls of the sweet pure water, spit it out, then drink deeply.