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With Ethan’s back leg busted, he hobbled himself a few steps back, but I wasn’t relenting. Not when he was still snapping razor-sharp teeth at me.
He began running on three legs toward me, but when I thought he was going for a direct hit, the fucker surprised me by crouching low and swiping at my front legs.
Ethan cut through my fur, drawing blood, but not enough to keep me down or prevent me from moving fluidly.
My wolf’s teeth snapped again, missing his back, but that wasn’t our intended mark. While he was busy fending off my intentionally flawed attack, we were simultaneously pushing him into the corner of a building.
I didn’t actually want to kill this wolf shifter. I’d have much preferred for him to stand down, but that didn’t seem to be happening.
The moment Ethan realized what I’d done, he turned even more feral. Saliva dripped from his jowls, and his chest heaved with unnecessary force. He lowered himself, then leapt for me with canines and claws extended.
Instead of moving out of the way like I easily could have done, I decided to quit playing with him. This wolf couldn’t beat me. I knew that the moment he’d lost control of his emotions.
This was my House, and he wasn’t going to take it from me.
I let his claws scrape down the length of my spine—the worst injury I’d yet to receive—and when he landed on the other side of me, giving me his back, I used my larger wolf size to jump on top of him.
My right front paw tore out one of his eyes while the other cut clean through his throat just before my jaws locked around the back of his neck, keeping him somewhat still.
The bubbling gurgle that sounded soon after made my stomach churn, but I didn’t release the hold I had on the stubborn bastard. This was the fate he’d chosen, and I wasn’t going to turn my back too soon and get my ass bit. Possibly literally.
When Ethan had finally gone limp beneath my wolf, I released his neck and spit what blood of his that I could onto the ground. That was when I noticed that none of the attacking wolves were still present. At least the ones that had been alive, last I’d checked.
Grayson was standing in front of me in his human form. His eyes were filled with flames, and veins pulsed in his neck and along his forearms.
I moved away from the dead faction leader and shifted. The transition was painful as fuck, considering my injuries, but I ignored the agony in my back and focused on Grayson.
He seemed frozen in his rage, and when my palm pressed over his chest, the heat scorched my skin—worse than when I’d touched his demon flames—forcing me to pull away.
“Grayson,” I said in a stern whisper.
He still didn’t move.
I stepped closer, exhaustion seeping in as my inner muscles attempted to heal from the fight. “Look at me,” I demanded.
He finally blinked, but only his eyes moved, and the flames there hadn’t lessened.
“I’m fine,” I said, hoping that was the only reason he was pissed the fuck off.
His head cocked to the side, then he looked in my ear, where the comm no longer sat. “Where were Tuck and the others?” he asked with a tortured voice.
“They were likely where I told them to stay,” I answered confidently. “He asked if I wanted their help, and I saidno.”
“Why?” He growled.
My shoulders straightened, and I looked him dead in the eyes. “Because I had a fucking point to prove, and I believed I could handle the situation.”
Hunter and killer for hire. Scary-as-fuck wolf. And my mate.
Grayson was all of those things, but the last ten days with him had shown me something inside myself.
I wasn’t the orphaned, powerless witch I’d thought I’d been.
I wasn’t a member of a coven or Earth and Emerald.
I wasn’t unlovable.
I was Kinsley Ash.
