Page 2 of Scorned

She was shaking as she frantically dug into her bag, presumably for her bank card. She was sucking air into her mouth and barely letting any go. Her fear was a rising tide, and she was going to drown.

I lifted my hands—the universal sign for surrender—and took a step back to make room for Ruby in front of the machine.

“I c-c-can’t find my c-c-card.”

Like a snake, the guy struck, smacking Ruby up the side of her head then threading his fingers into her hair. He pushed her head down toward her chest and shoved her closer to the machine. She choked on a sob.

“Stop fucking around,” the thief growled.

My hackles were up, flooding high-octane rage into my muscles. My body bulked. I rolled my shoulders back, cracked my spine, narrowed my eyes and did everything I could to keep the beast inside me under control. If she came out, this guy was going to die, and I didn’t want to have to explain that to anyone. “Take your hands off her.”

He skittered his gaze to me, tilting his head like I was intriguing him—like he found me amusing. “You ain’t calling the shots here, lady.”

“I found it!” Ruby whipped her card out but couldn’t seem to coordinate herself to slide it into the slot.

I clenched and unclenched my fists, tightening my jaw so my molars were grinding. The tingle of anticipation made my gums burn and my fingers ache.

Keep it steady, Charlie.

For Ruby’s sake, I was fighting the primal urge to lash out. If I hurt him, he’d hurt her. I needed to bide my time. Wait him out. He’d make a mistake. They always did.

When she failed to get the card into the slot on her third try, he tightened his grip in her hair. “I said, stop fucking around.”

“I’m sorry!” She managed to shove the card in, then worked on punching her code on the keypad. “I can only take out five hundred.”

“Fuck,” he muttered as he speared me with another disgusting once-over. “I guess that means you two are coming with me for the night.” As if that hadn’t always been his plan.

We waited as the machine whirred then spit out a wad of cash. He was practically salivating at the sight of it. He let go of Ruby’s hair then reached for the money at the same time that I curled my fingers over Ruby’s wrist to yank her behind me. The sudden movement startled him. He lifted his weapon.

Not a gun.

One badass-looking knife, though.

“Run,” I ordered Ruby as I leapt to block the guy from her. He lunged, and I swiped his face, my fist connecting with a rock-hard jaw and sending bolts of pain up my arm.

“Ow, you bitch!” He swung his curved blade down, reaching out to get a hold of my hair, but I ducked and weaved, nailing him in the side with another punch. This time my fist sank in, missing his ribs altogether, drilling him in the liver instead—or trying to, anyway. The guy was made of marbled meat.

He groaned but not surprisingly, didn’t go down. I ducked again when he tried to slam me with his blade but miscalculated his reflexes and took an uppercut to the chin. It sent me reeling backward, lights flashing across my vision.

Ouch.

As I was shaking it off, Ruby screamed. The guy pivoted in her direction.

Fuck.

I’d told her to run, but instead, she was frozen like prey.

I leapt onto this back and wrapped my arm around his thick neck. My fingers, complete with partially distended claws against his jugular, were hidden by his hood.

Blending in meant being subtle with my abilities—for both self-preservation and to avoid unwanted attention. I’d had three years to master my partial shift and was proud to say that Ruby had no idea her best friend was a werewolf.

“Take one more step, and I’ll bleed you like a pig,” I snarled against his ear. To punctuate my threat, I let my claws poke into his skin, drawing first blood. The smell of it revved me up, making my wolf want to howl and my beast want to rip his throat out. I tightened my hold and leveraged myself closer, clamping down on my predatory urges. My fangs dropped, burning through my gums. I scraped them along his jaw and took pleasure in his whimper. “One twitch and you’re dead.” My voice was guttural, filled with malice that I knew he understood.

The acrid smell of piss hit my nose. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Drop the knife,” I ordered.

It clattered to the ground.

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