lethal perfume. My sword arm itched.
«Don't do this. I don't want to hurt you.»
A high-pitched coyote yowl cut through the snarls. The night parted and a lean shadow sailed
over the wolves. A tall, shaggy body charged me-a shapeshifter in a warrior form, flying over the
asphalt, tree-trunk legs pumping, huge, muscular arms spread wide. I caught a flash of grotesque
jaws armed with two-inch fangs that would rip my face off my skull in a single bite.
The wolves charged. Shit.
I ducked under the swipe of the shapeshifter's sickle claws and rammed my elbow into the
monster's solar plexus. He jerked forward from the force of the blow and I sank two silver needles
into his neck, behind the ear. He screamed and clawed at his head.
Behind him the night belched two more nightmares.
The wolves were almost on me.
I rammed a quick kick to the shapeshifter's knee. Bone crunched. Good-bye walking. I kicked
him into George, popping another needle into my hand, spun about, and slammed right into Brenna.
Damn. Teeth clamped onto my wrist guard, her mouth swallowing my arm, and I dropped a needle
into her throat. Brenna dropped my arm and yelped, spinning in a circle, trying to spit out the silver
burning her tongue.
Fire raked my back. I whirled, rammed the attacker's furry orange arm, exposing the armpit, and
forced a needle into the shoulder joint. The shapeshifter howled. The arm went limp.
They swarmed me. Claws clamped my shoulders. Teeth bit my left thigh. I kicked and punched
and stabbed, popping silver needles from my wrist guard and sinking them into furry bodies. Bones
snapped under my kick. I twisted, snapped a quick punch, crunching someone's muzzle, and then
my room to move shrank to nonexistent. A furry ginger-red arm crushed my windpipe and pressed
the side of my neck, cutting the blood flow to the brain. Classic choke hold. I leaned back and
kicked with both legs, but there wasn't enough space. I couldn't breathe. My chest constricted as if
a red-hot iron band had caught my lungs and squeezed and squeezed until the light shrank. Huge
fangs closed over my face, bathing my skin in a cloud of fetid breath. A stray thought dashed
through my head-what sort of animal makes an orange shapeshifter? The world went dark and I
slipped under.
CHAPTER 12
MY THROAT HURT. MY THIGH BURNED-EITHER someone had scalded me with boiling
grease while I was out or a werewolf had bitten me. The rest of me felt broken, like I'd been passed
through a laundry wringer. I opened my eyes and saw Jim sitting in a chair.
«Fuck you,» I said and sat up.
Jim rubbed his face with his hand, as if trying to wipe away what bothered him.
My whole body ached, but nothing seemed permanently out of commission. My mouth tasted of
blood. I ran my tongue along my teeth. All there.
«Did I kill anybody?»
«No. But two of my people are out until their bones heal.»
We looked at each other.
«I stood there with my hands up, Jim. Like this.» I raised my hands. «I didn't pull my sword. I
didn't make any threats. I just stood there like a submissive bitch and asked them to please let me
speak to you. And this is what I got?»
Jim said nothing. Asshole.
«Show me an Atlanta shapeshifter who doesn't know me. Your crew, they recognized me. They
know who I am, they know what I do, and they still fucked me up. You've worked with me for four
years, Jim. I fought with the Pack and for the Pack. I fought with you. I'm an ally, who should have
earned the trust by now. And you and yours treat me like an enemy.»
Jim's eyes went ice-cold. «Here you have trust when you grow fur.»
«I see. So if a loup bites me tomorrow, it will mean more to you than everything I've done up to
this point.» I rose. Fire laced my thigh. «Is Derek okay?»
Stone wall.
«God fucking damn it, Jim, is the kid okay?»
Nothing. After all the shit we'd gone through together, he shut me out. Just like that. The loyalty
that bound me to Derek meant nothing. The years I'd spent looking out for Jim while he looked out
for me as we teamed up on Guild gigs meant nothing. With one executive decision, Jim had cast
aside the slender standing I had clawed and fought for with the Pack for the last six months. He just
sat there, silent and cold, a complete stranger.
The words dropped from Jim's lips like a brick. «You should go.»
I had had just about enough. «Fine. You won't tell me why your crew worked me over. You
won't let me see Derek. That's your prerogative. We'll do it your way. James Damael Shrapshire, in
your capacity as the Pack's chief security officer, you have permitted Pack members under your
command to deliberately injure an employee of the Order. At least three individuals involved in the