Page 69 of The Renegade Mate

That was it. I’d had enough. Jase wasn’t going to die. Not on my watch. I ran straight at AJ, jumped onto his back, and wrapped my arms around his massive neck, squeezing with all I had. The smell was overpowering. The musky, wild odor of the bear filled my nostrils, and for a moment, I was lost in it, the sheer power and ferocity of AJ’s beast form almost overwhelming.

I tightened my grip on his neck, digging my fingers into his thick fur. He roared in response, thrashing wildly beneath me, trying to shake me off. But I held on, yelling in pain as his claws raked across my back. I could feel something hot and wet run down my back and sides.

Jase’s eyes were on me, and I saw his jaws move, but the sounds were lost in the raging storm of fury around me. All that mattered now was me and AJ. His muscles bulged and flexed beneath me with each swing of his body as he tried to violently shake me off.

He reared up. I let go with one arm and drove my fist into his jaw. It was like punching a wall, but AJ staggered back, momentarily disoriented.

This was my chance. My fist became a blur, connecting with AJ’s skull once, twice, three times.

AJ flailed, his claws digging trenches in the ground, but I put both arms around his neck again and squeezed. Little by little, his movements slowed until he finally slumped to the ground, unconscious but alive.

I jumped off AJ and looked down at his massive body. I stood there, catching my breath, and realized that I’d faced down a cursed berserker bear Shifter and walked away. If I could do this. I could do anything. I glanced across at Jase.

He was panting in exertion.

“I’ve had enough of this shit, Jase. We’re going to finish it.”

Brock and Hayley’s reign was coming to an end, and I was going to be the one to end it.

Chapter forty-three

Ryan

My nostrils flared as I picked up Carl’s scent, mingling with the earthy aroma of damp soil and decaying leaves. I could smell Mai and Jase, too, but it was Carl’s scent that I locked onto—a combination of faint sweat and anticipation. He was always methodical and calm in his work, but he could never hide his joy, his satisfaction when he hurt someone, from other werewolves. That was why Jem kicked him out and was probably why Brock recruited him.

Flashbacks of the chaotic scene I’d discovered earlier flickered through my mind. The empty cabin, stinking of Jase’s pain and fear, of Mai’s frustration and despair. The car nearby, still smoking. I couldn’t help but grin, feeling a surge of pride. Mai had blown up the damn car. Trust her to pull a stunt like that.

I’d tracked Jase’s phone. The signal had led to the cabin and then into the woods. I could follow his scent and Mai’s. But it wasn’t theirs I was interested in right now. Mai had disrupted whatever plan Carl had, and he’d taken off to track her and Jase.

I closed my eyes for a moment, focusing solely on Carl’s scent. The acrid stench of his anticipation was growing stronger, which meant he was close. My wolf growled softly, eager to hunt anyone who had touched Mai.

I picked up the pace, my movements a blend of human agility and wolf-like reflexes. My ears caught the distant sound of footsteps. He was hurrying, not taking his usual care to cover his tracks. He wanted to take out Mai and Jase quickly before coming back for me, and it was making him sloppy.

I had to be quick but careful. Carl might be many things—cruel, sadistic—but he was not a fool. He was a sophisticated killer and was cool-headed even when the odds were against him. My wolf understood the predator in Carl, respected it even though we both loathed the man.

I sped forward, my feet flying over the ground, my senses fully on alert. I could hear the steady rhythm of Carl’s heartbeat, the soft exhale of his breath. I could smell his sweat and the faint whiff of a metal weapon he carried. Then I saw him, up head and to the right, scurrying between the tall trees.

Carl paused, his head tilting slightly, as if sensing something amiss. I froze, still too far away, my body taut as a bowstring, my muscles quivering with the effort of staying still. My wolf was yelling at me to move, to end this, but my human side urged caution. This was a man who was skilled in the art of death. I needed to be sure, absolutely sure, before I attacked.

Seconds felt like hours. Sweat trickled down my forehead, but I dared not wipe it away. And then, as if the Goddess had decided to favor me, a sudden gust of wind rustled the leaves, and Carl moved again, dismissing whatever warning his instincts had given him.

It was the opening I needed.

With a surge of speed that only a werewolf could muster, I darted forward, closing the distance between us. Carl turned, bringing the gun up. I slammed into him, my shoulder connecting with his chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. His weapon skittered out of his hand and into the underbrush.

Carl rolled to his feet, a blade appearing in his hand as if by magic. I was on him before he could fully rise, my fist colliding with his jaw. The sound of bone meeting bone echoed in the quiet night.

Carl snarled, slashing with his knife. I twisted, avoiding the edge, and my foot shot out, jabbing into his hip. Carl stumbled, grimacing in pain.

We circled each other. My eyes were locked onto his, reading every flicker of emotion, every hint of movement. His gaze was icy, devoid of emotion, but I could smell it—the first faint whiff of fear.

“You’re out of your league, Ryan,” Carl said, twirling his blade in a fancy figure of eight.

I ignored him. He was trying to distract me, and I was too seasoned to fall for it. I feinted left and then moved right, my fist striking his temple. Carl staggered, disoriented.

I don’t know what he saw in my face, but his pulse quickened, and his eyes widened.

“I … I can help you, you know,” he gasped, catching his breath.

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