Page 21 of Protector

Tristan’s growl is nothing like the possessive one I know. This is a threat, plain and simple, and he’s directing it right at Gabriel and Claude.

Gabriel holds out his hand, the blinding glow shielding his fingers an obvious warning. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you, dog. I just want the one who slaughtered my brother.”

Tristan obviously disagrees because he rumbles deep in his chest before his wolf bares his teeth at the witch.

Gabriel sighs in obvious annoyance. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he drawls—and launches his spell.

He didn’t have enough time to really pack a punch into his offensive spell. What he did pour into it, though, is enough to pick up Tristan’s wolf, toss him about fifteen feet into the air before he slams back to the ground.

A shifter should be able to shake off a hit like that, especially if he’s in his fur. But, to my horror, the magic does something to Tristan. It forces him back to his skin and it’s that more fragile body that hits the frozen earth hard.

He whimpers. The Beta of the Winter Creek Pack fucking whimpers.

And nothing can stop me from what happens next.

Taking heart in the fact that he made a sound even if he hasn’t moved from the dirt just yet, I look at the two witches like obstacles. They want me dead. They hurt my mate. The Luna’s not here to give me the order to put them down, but that’s okay.

In this, I’m judge, jury, and executioner.

Gabriel could threaten me all he wanted. I could give a shit. But Tristan?

Fuck, no.

It takes less than a second to go from a 5’6” lean brunette to a large white wolf twice the weight I am as when I’m human. Being Luna-touched gives me the trademark silver eyes when I’m in my fur, and a power that some might mistake as a dominant alpha when I shift.

Poor kid. He never stood a chance.

Some shifters go into a frenzy when they scent blood. It’s instinctive. Not me. As I pounce on Gabriel, going for the throat first so that I know he’s dead, I don’t stop as the hot, coppery tang of blood fills my mouth.

Oh, no. I’m locked in. I don’t stop until he’s nothing but a pile of squishy red mush, broken bones, and pure fucking regret.

Only one problem. I was efficient as ever, but just not quick enough. My wolf needed to know that Gabriel could never be a threat to Tristan again, but I made a huge mistake. So focused on the younger witch who hit Tristan with his spell, I forget about the other one.

Claude is standing over Tristan. He hasn’t moved yet, lying on his belly, face turned away from the both of us. The witch crouches down by my mate’s ass, showing off the white glow that’s now surrounding his fingers.

I just about stop breathing.

Tristan took one hit already. Will he survive another?

Can I risk it?

“Shift,” he orders.

Maybe he wants to talk. That’s one reason why he’d order me back to my skin. I highly doubt it’s because he wants a look at my naked body, though maybe he just isn’t comfortable with my blood- and gore-spattered white wolf staring at him.

When I don’t do what he said, he brings his hand closer to Tristan.

Damn it. I shift, digging my toes into the earth as I brace myself, prepared to leap if I have to.

He knows it, too. “Stay there or I’ll shove this spell into the Beta’s back. Gabriel was too eager for his vengeance. He wanted to make a statement with a death cast. Not me. I don’t need to be flashy. A simple spell to freeze his heart… that’ll do the trick, don’t you think?”

“Touch him and you’ll wish that I kill you as quickly as I did you friend,” I warn him.

“Threaten me all you want. Gabriel failed. He brought the Beta into it. You… you’re not pack. Not like the others. We could’ve convinced the new Madame that your death was necessary to keep the truce. But this mutt… Gabriel is dead. The Alpha will want vengeance of his own. I’m dead either way.”

He’s not wrong. Well, maybe a little. If they’d managed to kill me, I have no doubt in my mind that Fallon wouldn’t start squeezing a couple of more hearts. But for Tristan to be in danger…

“Is he alive?”

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