Page 120 of The Wolf in My Tavern

Many flee or cower in their rooms.

I do not mind them. My war is not with the ordinary pack members but with the monster who leads them and those who follow his orders.

The higher we rise, the more resistance we meet, and the fiercer the fight. As injuries accumulate, I flash between my wolf and beast, healing wounds without a break in the fight.

The slash of claws.

The scent and taste of blood.

The agony of wounds and blows.

I am a monster.

I am dreadful in my wrath.

The more I fight, the more vicious and animal I become until I am nothing but instinct and purpose.

As we burst onto the floor of a giant cavern where daylight spills across the stone floor, I see my quarry.

A wolf, bigger than those around him, with a pale golden coat.

I have never met him in human or wolf form, yet I instinctively know it is him.

Rufus. The enemy pack leader.

My enemy.

I roar my challenge. His head swings my way. The body of a former beta wolf hangs from his jaws. He drops it carelessly and then leaps for me.

Gray

Callum is at my side, back legs bunched, about to leap in a challenge. His body is juddering and growing—there are no narrow passages to hold him back.

But he is also new to his beast.

“He is mine!” My command cracks like a whip. He may be the leader above all—a royal shifter—but it is the blood of my family and pack that has been spilled, and I will have my revenge.

Rufus and I leap as one. He is in wolf form, and I shift to meet him as such—one golden wolf and one gray. The world seems to stop around us as the many fights cease, and all eyes turn our way.

We slam together in the center of the cavern.

I don’t even try to evade the blow, welcoming the pain as his claws slice into my shoulder and draw blood.

My claws slash to rake across his chest, a glancing blow and no more than a taster of what is to come.

He whines in pain as the strike knocks him from his feet. He springs up, lips curled as he glances back over his shoulder, looking for support.

None comes.

Behind me, I sense Callum has pumped up to his full, monstrous size. While I know he will not interfere, he will also not hesitate should any Canis members seek to wade in on this battle between Rufus and me.

The Canis leader is alone—and has probably always been alone. A bully who abuses all those beneath him never has true allies. Those who would follow his ilk are the first to turn tail when something more dangerous comes along.

I shift to beast form, spread my arms wide, and roar, daring him to come at me again—daring him to strike.

He remains a wolf.

Does he even have a beast? If I did not already know that he had taken my pack by treachery, it would be glaringly obvious now. I might even laugh at this pitiful male who has wreaked such havoc as he has.

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