Page 10 of Revenge of the Blood Pack

Memories of the Blood Mages.

Memories ofHell.

And it’s suddenly hard to breathe. I try to push the feeling away. I try to take deep, even breaths, but that panicky feeling is still there, whispering thatit’sinside of me.

I hate thinking about the Blood Mages because it always makes me remember how twisted I am now. How I have dark, ugly magic inside of me. I swear sometimes I can even feel it, like a tar running through my veins. Spreading through every inch of me. Destroying who and what I once was.

Although logically I’m already destroyed. That fucking boat has long since sailed.

“Are you cold?” Max asks.

I startle and look down at myself, realizing I’m clenching my arms and shaking. “I’m fine.”

But still, he turns down the air. He’s not looking at me, even though I know he had to in order to know I was cold. Which pisses me off for reasons I don’t understand. This man, and the other Enforcers, see my kind as little more than dangerous burdens, so why should he care if I’m cold?

It’s not just him though.I almost laugh as the idea comes to me. Like I care if it’s just him who hates my kind or the whole damn world.

Yet, the thought isn’twrong. Our society sees a half-shifter, half-witch like me as dangerous. Since half breeds are often unstable and crazed, we’ve all been labeled as such. That’s why the Blood Pack was created. That’s why our town was built. It was a safe place for half breeds.

At least it was, until it wasn’t.

And now that I’ve been changed again, turned into this… fucking thing, I’m worse than any half breed. More dangerous than even the Enforcers can imagine.

Max’s cellphone rings, and I jump a little. He answers, lifting it to his ear. “Hello?” A pause. “Yes, sir.” A longer pause. “Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it.” And then he sets his phone back down.

“Orders to kill me?” I ask, trying to sound hopeful.

He doesn’t answer for a long minute. “They’re just making sure we’re on schedule.”

My heart races.That can’t be all.“Any sightings of my pack?”

“Sightings, yes. Captures, no.”

“And are we going to the location of one of these sightings?” I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.

He seems to consider his words with care. Something he does a lot, much to my annoyance. “They will always send us to the most likely places because with your presence they’re hoping to have fewer casualties.”

So, basically, they’re hoping I can calm down my “crazed” pack members rather than have the Enforcers continue to lose their people. It’s a bit annoying, but it’s also what I ultimately want, so I keep my thoughts to myself.

I steal a look at Max's profile and hate how perfect he looks. So perfect that I want nothing more than to mess up his dark hair. To put his tie askew. Damn, I bet he’d lose his mind if I didthat. Because he takes perfectionism to a whole new level. And yet, it’s hard not to remember what he looked like that morning when he was holding me. Like a person rather than just an Enforcer.

A person who was concerned about my nightmare. Maybe even aboutme.

I can't help the feeling of guilt that creeps up. Yes, I don't want to be here, with him, but Max is technically helping me. Well, he’s using me if you think about it, but I’m using him too. So, on a surface level, there’s no need for me to be a raging bitch to him all the time.

But for some reason, I can’t help it.

No, not for some reason. For good goddamn reasons.His loyalty is to the Enforcers and mine is to my pack. If the Enforcers tell him to kill me or my pack members, he will. And no amount of holding me after my nightmares will change that. So, I’m keeping my distance for a reason.

My goal is to find my pack. Find my brother, who the Enforcers think is dead, and disappear before I can become their next test subject.

That should be the only thing that’s important to me. Not how distractingly perfect Max is, or how big and strong his hands are. I try to stop thinking about him in that manner, but his scent calls to me strongly. It’s clean and crisp like fallen rain and cedar. When I breathe it in, it makes fire race through my veins in a way that makes me feel wild and uncontrollable.

In a way that scares me.

Because the moment any of my kind let themselves be wild, we seem to lose all control and become something dark… something else. So, it shouldn’t matter how Max smells. I can’t enjoy it. I can’t give in to it. I just have to remind myself that we’re both shifters, so it’s not unusual to notice and like each other’s scents.

That’s all it is.

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