Page 30 of The Wolf Professor

The monster species, whatever it was, shrugged. “Suit yourself, sweetheart.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned on her heel and started to walk briskly away, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She kept her ears pricked for the sound of the car driving away, but after a moment, to her alarm, it seemed to be following her, its engine a low guttural purr close to the curb.

Charlie’s blood hammered through her veins.

The car stopped. Hopefully doing a U-turn.

Then she heard doors flying open, some muffled curses, and a laugh that sent chills down her spine.

A voice shouted, “Grab her.”

Panic spiking every nerve, Charlie ran.

One moment, Max was looking over the panorama of Motham City, stretched like a sparkling network of lights below, and the next, a hideous sense of dread had grabbed his chest in a vise.

Holy shit, was he having a heart attack?

He was thirty-three years old, fit, healthy. Surely not.

He pulled off his coat, undid a couple of buttons on his shirt.

His face was burning, his temples pounding.

Sudden words jumped unbidden into his head, like a tannoy blaring inside his skull.

CHARLIE’S IN DANGER.

He blinked and tried to push them away, but they kept repeating, over and over. Just those three words, louder and louder, until he couldn’t deny them any longer.

Shooting forward, Max grasped the back of the chauffer’s seat. “Drop me here,” he ordered hoarsely.

“This area is not the safest, sir.”

“I said, drop me here.” It was more a snarl than a request.

“Are you feeling alright sir?”

“No, I’m bloody not. And if you don’t take me down right now, you will live to regret it. You understand me?”

Clearly the guy did, because suddenly the hover cab was heading toward the ground.

As they touched down and the automatic doors sprang open, Max practically fell onto the street, bile rising up his throat. He stumbled into the nearest doorway and bent double, dry retching from the pain taking over every inch of his body.

A moment later his sleeves shredded like paper and two muscled flanks burst out, covered in a thick silver pelt. A blinding stab of agony made him clutch his head with his hands, except…Fuck, they weren’t hands anymore, were they?

He stared at them in horror.

Paws. And claws.

A second later, he grabbed his head again. It felt like his skull was being torn apart.

Somehow, through the haze of pain, he was aware of his jaw lengthening, ears repositioning themselves, thick fur forming around his jawline and neck. His sense of smell intensified as a snout formed, twitched. There was another hideous spasm in his legs, a ripping sound, and his pants shredded. Massive hind legs burst through the fine linen, and buttons went flying everywhere as his chest barreled out from within his shirt… A moment later, he was on all fours, panting, every nerve and sinew in his body on fire.

And then, almost as soon as it had begun, the pain receded, replaced by a strength and energy that Max—at least, the Maxhe had been all of five minutes ago—would never have imagined possible.

He shook off the last remnants of his clothing and crouched low to the ground, panting.

The first bound he took was so exhilarating it almost took his breath away, but within seconds it was replaced by wild, unharnessed rage.

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