Page 68 of Witch's Wolf

His grin widens, but there’s something behind it. Something sharp.

“No, no ‘sir’ for me, my dear,” he says, waving a dismissive hand, gripping the bottle in the other. “Once you’ve signed the contract, we’re family. It’s Al to you, alright?”

“Sure, Al,” I say, keeping my smile fixed as I step to the bar. I keep my tone light, curious, but every muscle in my body is coiled tight. “You said your bosses liked my demo. Can I ask which song they liked best?”

Jenkins snorts, shrugging like it doesn’t matter. Like I don’t matter.

“Does it make any difference?” he asks with a wide grin that is too easy, too wrong. “You got the contract, sweetheart. You’re in now. That’s all that counts.”

Then there is the slow, deliberatethudof footsteps behind me. My spine stiffens.

“Sir…?” The voice is hoarse, deep, edged with something unreadable.

I don’t turn around, but I track the newcomer by his reflection in the mirror behind the liquor shelves.

Tall. Maybe six feet. Dark brown hair. Black suit. He moves with the kind of ease that says he’s used to violence. He has an air about him that says that he doesn’t need to rush. He’s come out of a door with stairs leading down. A basement.

He comes to the bar, close enough to me that I feel the chill coming off of him. He sets a slim pack of papers on the counter and slides them forward.

“Here is the contract, as you requested,” he says.

“Thanks, Billy,” he mutters, flipping the stack once before twisting it in his fingers and slamming it down in front of me.

I glance down. It’s not a contract, but brilliant white paper with two words written in bold all capital script.

“YOU’RE MINE!”

I let out a slow, deliberate exhale then lift my gaze to Jenkins, meeting his light-brown eyes, and let my lips curl into something almost amused.

“What the fuck is this?” I murmur, tilting my head slightly.

I watch him, watch both of them. Waiting for the first move.

“It’s not a fuck, not yet at least,” Jenkins smirks, stepping around the bar. He moves slow and assured, sure that he’s already won. “It will be when you take your clothes off. That’s my terms, darling. You want that contract? Prove it. Bend over.”

Disgust coils in my stomach. Fury ignites in my chest, hot and seething. My breath sharpens, my body locking up. I meet his gaze, a firestorm behind my eyes, ready to unleash hell?—

*crash!*

The wall of windows behind me shatters as a body hurtles through them. It slams into the bronze boxer statue before crashing onto the floor with a thud. Jenkins flinches and then, chaos erupts.

“Bend over…” Sam’s growl cuts through the air like a blade, his voice low, rough, and most of all dangerous. His eyes gleam red, burning with rage. “You’d better run, you fucking asshole!”

Jenkins’s breath stutters. Fear flashes across his face. Billy rushes forward, moving to intercept, but he’s too slow.

A wall of fur and muscle bursts into the room. Four massive wolves, shifting in an instant, their bodies tearing free from human skin. Dark brown. Lighter brown. Stark white. Amber.

Sam’s wolf lunges, a blur of rage, chasing Jenkins down the staircase. Ray and Nora’s beasts pounce on the fallen vampire from outside, snarling. He thrashes beneath them.

Raul squares off against Billy, their collision a brutal symphony of claws and fangs. The snap of jaws echoes through the space, missing Bill’s throat by inches. The sheer force of their impact rattles the walls, sending shivers down my spine.

Jenkins’s strangled cries rise from the stairwell, a sound of pure, unfiltered terror. I stumble back, breath shuddering, my boots scuffing the blue-tiled floor. I can’t watch this.

The wall meets my back, solid and unyielding, and I slide down, my limbs trembling. I should have known. I did know.

This was always a lie. The contract, the opportunity, the dream was only meant to lure me in. Meant to break me down and serve me up to monsters. No one had believed in me, the singer. No record label wanted me. I would always be Erica Connors, the artist with a loyal but small audience. And I would always have to fight to survive.

I hide from the savage symphony of the monsters’ violence behind my hands; from the sounds of the wet, sickening rip of teeth through cold, dead flesh. Billy’s body skids across the floor, coming to a stop a couple of feet from me, facedown.

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