Page 57 of Curse of the Wolf

“Only duplicitous parties with nefarious intent,” I muttered.

“Didn’t we originally meet Duncan sniffing around back there?”

“I stand by my statement.”

The inspector straightened, appearing bolstered by the approach of his ally. He took a step around me, and I shifted, wanting to block him again. I groped for something to ask to distract him.

His head snapped up, his eyes focusing not on me but on my truck. Damn it. He’d sensed the artifact.

“Do you—” I started.

He swung the ladder at me.

I saw it coming and caught it, my strength a match for his, but his buddy charged across the lawn toward us.

My skin flushed, nerves sending pricks of magic through my body, the change attempting to take me. But cars were driving by in the street, and a tenant might pull into the parking lot at any moment. I fought down the magic, not wanting any more witnesses to see me change. Too many people already knew what I could become.

“Look out, Luna.” Bolin stepped back and delved into his man purse for who knew what.

His warning was about the approaching werewolf, but the inspector lowered the ladder and threw a punch at me. Ducking it, I yanked the ladder away from him. I backed up and swung, trying to hit him with it at the same time as I chucked it onto the lawn. It clipped his arm, and he stumbled back, then scrambled farther away.

Bolin threw something into the grass at the werewolf’s feet. Green smoke wafted up. The guy, eyes savage even though he hadn’t shifted forms yet, leaped through it and rushed at me.

The inspector was circling behind the bushes, trying to reach the parking lot from another direction. He wanted to get around me, not fight me.

“Keep him away from my truck,” I barked at Bolin, crouching to deal with the werewolf. He sprang over the ladder and reached for me.

As I dodged his grasp, I again struggled to keep my wolf from rising. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a powerful weapon to use in my human form.

“Really need to find that sword.” After avoiding the man’s grasping hands, I sprang upon the ladder and hefted it.

I spun with it in my grip. The werewolf turned to rush me again. I slammed the ladder into his side with more than typical human strength, but it didn’t faze him. He dove, trying to tackle me to the ground. I dodged to the side and kicked. He was fast and might have caught me, but my foot dove into his stomach. He grunted and pitched forward. I kicked him again, heel slamming into his hip. It unbalanced him enough that he dropped to his knees.

I leaped onto his back, hoping to pin him.

A grunt came from the parking lot, then the thump of something hitting the side of my truck.

“Get out of the way, you stupid kid. I— What the hell is that?”

The man under my knees heaved upright, letting out a snarl that was more animal than human. He had to be on the verge of changing himself.

Unbalanced, I pitched to the side, but I kicked out as I hit the grass, hoping to keep him from springing upon me. He spun toward me, grasping, but my heel clipped him in the jaw. His head snapped back. Thrusting up from the ground, I kicked again and connected solidly. He tumbled to the side.

I rolled over and leaped after him, punching him twice before he could recover. The blows made my knuckles smart, but magicand irritation gave me the strength to ignore the pain. Again, I pinned the guy, this time wrapping my hands around his throat to convince him to stay down.

“Get off my property, or I’ll break your neck.” I squeezed while voicing the threat, hoping he recognized what I was and understood that I could kill him.

When he stilled, taking me seriously, I risked glancing toward the parking lot.

Bolin’s man purse swung through the air on its strap, the bag clubbing the inspector in the head. The man was backed up against my truck, a green vine wrapped around his ankle. It extended out of the pavement between the tires.

“There’s a feature I didn’t know my truck had,” I muttered.

“Quit hitting me, kid.” The inspector managed to snatch the bag and stop it from landing again.

He yanked a multitool from a belt holder and flicked open a knife, then used the blade to cut the strap on Bolin’s bag. He crouched down to hack at the vine, trying to get it to release his ankle.

“That’s a Stefano Ricci,” Bolin yelled, then clubbed the guy several more times, both with his fist and the bag. “You don’tcutthe leather.”

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