Page 56 of Depraved
I inhale deeply; my sweet mate is giving off a scent that instantly makes me hard as a rock. I can smell her arousal even over the charcoal and metal scent of fired bullets. Dammit. That means other shifters will descend soon. I have to hurry.
Go hide,I mentally order her with all the force of my alpha command magic. As an afterthought, I add,Grab a weapon.
I add it because I can scent the fear underneath her arousal, fear that’s nearly an aphrodisiac in my current state. I want to dominate every wolf in a five-fucking-mile radius.
And then, I want to fuck her in front of them, just to show them I’m their king.
I blow out a breath and repeat that last order, getting more specific.Grab a nail gun. Or a pole.
I provide her with a task to comfort her and give her a purpose so that the fear doesn’t paralyze her. It doesn’t really matter what weapon she grabs. I won’t let her use it. My omega will never have to defend herself.
I launch myself over the side of the fire escape, ignoring the stairs. I land with a resounding thud on top of the asphalt, and pain sizzles up my leg.
I shove that sensation to the back of my brain and sniff the air, focusing on the scents around me. Nothing but humans to the front and either side.
But to the back, somewhere in the trees, I scent exhaust fumes and shifters. I immediately head in that direction, leaving the gun behind on the ground. I can’t hold it easily in this form, and if I come across a shifter, I want to be able to rend them limb from limb.
The alpha I just killed was a low-ranking fucker who might have been good with a metal death stick but didn’t stand a chance against my magic. Especially not after I’d whispered an alpha command to him to “freeze.” His limbs had stiffened up, and he’d fallen. Snapping his neck wasn’t nearly satisfying enough. I’m thirsty for more.
A chain-link fence divides me and the trees beyond. Rather than jumping it, I claw myself an opening and step through.
The smells of gas, oil, and unwashed shifter draw me through the brush, and I sprint in their direction. I smash through the undergrowth, not bothering to be subtle. I want to scent their fear. I want them to know I’m coming.
Oh. There it is. The sour stench of a shifter who knows he’s about to die. A wild yip escapes my muzzle as I charge forward and burst into a clearing. Three motorcycles are there, two with riders, one empty. I immediately assume the other rider was the shooter.
“Fuck!” Both guys go to kick-start their rides, but I grab the nearest one. He’s wearing a shiny blue helmet, and I smash it between both claws. The helmet—and the skull underneath—crack like eggs, red yolk gushing from inside.
The other shifter gets his rig to start, and I take a step in his direction.
But then Elena’s slick perfumes the air. The fucker escapes in a cloud of dust, and I watch him go. I notice the cut on his jacket is the same as Buck’s from the other night. A snarling wolf head over two broken bones.
I know where I’ll be able to find this fucker. Secure in that knowledge, I turn and head back to my mate.
I’m not going to let anyone else get close to her while she’s like this … and if I can’t work out my aggression with blood lust, I guess I’ll have to settle for plain old lust.
When I bend to duck through the opening, I sliced in the fence, another wave of her scent hits me, and it’s stronger than before.
Goddammit, is she touching herself?
I race around to the front door and yank it open, the metal creaking as it slides.
Elena shrieks, and my heightened senses immediately detect her over in the back corner.
It’s me,I tell her inside her own head.
Oh, thank fuck,she says, though I’m not certain she knows she’s replying in mind speak.
I make my way over to her, and she springs up from where she’s crouched, running to me with open arms. She throws herself at me and engulfs me in a hug.
She embraces me like I’m a soldier returning from battle, like a wife who adores a husband who’s been gone. Like I’m a hero.
My chest lights up at the feeling, and I inhale, satisfaction rumbling through me that I was able to protect my little wolf.
I scent her slick gathering in her panties, her tiny body getting ready to reward me. I pull her closer and growl in her ear, and an entire cloud of emotional scents that range from attraction to relief, then to dismay emit from her.
“Oh fuck, look at your leg.”
I glance down and realize that my leg is a red mess. Running with a bullet embedded in my muscle hasn’t done me any favors.
