Page 84 of Arranged Wolf's Nanny
He came from nowhere, a thunderbolt in wolf’s skin, larger than life, larger than death. His snarl was pure fury, tearing the night apart. He hit John with all his weight, driving him off Rosalia and into the dirt.
The ground shuddered with the force.
Rosalia scrambled upright, chest heaving, blood smeared across her muzzle. Rick’s wolf loomed over John, massive, bristling, teeth sinking deep into the other male’s shoulder. John roared and twisted, but Rick was relentless, fury made flesh.
She had seen him fight before. She had seen him command. But this…this was different. This was personal. His wolf fought with all the fury of a father, a husband, a male who had been pushed too far.
John tried to throw him, but Rick bore down, pinning him. Their jaws clashed, a storm of blood and snapping teeth, and then Rick managed to pin him.
He looked up, eyes blazing.
The world stood still.
“Do it,” she whispered through the Iron Walker bond.
His jaws struck John’s throat.
The crack of it silenced everything.
Her father went still.
For one stunned heartbeat, Rosalia simply stared. Her father…her tormentor, her jailer, her shadow…lay limp beneath Rick’s jaws. Gone.
A weight she hadn’t realized she still carried collapsed inside her. Her legs trembled. She wanted to scream, to sob, to laugh, to run until her lungs burst. She had dreamed of this moment and feared it in equal measure, and now it was here, and she was free.
Rick lifted his head, muzzle dripping crimson, his amber eyes burning as they locked on hers. There was no hesitation in them, no regret. Only the raw, unflinching truth:he had chosen her.
But there was no time to breathe.
Because in that moment of victory, Rick had left his flank exposed.
Rosalia’s ears pricked at the snarl too late. A Black Claw wolf lunged from the side, massive, scarred, teeth bared for Rick’s unguarded throat.
Her howl tore from her chest, ragged with terror.
She launched herself forward, heart in her mouth, every instinct burning.
Time seemed to shatter into fragments. The world was blood and fire and the bond between them, straining, desperate.
As the wolf’s jaws closed around Rick’s throat, tearing through skin and muscles, Rosalia collided with him, knocking him off.
Rick fell, limp to the ground. The wolf sneered.
Raph. She knew it was Raph.
He paced in front of her, closing in.
“Well, well,” his voice came unbidden into her head, “if it isn’t John Heath’s little bi—”
He didn’t finish his sentence. Rosalia lunged forward, scraping her claws across his face, catching his eye.
Raph howled, reading back, blood pouring from the wound.
Rosalia snapped forward, catching his neck.
He fell to the ground, blood seeping from the gaping hole in his throat.
Rosalia spat out his rancid flesh, red dripping from her teeth.
