Page 46 of Cosmic Power

Zamorra remembered the shifter who came into her cell, the one she had flung her empty plate at and broken his nose. The one she antagonised into a shift. From the look on his face, he remembered it too.

His brown eyes flashed gold as he took a step forward and faced her, dropping into a fighting stance. Anger and dominance rippled from him and hit her head on.

She brushed it off. It was easy. Not only because she was leagues ahead of him on the power scale, but because her werewolf waspissed. She had days and days of pent-up aggression, and that anger fuelled the power coursing through Zamorra’s body.

Zamorra was still confused. “You want me to fight him?” she asked, frowning.

“No, youngin,” Barnabas smirked and spread his arms wide. “I want you to fight them all. Let’s see what you’ve really got.”

ChapterTwelve

Zamorra reared back, narrowly avoiding the meaty fist coming her way, and delivered a solid palm strike in retaliation, driving the heel of her palm straight up Kronan’s nose.

The shifter grunted in pain and stumbled back a few steps, blood dripping from his now-busted nose, over his mouth and down his chin. He glared, eyes flashing gold, and used the back of his hand to wipe away the blood.

“You bitch,” he hissed. His muscles flexed under his black t-shirt as he advanced, his determined, steely eyed gaze locked on her. He sent a ripple of his dominance sailing towards her to try and catch her off guard, but she shrugged it off.

He went on the offensive again, striking out high and low with a variety of punches and kicks that not only showed he had training, but that held enough power to make pain flare throughout her body as she blocked him.

There was one thing that Zamorra couldn’t help noticing as she worked hard to block and avoid each attack; he never partially shifted, never called on the power of the creature living beneath his skin.

She sensed their connection was rocky at best. He didn’t have full control over his were, which was why it had been able to burst out so easily in her cell when she had antagonised him. Kronan couldn’t risk tapping into the creature’s power in case it took over entirely. And based on the anger vibrating around him, Zamorra guessed that he wanted to take her down on his own.

His lack of control over his werewolf would be his downfall. In hand-to-hand combat, they were pretty evenly matched. Whoever had trained him was as skilled as her father was. She didn’t care what that dickwad Barnabas said. Orion was—and always will be—her father. So as Zamorra saw it, the only way she was going to beat him was to tap into her werewolf.

Zamorra ducked under a powerful roundhouse kick and rammed her fist into Kronan’s stomach. A pain-filled cry left his lips and he hunched over, gasping for breath. She brought her knee up quick and smashed it into his face. His head flung back, blood spurting in every direction as she landed another solid blow to his nose.

But he recovered fast. Quicker than Zamorra anticipated.

He side-kicked her in the chest with enough power that it knocked her off her feet, sending her flying and landing flat on her back. Her breath whooshed out of her and she groaned in pain.

Up! Get up!her werewolf snapped, releasing a torrent of power in Zamorra’s body.

Her adrenaline spiked and she rolled back, landing on her haunches and barely avoiding Kronan’s boot as he slammed it down right where she was lying mere seconds ago.

She partially shifted, thoroughly enjoying the look of surprise on Kronan’s face as sharp, six-inch claws sprung from her hands. Silver fur burst out over her skin, travelling all the way up her arms to her shoulders.

Zamorra capitalised on Kronan’s shock. She launched herself at him, ramming her claws into his pecs and tackling him to the ground. He cried out in pain and latched onto her wrists, trying to pull them out of his body.

Zamorra relinquished more control and her head transformed into a large, silver werewolf while the rest of her body stayed just the way it was. Silver fur covered every inch of her face, her eyes blazed silver, a snout replaced her mouth and nose and her teeth morphed into razor-sharp canines. Kronan’s eyes widened in horror and his body stiffened, all the colour draining from his face until he looked as pale as a ghost.

Her werewolf roared so loudly, it burst his eardrums and he shrunk back, fear drenching his scent completely. Her werewolf unleashed all the rage it had been feeling over the last few days of confinement in one go.

She leaned forward and swallowed Kronan’s scream as she tore into his face with her sharp canines. Kronan swatted at her, hitting her over and over as his legs kicked out, but she didn’t let go of her prize. She dug in harder, tightening her jaw until she heard a crack and he went limp beneath her. The taste of blood made her werewolf rumble in satisfaction. She roared again; a deep, savage sound that was meant to scare, to intimidate, to warn anyone else that she would not be an easy target.

Zamorra pushed for supremacy and her werewolf retreated. In the blink of an eye the giant silver werewolf disappeared entirely, returning Zamorra back to her human form.

Blood marred her face, dripped down her neck and soaked into her clothing so much that it looked like she had bathed in the stuff. She moved her tongue over her teeth and felt something slick and warm stuck between them.

Oh god.

Zamorra reached into her mouth with her fingers and pulled out a string of flesh almost half a metre long. She shuddered.

Did you have to bite his face off?Zamorra asked her werewolf in disgust, flicking the piece of flesh away.

Be thankful I didn’t eat his entire head. I was thinking about it, her werewolf replied, snark dripping from her tone.

Zamorra guessed sheshouldbe thankful for that. Her werewolf had done that in the past and it was completely disgusting. Sometimes Zamorra would let her have control for hours afterward to make sure nothing remained of the head, so that when she returned, she didn’t have something exactly like this happen.

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