Page 5 of Blood Owed (Blood Mafia 1)
Someone’s fighting.
My heart flutters with excitement. I love a good bar fight; they’re sloppy and filled with passion. Gently twisting the handle, I ease the door open and slip into the night. The back of the club opens to a dark and grimy alley.
As I suspected, there’s a fight.
Except it’s not two drunk dudes.
There are at least fifteen guys in the alley. Half of them are wearing black suits which are way too fancy for this club, and the other half are dressed in jeans and T-shirts.
They’re all pummeling one another. Blood splatters the ground in front of me, and I pop open my mouth, staring at it.
A man from Team Casual howls, and I lift my eyes in time to see a man from Team Suits jamming a knife deep into his stomach. His face partially shifts, his nose elongating and teeth sharpening.
Oh shit.
The guy just stabbed a wolf-shifter.
What the hell did I stumble out here for?
Another from Team Casual shifts into his wolf form, shredding his jeans in the process and launching at the guy with the knife, snapping his jaw around his neck and ripping the sensitive flesh open.
Blood hits my thigh.
This time I scream because, one, I’m drunk, and two, who knows what kind of blood borne pathogens are slithering around on my leg.
The fighting stops for a second, and the men whip their heads around to stare at me. The wolf scents the air, growling as he does. I take a step back when a suited man steps toward me.
No.
A large hand slams against his chest and shoves him to the ground. His face contorts in anger. The guy who pushed him jumps on him and they resume fighting. The shifted wolf starts skirting around the group, its yellow eyes locked on me. Blood drips from his mouth.
I lock my knees, fighting against the tremble that’s taken over my body. I know how to fight, but I’m drunk, and this is a wolf we’re talking about.
A wolf.
Kevin’s a wolf, but I’ve rarely seen him shifted, and when I have, he wasn’t stalking me like this big scary one is.
Grappling against the door, I try to find the handle while keeping my gaze on the wolf. I’m not an idiot, I don’t look him directly in the eye. The last thing I need is to trigger his innate desire to assert dominance over weaker beings. I track his movements, cursing when the door handle won’t jiggle.
“Crap, crap, crap.” I glance around the alley.
There’s a small opening between the fighting. I might make it out before the wolf gets to me. Slipping my fingers between my legs, I pull the knife from its sheath and flick it open. When I edge toward the gap, the beast growls. Letting out a girly squeak, I make a run for it. My ankle rolls in my heels, and I go down before I can get very far.
As I fall, I curse Hollywood for making me think I had a chance of running in four-inch stiletto heels. There’s no way.
My body hits the ground with a thud, and I start to army crawl.
The wolf’s breath breezes across my ankles.
My chest seizes as I panic and begin to pant. He’s right on top of me. I roll onto my back, swinging my fist as hard as I can, and hit the wolf’s snout.
He yelps as his head snaps to the side.
That was luck. The nose is the most sensitive part of his body.
I scramble to my feet, holding on to my knife tightly. I’ll stab him as a last resort. With a pathetic limp-jog, I scurry through the alley. None of the other men seem to care the wolf is about to eat me, and I highly doubt they’ll worry about rescuing me when they’re all busy beating each other up.
Stumbling into a turf war, real fucking smart, Demi.
