Page 57 of Enspelled

Somehow, I launch myself over the back of the couch. How? I don’t know, but adrenaline and sheer terror must count for a lot, because all I know is he must be here either to kill me or lock me in a cage after what Keane… wait a second, where the hell is Keane?

My eyes slide past the burly long-haired shifter and connect with a sight that fills me with horror.

The shifter rises from his crouch, but not before I glimpse a slumped form, head lowered and blood dripping down the side of his face.

Keane.

My brain must stop working because I sprint toward Keane, panic making my voice high and too fast. “Keane! You killed him!Keane!”

The shifter steps smoothly between us, and I stumble to a stop, desperate to shove him out of the way because I have to know that Keane is okay. Ihaveto.

“He’s still breathing,” the shifter says with an unconcerned shrug. “For now. But when Liam is through with him…”

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence. I know. Keane told me that Liam had given him a one-day pass that expired yesterday.

The shifter steps toward me. He says something else, but I’m not listening. All my focus is on Keane’s chest. Is it rising? Or is this just wishful thinking?

What if he’s dead?

I drag another breath deep into my lungs, but it doesn’t feel nearly enough.

Is this what a panic attack feels like?

“Hey!” the shifter snarls.

I rip my eyes from Keane’s chest. “I don’t believe you.”

His gaze slides over my shoulder. “You hear that, Carl? She doesn’t believe me.”

Which is how I learn this shifter isn’t alone.

I dart a glance over my shoulder, lightning quick, in case this is a trick he’s using to distract me so he can grab me.

Standing near the front door is another shifter—not as heavily muscled as the one in front of me, but that doesn’t mean his dark glower isn’t as intimidating as hell.

He lifts a hand and waves. “Witch.”

“You want me to poke him to be sure?” the shifter in front asks me.

My jaw tightens and I clench my fists as I will my out-of-control power—which seems to have taken a vacation—to blast this guy into next week.

And of course, just like all the times I’ve willed it to happen, nothing does.

The shifter smiles darkly at me and shifts his focus to the poker leaning against the side of the fireplace. “I guess I could do that.”

When he takes two steps toward the poker, turning his back on me, I don’t hesitate. I shove him in the middle of the back as hard as I can. He flies into the coffee table, smashing it to pieces. “Don’t you dare!”

A growl behind me has me wheeling around in time to dodge the other shifter who lunges at me.

I dart around the couch, skid, and nearly go down on the hardwood floors. But I don’t let a near fall stop me. I sprint to the front door. If I can get outside, maybe I can buy myself enough time to shift to a wolf so I can use my claws and teeth.

Just as I’m stretching my fingers out to grab the handle, a hand grips the back of my shirt and yanks me back.

Where the hell is this stupid power, and why am I not shifting?

Screaming, I twist and struggle. Material tears, and then I’m free again. Though with a shifter now blocking the door and another one I just sent crashing into a coffee table rising to his feet, I don’t know how long that’s going to last.

My eyes are frantic as I hurtle toward the kitchen, the only place in the room without a shifter in it.

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