Page 72 of Wolves of the Golden Sun

“… fucking bury the lead,” I say aloud, forcing the squishy omega away as I summon the beast I carry within.

Chapter18

Where bitch? Nah. Werebitch

It’s easierthan I expected. Sliding into the alpha-beast’s skin, her frame of mind, is just as easy as stepping into my fur.

But I don’t think of her as me.

She is something else. Useful, but not truly me.

I bring my awareness to my body, but I don’t move. I stay limp and dangling as my limbs grow longer, stronger.

More deadly.

The revenant is so busy trading barbs with Rook that he doesn’t notice.

Power rushes through me, and I don’t feel removed from it or like I’m here and also not.

I’m fully present.

Fully aware of the shitburg I’m about to break over this revenant’s head.

I take a breath, filling my lungs with the scents of my mates and the cool mountain air from the cracked window, and tear myself out of the revenant’s grasp, falling to my hands and knees beside him.

Head still aimed downward, his gaze bores into my back. I rise to my full height, turning to face him. My full Werebitch height on elongated human-wolf hybrid legs puts me eye to fucking eye with him.

“Touch my sister and I’ll rip your face off.” A voice that’s not fully mine wends out of my throat. More animal than not, I lean into the grating timbre, a period to my threat. “And when it heals, I’ll rip it off as many times as you take to retreat to your sorry little hovel in my mate’s brain. And if you ever show yourself around me again, the face is just the start of the things I’ll rip off of you.”

I flick my gaze to the revenant’s crotch for the briefest second.

The room goes silent, and the revenant’s steely gaze travels the length of my modified body. When he meets my gaze again, it’s clear he’s taken my threat seriously.

As he fucking should.

He glances behind me at Jonah. “Alpha bitches, eh? Can’t fucking stand them.” His eyes shimmer, and then I’m staring at Drago’s horrified expression.

He takes in my form, the stances of everyone in the room, and Rafe crumpled and in his fur under the window before turning his tortured gaze back to me.

Drago reaches for my face, but I turn my head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers and stashes his hand in his pocket.

“It wasn’t you,” I mutter as I turn and walk out of the living room. Out of my purple door and into the dead of night, where I slide into my fur and run as far and fast as I can from the flaming pile of horseshit that almost was.

I don’t have a plan. No destination.

Just run.

Wind in my fur, paws connecting to the ground, scents blazing past my nose too fast to catalog.

Run.

Run until my paws hurt.

Until my ribs ache with the effort of drawing the next breath.

Until I’ve made it down the mountain and across the highway to a crummy motel.

I don’t realize I’m tracking her until I’m head-butting her door.

---