Rebecca Royce: Summer’s Wolf

Claudius stepped backwards to the other and crossed his arms across his chest, amusement on his face.

Summer shook, not with terror but with fury. “You’re a sick pervert.”

He raised one eyebrow. “I am many things.”

Marcus shuffled forward and Summer knew she was left with no choice but to shift. The other wolves would devour her, but at least she would die without being raped. She closed her eyes to call the shift.

A roar filled the room and Summer’s eyes flew open. A large grey and black wolf crashed into Marcus’ body. The force of the impact slammed both the wolf and Marcus into the wall behind them. Marcus screamed, but only for a moment, as the wolf tore his throat to pieces.

Finished, the wolf turned around. The remaining fourteen feral wolves growled at him and moved into offensive stances, ready to attack. Ten wolves tore through the living room door and pounced on the crazed grey wolves. Claudius shouted something, but Summer couldn’t make it out over all the noise. He ran towards the open doorway, five wolves retreating with him.

Summer’s eyes widened. No way would she let the man responsible for her parents’ murder out of the room. She leapt up and threw herself onto Claudius. He swung around, her head connected with his portly elbow, and she fell to the floor. Stars formed in her eyes but she didn’t stop her assault. On the floor, she grabbed his leg and held on tight.

Shift?

If she shifted now, she would lose her hold on Claudius. No . She just needed to hold on, to keep him from leaving.

One of Claudius’ five attack wolves jumped on top of her, biting her arm hard. She screamed in pain as the wolf tried to pull the skin off of her body. She let go of Claudius, who took that opportunity to kick her in the head.

Amidst terrifying growls, the black and grey wolf suddenly circled close to her. He latched onto the neck of her attacker and dropped to the floor, gravity take them both to the ground. She grabbed her arm and it throbbed under fingers. Blood oozed from the wound letting Summer know how close the deranged wolf had been to achieving its goal. For one moment the black and grey wolf lifted its eyes to meet her gaze. She swallowed at the intensity she saw in them. Anger and hatred were there, that was for sure, but they weren’t directed at her. The emotion she saw momentarily visible in the wolf’s eyes was longing. She wanted to cry from the sheer intensity of it but then the wolf dropped his gaze to destroy the wolf that bit her. Fur and blood flew everywhere, coating the already damaged furniture.

Cullen. Her savior was Cullen.

Mate.

Cullen. She looked up to meet his stare. His wolf eyes solid, strong brown—different from his human blue ones. She was safe. Her mind whirled back to three years before when she’d heard his voice downstairs from her bedroom. He’d argued with her mother, she hadn’t been able to make out his words, and then he’d gone. She’d heard nothing from him since.

Now he had returned.

Summer had a moment to register that Claudius escaped the room before nausea took over and she vomited all over herself. Her head spun, her pulse pounded in her ears. She couldn’t seem to stop the nausea.

She leaned over to wretch again. Strong arms pulled her hair back from her head and rubbed her back.

Cullen . Her wolf sighed. Shift now?

Summer shook her head; she was too sick to shift.

“It’s okay, Summer, I’ve got you. This is almost over.” Cullen’s voice sounded strained. She realized this was the first time he’d ever spoken to her personally. She looked around the room. The remainder of the wolves had either fled or were being destroyed by the pack wolves who had arrived with Cullen.

She vomited again, officially destroying her mother’s favorite Persian rug. It wasn’t okay. Nothing would ever be okay again.

Around her, the growls of wolves filled the room like a B-movie soundtrack and once again the scent of death filled her nose. Another wave of nausea hit her.

“Come on, let’s go.” Cullen picked her up like she was a baby and strode from the room. She saw her mother’s yellow walls covered in the death smell she knew should be impossible to see and yet she recognized it crawling all over the paint like worms. Her stomach was empty, but it churned violently. Dumbbells collided in her head over and over.

This time she blacked out from the pain.

Cullen held Summer’s unconscious figure tightly in his arms as he waited for the others to return to Westervelt’s private plane. It was his first time on the plane so it had taken him ten minutes of just searching through the damn thing to figure out how to dim the cabin lights. If she woke up to the glare of the standard fluorescents, it could worsen the concussion he was sure she’d received from the kick Claudius delivered to her head. Fury rose in his stomach at the memory. If he’d reacted just two seconds faster, the man would never have made contact with her. He closed his eyes for a moment to calm down. Revenge would come, even if it was served cold.

He held her head in his lap as her body lay across two seats, stoking her blonde hair while trying to ignore how foul she smelled. What did it say about him that he was still obsessed with her while she lay covered in blood, vomit, wolf-drool, and other disgusting substances he refused to let his nose examine too closely?

She moaned, and Cullen’s stomach rolled. Where the hell was the rest of team? If he’d been with them, the job would already be done. But he hadn’t wanted Summer to wake up to the sight of the pack removing her parents’ dead bodies, so he’d opted to bring her back to the plane instead.

Patience was not one of his virtues. He had used it up giving Summer space. He’d lived three hundred years in a blink of the eye, but the last three felt like an eternity.

The door to the cabin opened and his pack-mates entered. Azriel, who’d gotten his pilot’s license to fly the deathtrap they travelled in, entered first. He saluted with a grin on his face, and Cullen had to suppress the growl that wanted to explode from his chest. He would never understand how the Royal Six acted so perpetually jovial. Didn’t they understand that their way of life and perhaps their very existence was at risk?

Only Tristan, their Alpha—a strange fact for Cullen since he remembered when Tristan’s father had won his Alpha challenge—behaved as if he understood the severity of the times they lived in.

Summer moaned again, bringing Cullen’s attention to her. Her features, so dainty and perfectly carved, appeared strained. She furrowed her brow and Cullen ran his finger over the skin to smooth it out. She relaxed under his touch. Surprise coursed through him.

He admitted to himself he didn’t have a clue how to handle—let alone woo—his young mate. He’d promised her mother he would leave her alone for five years so she could have time to grow up from the young twenty she had been when they had first glimpsed each other and felt the mating bond. That was three years ago. Did he have to keep his word now that her mother was gone?

“I brought the extra clothes you wanted for her. Everything but her … ah … female undergarments.”

Cullen looked up. Gabriel Kane stood in front of him. He reached out and took the bag Gabriel offered him. He opened it and looked inside. Two pairs of shorts, two tee-shirts, white socks, and a pair of sneakers. Cullen exhaled loudly.

“Prince Gabriel, did you select these clothes for my mate yourself?”

Gabriel nodded. “Yes, that’s why I didn’t bring any underwear, I didn’t think you would want me handling your mate’s … intimate attire.”