J. Tyler: Primal Law

“Oh, come on,” she began, pouting. “It ain’t your problem. Let someone else deal with it.”

Spinning her around, he gave her a push toward the corner. “Go, now, and don’t follow me. I’ll call you.” In that moment, he knew he never would, but the reason eluded him.

Digging his iPhone from his jeans pocket, he took off at a jog, wincing at the stab of pain in his mangled leg. In human form he could walk with barely a limp, but more strenuous activity such as jogging, running, or sparring with his teammates still caused the injured limb a great deal of agony.

Ignoring the pain, he scented the air. Fear. The unknown woman’s panic clawed at his chest, more than a stranger’s should. He had to get to her, make sure she was all right. Following the scent, he slowed long enough to ring Zander. Thankfully, his friend answered right away.

“What’s up?”

“My hookup, Alexa. You’ve met her.”

“Right.”

“We went for a walk, but something’s going down and I had to send her back. She’s coming your way.” He gave Zan her location and the intersection he’d just passed.

“I’ll call the others and send them as backup. After I make sure she’s safe, I’ll head there myself. What’s going on?”

“Not sure, but I heard a woman scream twice.”

“Be there soon.”

“Thanks, man.” Ending the call, he stuffed the phone into his pocket again and picked up the pace. He didn’t understand this driving need to hurry, to get between this woman and whatever threat she faced. He ran full out, knowing by the sweet scent that must be hers that he was almost there. She was nearby.

His route took him farther from the Strip, across another parking lot and past more darkened buildings. Not an area where anyone should wander alone. What had brought the woman to such a desolate part of the city? He’d learn soon enough.

As he rounded another building, he spotted her. The woman whose scent would likely drive him mad if he had a few seconds to savor it. The petite blonde was struggling in the hold of a man in a dark suit, fighting like a rabid wildcat, biting, scratching, and kicking. A second man rose to his feet, gun in one hand, cupping his crotch with the other, and Jaxon felt a surge of pride knowing she’d put him on the ground. Then the first man slammed her against the side of a car and delivered a blow to her face that snapped her head back and made her cry out in pain and terror.

Tear out his fucking heart and feast on it while it beats.

Jaxon’s beast rose with a vengeance, burst from his skin without conscious thought. His roar shook the earth, brought the tableau before him to a complete standstill. He stripped off his shirt, was barely aware of the rest of his clothes falling away as skin became fur, muscles and bones contorting and reshaping, the usual pain little more than a whisper in his mind. Hands changed to paws, fingernails to claws, man to pure, raging gray wolf.

All zeroed in on the man who’d struck the small, pretty blonde.

The soldier in him knew the smart move would be to go for the man with the gun; the beast demanded blood from the one with his hands on her . The one who’d hit her.

The one who now let her go, twisted around to confront the new threat . . . and stared at him in horror. The predator in him felt a surge of satisfaction. His wolf wasn’t nearly as hampered by his leg injury as the man.

The wolf sped across the distance, leaped, and the man screamed, the last sound he’d ever make. His forepaws struck the bastard square in the chest, knocking him backward, into the side of the car. Off-balance, the man stumbled and fell, and Jaxon took him to the ground. Lunging, he went for the kill, snapped his jaws around the vulnerable neck, teeth sinking into flesh, through muscle and bone. The man’s scream ended in a rough gurgle, his hands grabbing desperately at the wolf’s fur, trying to dislodge him. To no avail.

The struggles weakened as blood filled the wolf’s mouth, rich and sweet, and he was hardly aware of the man’s companion shouting in terror. The beast longed to linger over his prize, to rip into the savory meat and take his fill. To howl his triumph over the man who’d dared to strike his—

A muffled pop and a searing pain in his shoulder brought him around snarling, his kill abandoned as he faced the remaining threat. This asshole had also wanted to harm the woman, and for that he was fucking dead. The wolf launched himself at the second man, who backpedaled with a yell, pointed the gun and fired again. His shot went wide, and Jaxon took him down as easily as he had the first goon, tearing out his throat. The urge to feed was strong, almost unbearable, now that they were no longer a threat to the woman.

The woman.

Again, the scent of her invaded his senses. With the danger past, he let his limp prey drop from his jaws and finally took stock, letting the aroma of citrus and vanilla fill him, the crisp, clean essence of her imprinting on every cell of his being. A strange rush fired his blood, as though the man inside the beast had mainlined a load of coke, a comparison he could honestly make. A much younger, more reckless Jaxon had flirted with the edge of no return before he’d gotten his act together and joined the Marines.

Instinct told him that the effect of this woman’s scent had the potential to be twice as intoxicating as any drug, and much more dangerous to the man and to the wolf.

Turning, he saw her. Edging around the front of the dilapidated car with her hands on the hood, eyes wide with shock, trying to put the vehicle between them. The predator in him tensed, focused his attention solely on the woman, and he moved forward slowly. Began to stalk her—but not for the reason she might think.

She was slim and small, fine-boned, with a delicate face that was all angles and dominated by big sky blue eyes. Almost an elfin face, especially with the shoulder-length pale blond hair framing those sweet features. He doubted her head would reach his chin, and all things considered, she’d tuck against his chest and mold perfectly against his much bigger body.

Mine.

And why the hell would he go all possessive over a woman he didn’t know? His irritation with himself emerged as a growl.

“N-nice puppy,” she stammered, stumbling as she kept moving backward, around the car. “Good puppy. Aren’t you p-pretty?”

The wolf snorted, which came out like a sneeze. He’d been called a lot of things, very few of them complimentary, and certainly never pretty. But from her? He could live with that.

She grabbed for the passenger door handle and tugged, only to find it locked on that side. Eyes round with fear, she stared at him, and he recognized the moment she realized she was trapped. There was nowhere to go, no escape.

The woman was his.

Kira stared at the . . . dog? Husky? Wolf?

Wolf-man?

No. She had not seen a pissed-off Rambo wannabe burst from the shadows, strip off his shirt, and turn into a big ball of fuzz. That image had to have been a product of her terrified, overwrought mind. But it had seemed so real. She blinked, studying the animal warily as it returned her regard.

The creature was huge, with creamy white fur tipped in black and gray around its face, ears, shoulders, and back. His eyes were a steely blue-gray and seemed to look straight into her soul. Despite the blood marring his coat on his right shoulder, he was beautiful.

And he’d easily ripped apart two grown men, one of them armed. Another glance at the gore confirmed that part was definitely no figment of her imagination.

He continued to advance on her, and she shrank against the passenger’s side of her Camry, heart hammering in her throat. She couldn’t outrun him if she tried, a fact reflected in those piercing eyes. They were eerily intelligent, almost daring her to try so he could enjoy the thrill of chasing her down.