Rhyannon Byrd - Last Wolf Standing

“Great,” Jeremy grunted. “Do you know how much fat that stuff contains?”

“We burn more calories than we can ever worry about, so what the hell do you care?”

“It’s my arteries I’m thinking about,” his partner grumbled. “And what about Simmons? We are still on the hunt, man, which means we’re supposed to be tracking his sadistic ass down.”

Like he needed reminding. They’d been hunting the bastard ever since they found the mutilated body of a young prostitute a few weeks ago, dumped on pack land. Anthony Simmons’s foul scent had been all over the victim, and he and Jeremy had been assigned the Bloodrun to kill the Silvercrest werewolf.

Now it was a race against the clock to catch him and eliminate the threat, before Simmons chose yet another victim. The thought twisted his insides. Mason had no doubt the rogue would exploit any vulnerability he could find and use it to strike back at the ones hunting him. His kind always did. And if he’d been watching them today, and witnessed his reaction to Torrance, he now had the perfect opportunity.

Mason couldn’t let that happen. To make sure Simmons didn’t get near her, he and Jeremy would keep an eye on things here, while Pallaton and Reyes watched the shop where she worked.

“We’ll find Simmons,” Mason rasped, grinding out his cigarette in the ashtray. “But this takes precedence right now. We have to make sure she stays safe.”

Jeremy let his head fall back against the headrest, his hands crossed over his stomach, fingers drumming repetitively against his abs. “You do realize you’ve probably landed her right in the middle of a Bloodrun, don’t you?”

“If he touches her,” Mason grunted, his voice rough as he lit up a new smoke and took a deep drag, then slowly exhaled, “he dies. He knows that.”

“That’s why he’s got nothing to lose, Mase. His death sentence has already been signed. His last breath may come tonight or a month from now, but one thing Simmons understands with crystal clarity is that he’s already dead. Considering how much he hates you he may think it’s worth it, just to screw with your mind.”

“If he wants her, he’s going to have to get through us first.”

“So then we’re like a coupla white knights, eh?” Jeremy drawled, snuffling a soft laugh under his breath. “Willing to risk our lives to slay the dragons in order to protect a damsel in distress? It’s the stuff of legends, Mason, my boy.” The irreverent blond shot him a smart-ass grin. “We should be knighted or made saints or whatever the hell they do for selfless heroes.”

Heroes? Not likely. And he sure as hell wasn’t a saint.

With a heavy sigh, Mason hunched his shoulders, cast a cautious glance up at the flickering sky…and waited for the lightning to strike.

Another loud, jarring crack of thunder sounded in the distance, lashing against the oppressive silence of the afternoon, heralding the next storm as the now-muggy air became charged with static. The shadows in Torrance’s room deepened, creeping into the corners like watchful eyes, enshrouding their bodies in an ominous, desolate gray, while the werewolf did his best to scare her to death. That is, if he didn’t just kill her first.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve been looking forward to this day, Little Red.” The hulking head moved closer, the cold tip of his glossy nose touching her own, those black, bottomless eyes staring from only inches away, so close that Torrance could see the short, individual hairs rimming the blackish skin of his eyelids. It was eerie as hell, the way he looked trapped between a wolf’s form and that of a man’s, his long, heavily muscled length covered in coarse, black fur; arms, legs and wide torso bulging with brutish strength, while his head had taken on the true shape of the animal, complete with terrifying muzzle and fangs. Where once human hands and feet had been, coarse pads now spread over his palms and soles, fingers and toes elongated into gnarled digits that curved into sinister, deadly claws.

“Now that it’s here,” he mused, rolling his hips against her lower body, “I just can’t decide what I’d like to do first. Rip out your tender little throat? Or should I reward myself with a tempting go at this delicate little body instead? One that rips you apart inside—that leaves you broken and bleeding when I’m done with you.” He paused for a moment, silent and still, looking as if he were thinking the repulsive idea through, the way a director might visualize a particularly compelling scene within his mind. “Wouldn’t that make for some good storytelling when I get around to ending your half-breed’s life? I don’t imagine Mason likes to share his playthings.”

Torrance felt her eyes go wide, unable to believe what he’d just said.

Mason? Mason! The psycho hunk from the café? Oh, no. No way. My luck can’t possibly be this bad!

But it was all clicking into place now. That crazy friend of his had said something about putting her in danger. Damn it, she’d known that gorgeous face was too good to be true. And now look at her. Not even her mother had been this unlucky when it came to men!

A new feeling began seeping into her system—a cool, slow-burning fury that filled her from the bottom up, tingling in her fingers and toes, burning at the backs of her eyes. The monster licked a disgusting path up the side of her face, and she jolted, sensation rushing back into her limbs as he pressed his muzzle to her ear. “Yeah, I’m going to enjoy sharing the gory details of our time together with Dillinger,” he growled. “Almost as much as I’m going to enjoy making you beg for mercy.”

Torrance suddenly heard herself make a tsking sound, her upper lip curling with disgust. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to play with your food?”

He shifted to stare into her eyes, and grinned at what he found there. “Oh-ho, so there is a little life in her, after all. Goodie.”

Oh, God, what the hell was she doing? Before she could figure it out, he leaned closer, pelting her face with his rank breath. “And to answer your question, my mother was a weak bitch who betrayed my father and died in another man’s bed.” He smiled again, making her cringe as the hazy shafts of light stealing into her room caught the dull gleam of fangs set within pink gums. “The idiots never even saw him coming. Dad told me she was still screaming from her climax when he sliced her throat open.”

“Jesus,” Torrance croaked hoarsely, knowing the scene he’d just described was going to play front and center in her nightmares from now on— if she lived long enough to have another nightmare.

“He took a souvenir to remind him of her, and I’m thinking that maybe I should do the same. Killing Dillinger’s new woman is certainly something I’ll want to remember. But what should it be?” he murmured, looking her over with slow deliberation. “A lock of hair? A…finger, perhaps? It’ll be fun, rubbing it in his smug face that I had you. Especially when he wanted you. I could tell. Oh yeah, he wanted you bad . But I’m the one who’s going to get you.”

He lowered his head back over her chest, watching her watch him , and let his long candy-pink tongue slip toward her breast, swiping at her cloth-covered nipple. Torrance grimaced, squirming, a sickening icy fear fisting in her gut, before settling lower into those deep, inner feminine places, and wrathful frustration surged through her.

She could feel it building…building…and in the next moment a loud, endless roar filled her ears, echoing through her brain…and with a stunning jolt of shock, she realized that it was her! “ Get…off…me! ” she shouted, her rage taking hold, gathering like a coming storm, mounting in her taxed muscles until she felt like she’d explode.