“Wolfie?” My voice is low as I slowly rise to my feet and make my way toward him. His eyes come up to watch me, following my every movement. I drop to my knees in front of him and wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face against his fur. He’s covered in dirt and blood and who knows what else at this point, but I’m not going to let my mate think killing Danny is something to be ashamed of.
It’s not like I’m any kind of angel.
He whines softly, low in his throat, and rests his head on top of mine, rubbing the underside of his chin over my hair.
“You did good,” I whisper.
“He’s right,” says Raquel, the soft words coming from much closer than expected. I glance up to find her standing less than a foot away, biting at her lower lip and staring at my mate. “Thank you, Wolfie.”
Fourteen
Blake
AfterspendingyearsasDoyle’s champion, I know well the taste of blood and the feel of it caked in my fur. The shame and guilt that come along with killing are familiar aches in my chest. But this is somehow worse, because I don’t remember making the decision to rip out the human’s throat.
Or if it was a decision at all.
He was a bad man, this human who threatened my mate and his friend, but that fact isn’t enough to soothe my conscience. I don’t deserve her whispered gratitude or my mate’s arms around my neck.
Because I didn’t kill the human for them.
I didn’t even do it for myself.
I killed him because my wolf took control.Again.
The man was down. I could have held him there with very little effort. But that animal part of me led by nothing but fury and murderous instinct took over. My wolf saw the human as an obstacle, an enemy, asprey,and there was no holding it back.
This isn’t the ring where I’m forced to fight for survival. Doesn’t that mean I should be able to control myself, control my wolf? And am I any better than an animal if I can’t?
My mate—Neil—hasn’t said the word, but I can see the way he looks at me sometimes, the way he unconsciously tenses if I move too quickly. He worries I’ve gone feral.
And he might be right to worry.
My memories of everything that has happened since this cursed collar was first placed around my neck are scattered and disjointed, lost in the haze of bloodlust and things I don’t want to think about. But before that?
I was a person.
I had a home.
I had a brother.
Will I be able to be those things,havethose things again once the collar is off? Will I be able to be the man my mate needs when I’m no longer trapped in fur?
I hope so.
“You did good,” Neil whispers again, before releasing me and leaning back so he can meet my eyes. “But I’m still sorry you were placed in a position where you had to do that.”
Why is he apologizing? I’m the one who lost control. I whine and he strokes his hand down my neck.
“Nobody’s going to shed any tears over that asshole,” he says, gaze darting the limp body for a split second.
I let out a huff of disbelief and pointedly look at his human friend—Raquel—whose cheeks are definitely wet.
Neil follows the direction of my gaze, then rises to his feet. “Uh, Raquel?”
“Yeah…” Her voice is small, barley above a whisper and her eyes are glued to the body of her… whatever he was. Boyfriend? Abuser? Both?
“You’re looking a little green. Maybe you should—”
