I watch in horrified understanding as Doyle takes another step forward. Rather than a triumvirate prison, he’s angling for suicide by shifter with the added benefit of petty revenge.
If Blake kills Doyle outside of an actual fight, it will practically guarantee he’s ruled a feral.
And then the triumvirate will do exactly what Doyle wants: put him down.
Doyle closes his eyes and tilts his head to the side in a sign of submission, unresisting, not fighting back. He takes another step forward, and Blake springs, taking Doyle to the ground. I yell his name, beg him to stop,wait, but it’s as if he doesn’t even hear me. Without pause, he leans down, wraps his jaws around Doyle’s throat, and violently shakes his head.
A wet ripping noise.
Blood splattering.
Doyle’s dying gurgles.
Then my blood-covered mate stands over Doyle’s body like a predator protecting his kill, sides heaving with heavy breaths. His head jerks up when someone behind me moves and he bares his teeth in a snarl, eyes blank and empty. No sign at all of human-level sentience even though the threat has been eliminated.
Solomon’s lips thin, and from the corner of my eye, I see him making some signal to the praetorians. The two triumvirate officers split up and start slowly moving toward Blake, one from either side in an attempt to flank him.
Acid climbs the back of my throat, my stomach churning. This is everything I feared since locking eyes with the half-feral wolf in the ring. We made it out of the casino, made it all the way halfway across the country, but now… this is it.
They’re going to kill him. Put him down.
And, even dead, Doyle wins.
No.I’mnotgoing to let that happen.
I dart forward and turn to face down the two praetorians, positioning myself between them and my fated mate. Yes, he killed Doyle, but the asshole deserved that, and worse, and I refuse to let them punish Blake for doing the world a favor. They’ll have to go through me first.
“Neil, please step away from him.” Solomon moves forward, hands up in a calming gesture.
Blake snarls and tries to lunge at the Alpha, but I move to the side to block him. “He’s not feral,” I say frantically. “He’s just overwhelmed. He’ll come back.”
He has to.
Solomon gives me a skeptical look, but stops coming closer and signals for the praetorians to do so as well.
“He’s not feral,” I repeat. A stab of pain in the back of my neck gives me an idea. “It’s the mating frenzy. We’re fated mates. We haven’t completed the bond yet.”
The two praetorians share a look, and Solomon frowns slightly.
“He’s not dangerous,” I say.Not to me. “I’ll prove it.”
Sidestepping the body, I drop to my knees and throw my arms around Blake’s neck. A low growl still rumbles in his chest, histeeth bared as his gaze bounces between Solomon and the praetorians.
“Shhhh,” I say, stroking his fur, not caring about the fact that Doyle’s blood is getting all over me.
But Blake keeps growling. Not at me, but at everyone else. And the volume only rises when the praetorians start moving forward again.
“Stop,” I say, a frantic edge to my voice. “You have to give him a chance. You have to…”
“Neil,” says Solomon, voice low, calming, fuckingpatronizing. “I know this is hard, but you need to step away. They won’t hurt him, not until—”
“But right nowhe’llhurtthem,” I say. “And that will sign his death warrant. Give him a chance. Giveusa chance. You saw how Doyle set him up. If you kill him, Doyle wins.”
“The circumstances will be—”
“What can I do to prove to you he isn’t feral?” I ask, pleading.
“Have him shift back,” says one of the praetorians. “Submit to an interrogation.”
