“William’s here,” Jamie gasped out. “He’s trying to break down my door. He said he’s going to kill me. Kill both of us. Please—”
The playfulness vanished from Sloane’s voice, replaced by something dark and dangerous. “I’m coming. Lock yourself in and don’t open that door for anyone but me.”
“Hurry.” The word came out as a sob. Another crack appeared in the door, larger this time. “I think he’s going to—”
The door exploded inward.
* * * *
Sloane wrenched the steering wheel, sending the Charger into a screaming U-turn across Main Street. Horns blasted as other drivers slammed their brakes, the engine howling as he floored it toward Jamie's apartment complex. One hand on the wheel, he managed to text Logan. Just the address and “SOS.” His brother was already in town and would be there faster than any other pack member.
The Charger's suspension bottomed out as he hit the parking lot speed bump at forty. Sloane abandoned the still-running car directly in front of the entrance, leaping out before it had fully stopped. He tore the building's front door nearly off its hinges, his wolf clawing just beneath his skin, thirsting for blood.
He never should have left Jamie alone. The thought hammered through his skull with each footfall as he bounded up the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. By the third-floor landing, his vision had narrowed to a crimson tunnel, his wolf’s rage bleeding into everything he saw.
Wood splintered beneath Sloane’s shoulder as he drove through the apartment door. The smell hit him first. Fear, blood, and underneath it all, the wild musk of coyote. His wolf snarled, recognizing another predator in his mate’s territory.
From the bedroom came the sounds of struggle—flesh hitting flesh, furniture scraping across hardwood, Jamie’s pained grunt. Sloane crossed the living room in three strides, his muscles coiled tight with barely leashed violence.
The bedroom door hung off its hinges, revealing a nightmare. William had Jamie pinned against the dresser, one fist buried in his gut while the other drew back for another blow. Purple-black fingerprint bruises marked Jamie’s throat like a grotesque necklace.
A howl tore from Sloane’s throat, primal and furious. He grabbed William by the back of his designer shirt and hurled him through the doorway. The man’s body crashed into the hallway wall, leaving a dent in the drywall before he crumpled to the floor.
William pushed himself up, movements too fluid for someone who’d just been thrown across a room. His lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing canines that were starting to elongate.
“So the wolf finally shows up,” William spat, rolling his shoulders. “Should’ve known Jamie would spread his legs for a stranger.” He spat blood onto the floor.
Sloane stalked forward, letting his own canines drop. Control was everything now. One wrong move and Jamie could get caught in the crossfire.
William lunged first, claws erupting from his fingertips as he slashed at Sloane’s face. Sloane ducked, pivoting to drive his elbow into William’s ribs. Bone cracked under the impact, but William just laughed, twisting to rake claws across Sloane’s shoulder.
Fire bloomed where claws found flesh. Sloane ignored it, using William’s momentum against him, sending him stumbling into the living room. They slammed onto the coffee table, both fighting for dominance. William’s knee found Sloane’s kidney, white-hot agony lancing through his side.
But for every hit William landed, Sloane gave back two with surgical accuracy.
They crashed into the living room, William’s shoulder slamming into the coffee table. Wood exploded into splinters. The coyote came up swinging, wild and vicious, no technique, just raw violence. His knuckles split Sloane’s lip, copper flooding his mouth.
Pain bloomed, hot and immediate, but Sloane had taken worse in pack sparring matches.
William fought like a rabid animal. All aggression, no strategy. Sloane ducked the next wild swing and drove his fist into William’s solar plexus. Air whooshed from the coyote’s lungs. A right hook followed, snapping William’s head to the side. Bone cracked under the impact.
The couch tipped backward as William stumbled into it. He grabbed a glass vase from the end table, hurling it at Sloane’s head. Sloane jerked aside, the vase shattering against the wall behind him. Glass shards rained down.
Movement in his peripheral caught Sloane’s attention. Jamie stood in the hallway, not cowering but furious. Blood trickled from his split lip, and those bruises on his throat had darkened to purple-black. But his hazel eyes blazed with rage, not fear.
The distraction cost Sloane. William’s fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head back. Stars burst across his vision. The coyote pressed his advantage, driving a knee into Sloane’s ribs.
Sloane caught William’s next punch, twisting his wrist until bones ground together. The coyote’s scream cut off as Sloane’s fist plowed into his nose. Cartilage crunched, blood spraying across the beige carpet.
William staggered backward, and that was when Jamie moved. The lamp came down hard, shattering against William’s skull. Ceramic shards exploded outward, raining down like confetti.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then William turned slowly, blood streaming from his nose and a gash on his scalp.
“You fucking—” he snarled, advancing on Jamie.
Jamie’s eyes widened. “Oh shit,” he breathed, stumbling backward.
Before Sloane could intercede, Logan filled the doorway and stepped smoothly between Jamie and William, all six-plus feet of dominant wolf blocking the attack.
