Ryan’s arms dropped to his sides while his lungs worked like bellows. The fight had taken a lot out of him, and he needed a moment to recover. Eventually, his breath eased enough for him to face his rescuer. He turned and saw a man aiming his gun straight at Ryan.
No!
He started to shift back to human. He needed to show that he was sane and not a shifter hopped up on the poison, but he didn’t get the chance.
Two impacts like sledgehammers, straight to the torso, and he collapsed against the tunnel wall.
Pain.
He had to get up and move or he was dead for sure. He knew that, and yet every part of him was swamped in agony. Blackness surged forward, offering him the escape of unconsciousness. He couldn’t. So he fought it, using every ounce of discipline he had to stay conscious.
The greatest mastery is a mind that lets go.
The mantra filtered through his thoughts. He’d barely started the meditation regimen that his pack mate Hank had given him, and yet it came to him now when his mind was pounded by waves of misery.
Let go.
He fought the words. He needed to hold on, to stay awake, to…
Let go.
A wave of agony rolled through his mind, obliterating everything. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t fight something that huge, so he gave up. His grip on consciousness floundered, his thinking mind went silent, and pain became everything.
Or nearly everything.
Agony battered him, but a part remained separate, no longer fighting. It was as if he stood on a cliff above the surging pain and watched what was happening without participating in it. And it was that part of him that heard the woman.
Chapter 2
No! No! No!
Francesca Wolf felt like she was screaming those words a lot lately, but she’d long since given up voicing the sentiment aloud. She’d been in the sewer tunnels trying to reason with two of her father’s most loyal people when she’d heard a gunshot. They’d turned away from the sound, heading for safety, but she’d run toward it. She might disagree vehemently with her father’s men, but she was there to back them up in a fight. It was what the daughter of an alpha did.
She got there in time to see Jayce Davis in hopped-up wolf form grapple with a grizzly bear–shifter. It was a vicious fight that looked like it had been going on for a while, but as she skidded to a stop just out of range, the bear managed a heavy blow to Jayce’s head. The wolf went down, and she exhaled a slow breath while she tried to think of what to do.
Wolf law said she had to help her pack mate no matter what, but Jayce had been an asshole before he started guzzling the green goo. In its purest form, the serum turned shifters into amped-up super beings, while burning out their neurons; in its diluted form, it was poisoning all of Detroit. Jayce was addicted to the stuff, and she wasn’t going to help a guy who had probably gone psycho on some equally hopped-up grizzly. Not when it looked like the fight was over. The bear was standing there, his breath heaving as he recovered, and Jayce lay—
Another gunshot boomed through the tunnels. The sound pounded at her eardrums, but it was the sight of Jayce’s head exploding that would haunt her forever.
No!
She didn’t scream the word out loud, but in her head it echoed over and over. Jayce had been down. There was no need to kill him. Damned grizzlies were killers, pure and simple, and they didn’t stop to assess the situation before they went lethal.
She forced herself to crouch low. The need to be seen, to tell the bastard bears exactly what she thought of them, burned in her blood but she held back. Since becoming a hybrid she’d had the compulsion to let everyone see her and damn them if they hated her just because she was different. But that was the serum talking and not her thinking mind. Until she took control of the werewolf pack, she had to keep hidden no matter how much it chafed.
Meanwhile, the bear’s arms dropped to his sides in relief. She didn’t know grizzly expressions well, but if ever a bear looked exhausted, this guy did. Must have been one hell of a fight. And now that she had a different angle, she could see his gun-happy companion.
And did a double take.
That wasn’t a bear with a gun. It was Brady Joe Bailey brandishing a Glock. Damn it! The one wolf she was trying to find was gunning down one of their own. What the hell?
Two more shots rang out, and Frankie watched in slow motion horror as the grizzly slammed back against the wall. Blood burst out of his chest, and this time her words wouldn’t be denied.
“No!” she bellowed as she jumped forward. “Brady, no!”
The man jerked in reaction, his gun aimed at her chest. She threw her hands out wide, her head cocked slightly to the side in surrender. It was a trick she’d learned young to keep the larger wolves off her. She surrendered immediately so their instincts stopped pushing them to kill her. And once their wolves were satisfied, she engaged their reason. Or she surprise-attacked right when the animals were at their weakest.
It worked like a charm.
