Page 62 of Cuffed By the Wolf

I introduce her to Tara.

“Sasha’s drifting in and out of consciousness, but she specifically asked for you. She said she couldn’t control her magic. I know there’s magic here in town, but how could Sasha have it?”

Tara’s face twists as she blurts out, “She said we’re witches.”

Gloria laughs softly and rests a hand on Tara’s shoulder. “What Sasha said is true—you’re both witches.”

Shock and horror come over Tara’s face.

“We’ll talk about it later. Let me get a look at her.” She takes each of her hands and looks under her fingernails. I notice black marks.

“Sasha only had one lesson. I’m teaching her how to use and control her magic. Something must’ve really upset her, making her lose control of her magic.”

I remember Sasha said she had proof of Carson and Jenny’s betrayal. I’d look at it later.

“She found out who stole from her and framed her. It was her ex-boyfriend. And a woman she befriended, Jenny.”

“Oh, I’ll teach Sasha how to handle them.”

“I’ll take care of Carson.” My wolf growls again.

“You won’t have all the fun, Sheriff. Sasha will take care of Jenny,” Gloria confirms.

“Understood.”

Things aren’t black and white in the shifter world. Some people can’t be brought to justice. They have to die.

“I need to leave. I’ll assign deputies Blake and Jennings to guard the room.”

Blake is a lion shifter, and Jennings is a tiger shifter.

“Good. I’ll also do a protection spell. It will keep her safe,” Gloria says.

I stand to my feet. “Thank you.”

My gaze moves to Tara, who looks a little like her sister. “Tyson is coming with me. When you’re ready to go, Blake will have a deputy take you and Genevieve to my cabin, where you’ll both be safe.” I place a key in her hand.

She nods. “Thank you.”

After barking out orders over the walkie-talkie to my team, I storm out the front doors of the hospital, Tyson and Jax on my heels.

There’s a growl, and then I’m struck from the side hard enough to knock the air out of me and pushed to the ground. The impact skids me across pavement, gravel biting into my shoulder before I even register what hit me. The wolf’s jaw closes on my forearm, teeth grinding for purchase, trying to find the angle that’ll take it clean off. Pain rips white and hot up to my elbow.

My wolf howls and takes over my body. My pants and shirt burst at the seams and turn into tatters of fabric on the ground, and the world drops half a foot as I hit four legs instead of two — faster, lower, meaner. Two more sets of eyes catch the parking lot lights off to my right: Tyson’s black coat already a blur, twisting hard to meet a tan-and-gray wolf twice his size head-on. Jax roars somewhere behind me, and I catch the flash of his brown-and-white coat going down under a second attacker before he rolls clear and comes back up snarling.

Three of them, then. Maybe four. Carson wasn’t bluffing about the pack.

Lying on my back, my right hind paw slams into his stomach, knocking him several feet across the pavement. Humans scream and scatter, keeping their distance, a woman in scrubs yanking a gurney out of the way as the fight spills toward the ambulance bay.

Quickly, I roll onto all fours, snarling at the asshole as he shakes off the hit and circles back in. Blood — mine — runs hot down my foreleg, but the pain barely registers anymore, drowned out under something older and colder. Tyson and Jax hold their own a few yards off, a tangle of teeth and fur and low, furious sound. I lift my head and roar, feeling the vibration of it under my own feet, letting every wolf in that parking lot know exactly whose ground they’re standing on.

The one I knocked down comes at me again, low and fast, aiming for my hind leg this time instead of my throat — smart, if he’d had the speed to back it up. He doesn’t. I twist into him instead of away, and we go down together, a full-body collision of muscle and claws, rolling once across the asphalt before I get on top and stay there. He tries biting me again, snapping wildly for my neck. My teeth tear into his ear instead, and I don’t let go until I feel it give. He screams — an ugly, almost-human sound wrong coming out of a wolf’s throat — and scrambles back, favoring the side I just opened up.

Tyson and Jax come up beside me, flanking, all three of us bloodied and breathing hard, staring down the wolves who are staring back with their fangs bared and their nerve running out fast. For a second, nobody moves. Then, one by one, they break and run — first the one with the torn ear, then the other two peeling off after him into the tree line at the edge of the lot.

Maybe they’re going to get backup. Maybe they’ve had enough. Either way, we’ve got their scent now, and scent doesn’t wash off that easily.

Once I reach my SUV, I shift back and climb into fresh clothes I keep in my trunk. Tyson approaches, placing my waist holster in my hand.