Page 16 of Brock’s Mate

If she were thinking coherently at all. Her animal was capable of rational thought, but that didn’t mean she was doing it. Without the guidance of her human side, she might be acting completely on instinct.

That would make her hard as fuck to deal with, even if he found her. He didn’t want to use his mental powers to dominate her, if he could avoid it. That wasn’t exactly a basis for a trusting relationship.

She doesn’t need to trust us, his wolf said. Just submit to us.

Brock sighed inwardly. His wolf had been hard to handle ever since his very first Change. He hadn’t even known he was a shifter until that first Change, when he was almost five. No one had known.

His mother was human—at the time—and naturally hadn’t believed him when he claimed to be turning into a werewolf.

It wasn’t until they met his stepfather, Noah Reilly—a shifter wolf—that the truth had come out. The problem was, Brock’s real father was from a genetically modified shifter pack in Alaska, that had a lot of weird-ass psychic powers.

Brock’s happened to be the ability to psychically connect with other shifters and communicate with their animals—or, if they were stuck in animal form, he could communicate with the human inside.

His greatest talent was reaching into the dark angry places in shifters’ minds, and bringing light and healing. Bonding with them, fixing their broken places, soothing their anger.

But all of his anger—and all the dark things in people’s minds that he was too young to handle or understand, had been absorbed by his wolf.

His animal had shielded him from the pain and darkness and destruction until it was too much, and sent the wolf spiraling out of control. He had a hair-trigger temper, and once something set him off Brock had a hell of a time bringing him back.

I protect you, his wolf said. Without me, you would be dead.

That was true, ever since their first Changes when it helped him escape his first stepdad, who he’d grown up thinking was his real dad—until the douchebag tried to sell him to shifter hunters.

If Brock could have spit in wolf form, he would have. Thinking about Robert Wells always had that effect on him.

I have protected you many times since then, his wolf said.

Also true.

I know, Brock said. I love you too. Even when you want to bite everyone.

They deserve it, his wolf said.

Even Desi?

Especially her. But we only need to bite her enough to make her love us and submit. Then she will not be broken, and we will not feel like this.

Right. Because every woman should be bitten into submission. That fixed everything.

Up ahead Brock could see the woods opening up into pastureland, and he could smell cattle. His sharp hearing picked up moos and hoofbeats, and then a frightened squeal.

He heard a snarl, and a moment later he smelled blood.

Dammit. He was too late.

He ran harder, bursting out into the pasture under the bright full moon. A cream-colored wolf with chocolate shading along her back and head was crouched over a dark lump that smelled of fresh blood.

Brock ran over, giving a couple of warning yips. She backed up, snarling.

His wolf snarled in return, and Brock fought to control him. He needed to connect to the she-wolf’s mind, to talk to her.

Back off! he commanded. He wasn’t sure if she was in a state to understand his mind-speech, so he put a push of dominant energy into it. Danger!

This kill is mine! She paced slowly, ready to defend her prey. Her mental voice was hard to understand; he could sense her brain trying to overcome the hunger and blood lust.

He said, This prey belongs to humans. They will hunt you and kill you.

She bared her teeth in a sneer. I will kill them all. I will have all the meat. Perhaps I will share, if you submit to me.