Page 2 of Broken Wolf Heart
Grey’s words break through my inner battle.
I blink, finally forcing myself to look at him, to focus on the intensity in his dark grey eyes. The way they are fastened so completely on me. As if this room isn’t full of people who want to kill us both.
Whatever he sees in my expression startles him.
“Is it your wolf?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I manage, gritting my teeth against the pain of what feels like my insides being ripped apart.
I watch as his expression goes from resolute to worried and back again.
He reaches down and runs his thumb over the twist-tie wrapped around my finger. I look down at it, my heart squeezing.
“Focus on this,” he says.
I nod, doing my best.
But when I look up at him again, I can feel the pain winning. My focus slips. My breaths become ragged.
“Shit,” Grey mutters, and I know he can see how close I am to losing it.
He grabs my elbow, pulling me close. His mouth crashes down on mine, fierce and possessive.
And despite my wolf howling to get out, I relax.
Somehow, I know everything he’s doing now is to save me, even if it gets him killed in the process. The idea of losing him sends me panicking again, and I try to pull away. But he only kisses me harder, his lips bruising against mine. His thumb rubbing that damned twist-tie like it’s a wishing stone. A promise, flimsy and fragile—and somehow stronger than anything holding either one of us together right now.
I kiss him like he’s my last grip on sanity before I lose myself forever. Before I lose him forever.
Vaguely, I hear Razor threatening someone to step back or he’ll remove their legs from their body.
My hip is bumped, and I’m jostled.
Grey’s grip tightens around my waist. Despite the chaos, he kisses me with singular focus, as if pressing his mouth to mine will somehow stop everything that’s coming.
But it won’t.
Because before his lips even leave mine, hands are already snatching me away. Razor curses viciously. Someone grunts. Rough fingers clamp down on my arms, wrenching me backward.
Grey is ripped away from me.
Strong hands keep me upright while binding my arms helplessly behind me. I struggle like a wild animal, panic blotting out all reason. My nails rake across flesh, and blood pools where I’ve scratched my captor’s skin.
The sight of the blood and the coppery scent of it leaves a thirst in my throat. My wolf wants more of it. She wants to drink it while standing over their dead body. To bathe in it underneath the light of a full moon and?—
Ugh.
I shake my head to clear it.
My wolf is clearly a psycho.
Her murderous daydream is like a bucket of cold water to my senses. I stop struggling long enough to identify my assailant.
Santiago.
Beside him, Toros looms in front of Razor, whose skin has already sprouted fur in a partial shift. Razor’s eyes are wild and unfocused, but it’s Dutch holding him back, talking him down with quiet words. On the other side of the dais, Conrad holds Grey in place by his arms, though barely.
A snarl erupts from Grey’s chest, savage and raw as he glares across the space at Santiago. “Take your fucking hands off my wife.”
