Page 5 of Fae Divided
As a male ranking high in dominance, his wolf an experienced predator, James could take down every male in the Walker Pack except for its beta, Jacob Tucker. He’d win most challenges against other pack Alphas in the East South Central Region—but the Clan príoh outclassed them all.
James sprang at Samuel anyway, and they crashed together. Chests bumped. Forelegs and teeth scrabbled to gain the advantage, each attempting to push their rival to the mat and expose their soft underbelly. Several pack members shifted into their wolf as the fight intensified, vicious snarls and piercing howls ringing throughout the warehouse.
The battle had to be convincing, so James sank his fangs into the flesh of Samuel’s shoulder. Razor-sharp claws slashed across his chest in retaliation, digging through fur and sinew. He yelped, jaws releasing their hold as he used his muscular hind legs to jump as high as he could, curving his spine to avoid the anticipated swipe to his flanks.
The tips of Samuel’s nails raked James’ hind end while he was still in the air. He landed awkwardly and was scrambling to get his paws underneath him when his Alpha’s massive weight pinned him to the floor. James continued to struggle until teeth pierced his neck, biting down hard.
His wolf writhed, refusing to submit, putting on what he hoped was a good show for the crowd. Samuel growled, applied more pressure, and waited. James stopped fighting. The vise around his throat loosened. Lifting his chin, he yielded.
“Goddammit,” Samuel swore after changing to human form, raking his fingers through his blond hair. The shoulder of the príoh’s black t-shirt was dark and wet where James had bitten him. “Convert, James.”
He shuddered, but he wasn’t a pup and resisted the command, afraid he’d beg forgiveness if allowed to speak. Better to stay wolf.
Samuel growled but didn’t reinforce the order with magical compulsion. “Get out of my sight.”
James rose slowly, all four legs shaking. The rush of adrenaline gone. The gashes to his neck and side hurt like a sonofabitch, but his heart ached worse than his wounds.
Chapter 3
“Miss Sawah?”
“Yes, Annabelle?” Sarah sliced through the packing tape of the recently delivered shipment of books.
“I have to go tee tee,” the tiny girl mumbled, one chubby finger stuck between her lips.
Sarah set the newLittle Critterbooks on the daycare’s reading shelf before crouching in front of the three-year-old. “Okay, honey. Miss Julie will help you.”
Annabelle nodded, her blond curls bobbing with the motion. “I like Miss Julie.”
She gently removed the toddler’s hand from her mouth. “I do too.”
“I’ve got her,” Julie said. The older witch with graying brown hair waited in front of the bathroom door, her hand outstretched. White ink runes covered her skin from bicep to knuckles. “Come on, Annabelle.”
Julie was one of the few witches residing on Mud Island, orBlood Islandas the Untouched locals called it. Most Anwyll preferred living in their Colony’s private High Point Terrace neighborhood or a more human-centric subdivision farther outside the city even when employed on the island. Looking for something to fill the lonely hours since being recently widowed, the retired healer had found renewed purpose and joy in doting on the little ones, never having had children of her own.
“Go on, jelly belly,” Sarah said, using the silly nickname that always made Annabelle giggle. “We’ll have story time as soon as you get back.”
“Then snacks, Miss Sarah?” Thomas Jr. asked from the middle of the room. He halted his race car on the plastic track mid-vroom.
“Yes, peanut butter crackers and milk today.”
The boy’s lips turned down.
“I have Goldfish if you don’t want peanut butter.”
He shrugged his thin shoulders.
“Cinnamon applesauce?”
Thomas Junior’s nose crinkled while his Ferwyn playmate groaned beside him.
“Or…” She didn’t try to hide her grin, the first real smile since James left her standing heartbroken in the driveway that morning. “Pepperoni sticks?”
“Yes!” Thomas Jr. pumped his fist in the air. His equally happy companion jumped in excitement and—converted into his wolf.
“Witt Sanderson,” Sarah cried, rushing over and grabbing the wiggling pup.
There were six children in the room, but only four were shifters. The two witches under her care were a decade away from their first Inscription and as vulnerable to a wolf’s sharp teeth and claws as any human child.
