Page 67 of Wrongfully Magicked
Hot blood gushes into my mouth and spills over my muzzle, my beast relishing the kill, and the body stills beneath my fangs. When I lift my head, the claws gouging my flesh suddenly vanish, and I realize why.
My mate jumped onto his back, wrapping herself around him like a koala. Jealousy immediately flares that she’s touching another man, and my beast wants to rip his flesh from his bones.
As I lunge to my feet, staggering toward them, the hyena screams. I pause, only then just noticing that his flesh is sizzling wherever she’s touching him. I can’t help it, I grin. When his screams turn into wails, I put the poor bastard out of his misery with a swipe of my claws, eviscerating him with one slice.
Anita grimaces at the gush of blood and nimbly leaps off.
The man stares down stupidly, blinking as his guts slowly slink out of his torso. Even as he sinks to his knees, he grabs a loop of his intestine and tries to shove it back through the gaping wound.
Then he just tips over, face-planting to the ground with a thud, and lies unmoving.
Grunting sounds behind me, and I whirl to see the insect girl now holding the fire extinguisher, beating one of the hyenas to a bloody pulp. The man is long dead, his brain matter and blood a gooey mess pooling below him. With each blow, blood flies and speckles both her and the cavern.
That’s four.
One is missing!
Hackles rising, I spin and search the darkness, cursing that my sense of smell is still dulled from the insects and months of being trapped underground. I whirl, taking in the room, slowly inching toward Anita.
I filter out the sounds from the girls, ignoring the way my blood mats my fur in an ever increasing stain, and focus on everything else. A current of stale air brings the sour scent of fear and the bitter smell of anger.
The source is coming from directly behind Anita.
Even as I lunge toward her, I know I won’t make it in time.
I’m too slow, too weak from blood loss and lack of food. My beast roars in denial, and I push myself harder. Instead of targeting the hyena, I snatch Anita around the waist and tuck her close to my chest, crouching protectively over her and covering her with my body.
I wait for the killing blow to land…only it doesn’t happen. I grab Anita, dragging her away from the threat. A quick glance shows another man has tackled the hyena to the floor, then he proceeds to beat the shit out of the beastling.
Electricity crackles around the larger man, descending down his arms to engulf the hyena. The hyena’s painful squeal is at a decibel to shatter eardrums. His body convulses, his eyes bulge from his sockets, and smoke begins to rise from his skin. A steady stream of drool dribbles from his distorted mouth, and his body slowly blackens before falling still.
Only then does the bigger man release his hold and slowly push to his feet, his chest heaving as he pants. His gaze flashes over me, dismisses me, then locks on Anita, who is peeking out from behind me.
“Darby?”
Something about the way he looks at my mate has my protective instincts roaring to life, and I don’t even register her breathy question over the roaring in my ears.
No one touches what is mine.
My muscles bunch, ready to pounce. Just as I launch myself through the air, Anita darts forward and throws herself between us. I’m so focused on eliminating the threat, I don’t even see her move until it’s too late to stop my forward momentum.
I wrap myself around Anita to take the brunt of the fall, and the three of us crash to the floor. The other man grunts under our combined weight, shifting to cushion both of us as we smack into the stone floor hard.
Terrified I might have hurt my mate, I rear back, frantically searching every inch of her. I keep my hands to myself, refusing to touch her, afraid that I’ll damage her further. Though bruised and battered, she gazes up at me without fear. Her brown eyes glow amber, tiny specks of red shimmering in their depths, and I swallow past the lump in my throat.
I have to remind myself that I’m a beastling and she is a mage.
Most of her kind would kill me for laying a single finger on them, considering even a simple touch defiling them.
Not her.
If anything, she leans into me in a silent demand for more attention.
I curl my fingers into fists to keep from complying, struggling not to paint every inch of her skin with my bloody fingerprints to show everyone that she’s mine.
I throw myself away from her to refrain from giving into the impulse, ducking my head for fear of her reaction to the blood decorating my body. It would break the last of my sanity if she flinched away from me, and I feel lightheaded and ashamed of how close I came to hurting her.
I’ve been underground for too long, my beast nearly feral, and I worry that I’ll accidently harm her instead of protecting her like my instincts demand.
