Page 82 of Howling
“Huh?”So elegant, Frankie.I wince and try to shake the cobwebs free from my mind. “What do you mean?”
She pushes away from where she’s slumped against the wall. The whole room watches us, but I don’t sense anything but curiosity from them. “Shifters aren’t created to hold such raw magic. The longer you hold it, the more it will try to tear you apart from the inside out.”
“How do I release it?” I speak with gritted teeth, feeling like I could breathe fire. If I don’t release it soon, I fear that the magic might very well barbecue me from the inside out.
She reaches out a hand but doesn’t touch me. “I can show you. I can take it from you. Next time, you should be able to banish it yourself.”
I hesitate a moment, wondering if this is some kind of trick, but when my insides twist and knot further, where I swear it looks like magic is crackling under my skin like coals of a fire, I realize I don’t have much of a fucking choice.
If I don’t do what she says, I’m going to be toast.
Literally.
It goes against everything in me to trust someone else. Expecting her to lop off my hand, I gingerly extend my arm. What do I have to lose? She either helps me or I’ll be a crispy critter.
“Show me,” I say, silently praying I’m not making the biggest mistake of my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
TYLER
Ibarely refrain from launching myself across the room and knocking the witch away from Frankie. While I don’t hate witches, like most shifters, I don’t fucking trust them either. I clench my hands into the strands of my hair, battling against the need to bundle Frankie in my arms and leave this mess for someone else to fix.
Sure, I feel sympathy for the others, but not enough to risk her life in exchange for theirs.
The other men look just as unsettled.
Garth is full-on scowling, Dante has his arms crossed, and I know he’s seconds away from raking his claws across the witch’s throat, slicing her from ear to ear. Bellamy’s expression is unreadable…until you notice that he isn’t blinking. Tension radiates from his frame, a cold chill rising from him like steam, lowering the temperature of the underground space to that of a meat locker.
I tuck my hands into my armpits, shifting from foot to foot, barely able to keep my fox from bursting from my skin. Manypeople don’t see a fox as a threat, and I’m fine with them underestimating me. While Garth is nearly feral and Dante lacks any sense of right or wrong, my fox is a little bit—or a lot, depending on who you ask—psychotic.
He appears tame, amused, and friendly…and he wouldn’t hesitate to rip off your face, his smile never once dimming. It’s one of the reasons I don’t shift often. When in my fox form, his personality bleeds through, and what little sway I have over him is basically nonexistent.
It should bother me, but I accepted my little foibles a long time ago.
The only reason I hold back from shifting and releasing chaos is that we’re trying to live under the radar. A body or two can be swept under the rug, but more than that draws the wrong kind of attention. I’m practically dancing in place as my beast demands we shift and protect.
Killing is nothing new, neither is protecting, but it is the first time my fox wants to protect someone outside of my pack.
She feels like…ours.
The idea alone is ludicrous.
People like us don’t get mates.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want her with every fiber of my being. The thought of Frankie in danger is enough to drive me fucking crazy. Claws prick the ends of my fingers, my teeth lengthening to fangs. I run my tongue along the sharp points, already able to taste her warm blood, anticipation like a living, breathing thing.
Even as the witch reaches for Frankie, my fox rises to the surface, ready to pounce. I edge closer, unable to stop myself, ready to act at the first sign of shenanigans.
The instant their hands connect, Frankie sucks in a sharp breath, her back arching like she touched a live wire. Raw magic explodes into the room like a blast. Everyone stumbles back, theground trembles, and dirt trickles down from the very walls. A few shifters cringe, and more than a couple of witches hold out their hands, as if to touch the magic, an expression of awe etched on their faces.
I stagger back, barely remaining on my feet. My skin ripples with fur before it vanishes a second later, leaving me feeling like spiders were crawling over my body. Dante does a full body shudder, while Garth snarls, his blue eyes shimmering with his wolf. Though Bellamy’s expression remains neutral, no one can mistake the lines crisscrossing over his skin.
Are those…scales?
Dismissing the guys, I close the distance to Frankie, searching for any signs of distress. Even with my enhanced strength, walking is like trying to move underwater—the very air is resisting me.
My fox snarls in outrage, and I don’t hesitate to embrace his fury. I should’ve never allowed Frankie near the bitch. It’s my fault for not just cutting her throat when I had the chance. The witch grimaces, swaying on her feet, but she doesn’t release her hold on Frankie.
