Chapter Six
GARTH
Bite. Mark. Claim.
I cock my head, and it takes me a moment to realize my normal mantra has changed.
My beast usually chants a different motto when he takes charge.
Bite. Maim. Kill.
Both are equally dangerous.
While I might currently be in my human form, my beast is still very much in control.
He’s obsessed with the girl, desperate to possess her, and I cradle my head in my hands, rocking back and forth to keep my sanity from shredding as my animal instincts battle my human sensibilities.
Fangs fill my mouth, throbbing with the need to bite the slender slope of her neck and mark her flesh where everyone can see it.
The desire is almost impossible to resist.
My jaw aches from clenching my teeth, afraid to even look at her and scare her off.
It’s already a miracle that she didn’t run when confronted by my wolf. The ancient beast is from a time long past, when might was right. If she ran, I wouldn’t have been able to stop him from chasing her down and claiming her.
But she didn’t run.
The stench of fear doesn’t fill my nostrils—that’s almost worse.
She’s dangerous in a way that I don’t know how to counter.
Sure, I’ve been around other women, but she is the first one who has ever drawn my beast’s attention, which means she is a threat mixed up in one delicious package.
I’ve been a wolf for so long that I’m uncertain if she is real or a figment of my imagination that my beast conjured from his almost obsessive need to find a mate—someone to claim for his own, someone to protect and love and fuck.
His pathological need for pack and pups is almost a compulsion at this point.
Rational thoughts come back to me in fits and starts, my impulse control almost nonexistent as I struggle not to lunge for the girl, my possessive beast wanting to drag her into our lap where she belongs.
The charred scent of burning food snaps me out of my fascination with the woman who invaded my space. For the first time in decades, my wolf willingly conceded possession back to me…because the girl asked him.
Part of me wants to curse her for being able to do something I’ve been struggling with my whole life, while the other part wants to clutch her to my chest and never let her go.
Normally, when I lose myself to my wolf and can’t shift back after a week, Tyler shoots me with silver infused darts.
If he can’t sink three darts in rapid succession, my beast chases him until he can rectify the situation, and I drop into an unconscious heap.
Then he’ll proceed to drag my ass to the reinforced room in the basement until I’m human once more.
Dante is different, the masochist preferring to use brute force to exhaust me, often using his skinwalker abilities to shift into a mirror image of my dire wolf.
We’re pretty evenly matched. Some days, he just runs, leaving me no choice but to give chase, the need to hunt built into my very DNA.
Other times, he outright challenges me to a fight, not stopping until we’re both a bloody mess.
Being borderline feral grants me a boost of strength, but uncontrollable rage often clouds my judgment. I fear, one of these times, I’ll kill one or both of them. Not that the fuckers care, but I silently vow to use the silver bullet I always carry in my pocket before I allow that to happen.
Each year, I’m dragged closer and closer to the point of no return. I’ve been searching for a cure to the curse that has affected me since my first shift, but so far, I’ve been unable to find anything that will stop my slow decline into insanity.
My beast is just too wild, too feral to be contained.
The older I become, the more my self-restraint frays.
Eventually, I’ll have to be put down like a rabid dog.
I just hope that happens before I do something irrevocable—like kill my packmates.
The scent of blood blooms in the air, and every muscle in my body goes rigid at the thought of Dante hurting the girl. I open my mouth to reprimand him when Tyler pushes past me and gently whispers into the woman’s ear.
“You’re okay. He’s not going to hurt you.” Tyler doesn’t take his attention off the girl, inching as close as he can to her without actually touching her. “Release him. I promise he won’t lay a hand on you.”
Dante grimaces, and whether it’s from pain or the sheer willpower it takes to hold himself back from retaliating is a toss-up. I twist closer to see what has them frozen, only for Tyler to throw me a warning glare when the girl stiffens further.
That’s when I see the girl has her fangs buried deep in Dante’s hand. I barely spare him a second glance. He’s done much worse shaving his ugly mug. Why the fucker doesn’t pry her off is a mystery…until I realize he’s worried about hurting her.
She’s so delicate that if he tries to unlatch her fangs, he could very well break her jaw.
That he would even hesitate is shocking.
The bastard doesn’t have a heart.
Yet he remains perfectly still, patiently waiting for the panic holding her to lessen.
The expression on his face is almost gentle…then he catches me looking and glares in my direction, murder darkening his slate eyes, the fucker practically daring me to open my mouth.
I dismiss him as irrelevant, my attention focusing on the girl and the blood dribbling down her chin. My beast whines in distress, the wolf retreating even more, ashamed that we would be even partially responsible for triggering her.
At the first sign of danger, her wolf took possession of her.
The complete lack of awareness in her golden eyes is chilling.
Her connection to her beast is fractured, something that only happens through severe trauma.
If it’s allowed to continue, she will eventually turn feral, and the thought of that happening is repugnant.
Her long blonde hair spills down her back in tangled waves. I don’t hesitate to slip my fingers into the silken strands, then grab a fistful and yank her head back painfully. Tyler curses, and Dante grimaces when her teeth remain embedded, but I don’t take my attention away from her wolf.
Golden eyes flare brightly as she locks eyes on me, the chit refusing to submit, and I allow my own beast to rise at the challenge.
Instead of backing down, she peels her lips back in a silent snarl.
I reach out with my other hand, then smack the tip of her nose with my finger and reprimand her. “Release him.”
She blinks in astonishment, immediately doing as I ask, and I have no doubt it’s only the element of surprise and not my alpha command that forced her to obey.
Dante yanks his arm back, squeezing the base of his hand to slow the flow of blood dripping across the floor.
Tyler looks furious at the way I handled the situation, or maybe because I’m responsible for this whole mess, and a muscle ticks in his jaw against the need to chew my ass out.
Consciousness floods back into the girl’s eyes, and I reluctantly loosen my hold on the silken strands of her hair. As an alpha, I don’t like anyone else having dominance over me, and I can only imagine her wolf feels the same.
I reluctantly step back, fighting the instincts that beg me to pull her close and comfort her. The only reason I retreat is to avoid her issuing me a challenge. Though she’s female, she’s still a strong alpha.
While part of me is repulsed at the thought of lifting a hand against her, another part of me relishes the thought of going up against someone so strong. It’s been too long since we had such a fierce challenger.
Something tells me she would give my wolf a run for his money.
Not to mention, if we do fight and I win, I can’t guarantee I would be able to hold back from claiming her as my mate.
The girl shoots to her feet, shaking her head as if to clear it, leaving us basically kneeling before her. I wait for my beast to protest the subservient position, but we’re frozen as the most delicious scent fills our senses—sunshine and lemons and something so elusive that I can’t place it.
She smells forbidden, reminding me of a future I’ve long since given up.
When she slowly backs away, we tense, each of us tracking her like she’s a tasty morsel to be devoured.
The ancient mating ritual where males compete for a female—where the female would run and the males would give chase—pushes to the front of my mind.
If she allows herself to be caught, it’s like granting us permission to court her.
Surprisingly, my wolf practically quivers in eagerness at the opportunity. I’m not so far gone that I don’t realize the problem, and I’m chilled to the bone at the very real possibility that the instant we shift, we would see her as prey.
If we caught her, we could very well kill her.
As if sensing we’re not exactly in control, she pauses just a foot away.
We are at a standoff.
Considering the glare she casts in our direction, she’s clearly not receptive to the idea of being claimed by the likes of us—not that I blame her.
We’re barely a step above rogues. While we may be alphas in our own right, we don’t have our own pack. We don’t own any territory. We’re not rich, we’re not exactly sane, and we’re definitely not a prize, especially since female shifters are so rare that they have their choice of mates.
Females often chose three or more men to keep them safe.
It’s not unheard of to have females stolen from unworthy packs.
I tilt my head as I observe her, a furrow forming between my brows as I slowly rise to my feet. “Where are your guards?”
“Guards?” Her face scrunches up in confusion, her head tilting to the side. “Why would I need guards?”
Thoughts evaporate, and I catch the concerned glances Tyler and Dante exchange as they rise to their feet. She’s either running from something, or she’s completely clueless about shifter laws.
Either way, it means someone is after her.
No pack would ever allow a female to leave their protection.