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.
Many people 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, the ground 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.
It’s all I can do not to tackle the cunt to the ground…you know, if I could move fucking faster than a damn snail! The other guys appear to be in a similar situation, fury and menace darkening their expressions.
Almost as fast as the magic rose, it falls. Any resistance in the air vanishes. The momentum sends us shooting forward like we’re being launched out of a cannon. Even as I scramble to slow my mad dash, it’s too late, and I plow into both women.
I instinctively wrap my arms around Frankie, catching her close to my chest and sweeping her off her feet. I almost regain my balance…until the other three idiots slam into me from behind.
The witch is knocked aside, but none of us spare her a glance, each of us focused on protecting Frankie.
Garth does a hero move and wraps himself around us both as we tumble to the ground.
We barely crash to the floor before Dante does his best to catch himself on his arms above us in a plank move, which somehow trips Bellamy, and we all let out a grunt as we land in a pile of arms and legs.
I’m breathing hard, my face inches away from Frankie’s, and I survey her expression for any sign of distress.
She appears a little befuddled, blinking at me owlishly, like she’s not sure how we became the middle of a human sandwich. While I know I should release her, that we aren’t safe, nothing else matters now that she’s in my arms.
The guys grunt and curse as they untangle themselves, but none of us move far, unwilling to release her now that we have our hands on her. Her soft skin is distracting, and I cringe when I realize that I’m basically petting her, but I can’t seem to stop.
With each stroke, the hairs on the back of my arms lift from the residual static.
Garth remains on the ground, the fucker looping his arms around Frankie until she’s sitting in his lap. Since her legs rest across my thighs, I don’t complain. Dante is on his knees and somehow captured her hand, while Bellamy is half crouched on one knee behind her.
A furrow appears between his brows, then he leans forward and sniffs her hair.
I doubt he’s even aware that he’s doing it.
It’s the look on his face afterward that speaks to my soul—confusion…then complete and utter fascination, like he didn’t know such a creature existed or what to do with her.
I would almost feel sorry for the sap if I weren’t in the same boat.
She’s like some exotic species that should be worshipped, but she also feels like she’s a bomb seconds away from detonating. You don’t know if you should hug her tight or run for your life.
I fucking love the unpredictability of it.
I’m distracted when shadows move in the darkness.
Every muscle in my body stiffens, preparing for an attack.
The witch emerges with a limp, but her appearance does nothing to ease the tension threading through my body.
The rest of the guys growl in warning, and we all press closer to Frankie, prepared to leap at the bitch and rip her apart if she so much as blinks wrong.
The only thing stopping us from massacring her is Frankie’s touch.
The witch is smart. She immediately halts in her tracks, eyeing us warily, and doesn’t attempt to approach. “Are you okay?”
Frankie slowly relaxes into us and releases a deep sigh. “Yeah. I feel…” She rolls her shoulders, wiggles her arms, but none of us assholes budge, content when she doesn’t try to crawl from the confines of our little circle, where she is fucking safe.
“Good,” she finally finishes, seeming surprised by her own answer.
Good is…good.
My fox eases back only a fraction, still not liking the witch so close.
My beast is frustrated that we can’t just kill her. Restraint is not in his vocabulary. The only thing holding him back is worry about how Frankie would react. I should be shocked, but my beast will do nothing that might scare her away.
“The magic wreaking havoc inside me is gone.” Frankie tilts her head to the side like she’s listening to something.
I narrow my gaze on the witch as I watch her bruises slowly fade, her injuries heal, and her body fills out slightly. It’s like watching a time-lapse video.
“You drained her magic to heal yourself,” I accuse, my fox bristling with the thought of her taking anything from Frankie.
“Of course.” The witch doesn’t even bother to deny it. What’s worse, she doesn’t look guilty. “Do you know what happens to raw magic if it’s released without a spell to contain it?”
I didn’t fucking care.
She. Took. Frankie’s. Magic.
I don’t need further confirmation.
Just as I tense to launch myself at the bitch, Frankie reaches forward and catches my wrist. It might as well be a shackle. I freeze, unable to break away.
“Explain.” Frankie doesn’t glance at me as she demands answers.
“Magic is pure chaos. It’s neither good nor bad, but it can become like an infection when no one is there to guide it properly.
” The witch waves a hand at the walls, and it’s the first time I notice the roots are now bursting with brightly colored flowers.
“Nature will take over—flowers bloom, trees grow, animals mate. The randomness is unpredictable. When they say Mother Nature is a cruel mistress…that’s putting it mildly. ”
“So if magic builds up faster than I can absorb it—”
“Sink it into the earth, purchase an amulet to store it, even learn how to cast a few simple cantrips.” The witch sweeps her hair over her shoulder, the strands untangling, the snarls smoothing out, the dark hair full of wild curls.
“If you don’t get rid of the raw magic, that chaos will be forced to focus inward. ”
I don’t like the speculative look in her pale green eyes.
Frankie is ours.
If the witch fucking touches her again, I’ll rip her arm off, then shove it down her throat.