Page 53 of A Wolf’s Wound

Ryder

Brian’s voice drones on in the background, but the memory bleeds through everything else, vivid. Like it’s been waiting for me to call it forward. Guiltily, I understand now that I’ve been pushing it away this entire time.

I haven’t wanted to know the truth, not really.

The first thing I remember is blood.

So much blood.

It’s fucking delicious .

“Ryder,” Brian gasps. He tugs at a black mask covering his face, and his familiar face shocks me out of my wolf form. “Holy shit, you actually did it. It worked.”

Shit. Shit. I try to stumble to my feet, but my balance is gone. I’ve never been this wasted in my life, and I have been beyond trashed.

“Sorry,” I slur. “Fuck. I…You…”

He gasps again, smiling. “Don’t apologize. This is exactly what I… Agh!”

We spent the night out drinking and then he drove me to the hotel since he was sober.

I thought he left after he coaxed me into taking a few more shots with him here in the kitchen.

The front door slammed shut before a bedroom window slid open.

I thought this was a stranger breaking into my home, not my friend.

Normally, I’d have fought an intruder without shifting. But drunk, so drunk I could hardly stand, instinct had taken over.

And instinct was wrong. Brian must have forgotten something, I must have imagined him leaving. Brian wouldn’t rob me. Would he?

Nothing makes sense.

Every muscle in his body stiffens and jerks. He’s shifting. I’m still absently licking his blood from my lips, trying to process this. Brian is still grinning, almost as if he wanted me to bite him.

Did he? Or am I just trying to ease my guilt?

Bones snap and crack, making me sick. Humans aren’t meant to be turned, especially not without a mate. It’s too dangerous. I’ve killed him. I tug at my hair. Gavin. I should call Gavin. But I can’t find my phone. I have a vague memory of tossing it aside somewhere. There. By his twitching feet.

No battery. There’s a charger in my room, but I’ll have to leave Brian. Not even counting the fact that I’ll have to crawl there.

I fall to my knees, clutching my spinning head.

What the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t use his phone to call Gavin.

I’ve never memorized any of the numbers in my phone, even though Gavin’s always lecturing me about emergency situations and protocols and fuck my life.

I can’t call 911 because they can’t do any more than I can, and even this wasted I know it will ruin more lives than just mine and Brian’s.

“Agh!” he cries again. Bloody foam froths at his mouth. I think I see fangs beneath it. His face is definitely shifting, turning into something grotesque. I’ve never seen a failed shift before, not up close.

“Fuck, okay. Shoes.”

“Was…was…” His ears grow long, and the left side of his face swells. His voice is a harsh croak. “Was your first time like this?”

Clumsily, I peel his shoes off so his feet have room to change.

His clothes are already tearing apart, so I help rip them off too.

Dark fur covers most of his twisted, bent body.

I remember my first shift, the exhilarating thrill of it.

My body had known exactly what to do, had been craving it for years before it ever happened.

My shift was nothing like his.

“It’s…um…” Shit, I don’t know what to tell him. It’s okay? It’s not. It’s so, so not. “Just breathe, yeah?”

I try to dab at the bloody foam with his shirt, but it takes me three tries to even grab it. Why did I let him talk me into tequila? I was already drunk, and the shots are just beginning to hit me. If the room was spinning before, now it’s being flung out of space, completely leaving orbit.

“Thhnk…”

He’s trying to thank me. I’ve pretty much killed him, and he’s trying to thank me for it. Bile burns my throat. I hurl in a small trash can next to the couch, one littered with beer cans.

By the time I’m finished, wiped the back of my mouth with my sleeve, his entire body is shaking. It looks like he’s going to shake apart. Blood pours from his mouth and nose, which are more snout now than anything else. His eyes are a picture of agony.

Human eyes in a broken wolf’s body. His limbs are bent wrong, twitching helplessly.

Tears burn my eyes, and I bury a sob against my arm. Spots keep dancing in front of my eyes, and I try to blink them away, but it’s useless. I’m useless. I pass out there, next to Brian’s legs, with his blood still smeared across my mouth.

In the morning, I’m in bed. The sun is high in the sky. It must be afternoon. My heart lurches into my throat and I spring to my feet. Brian must still be on the floor, he must be—

Gone.

It’s like no one was there, aside from me. There’s puke in the trash can, which makes me wince. But nothing else. No blood, no dead body, no Brian.

“What the hell?”

A cursory search around my place reveals more of the same. There are my shoes where I kicked them off last night. There are my keys tossed next to the couch. When I check the bathroom, my reflection looks hungover but mundane. No dried blood.

And next to the bed is my phone, plugged in, with a message from Brian.

Dude! Last night was crazy.

It’s sent at ten this morning.

Relief sends me to the floor with a whoosh. I don’t need to call Gavin and tell him what a fuckup I am. I haven’t killed anyone. It was just a dream, almost a hallucination.

I’m so relieved that I don’t even notice that my breath still tastes like copper.

“Wait,” Brian says, throwing me back into the present. “That’s not even the best part, sweetheart.”

My chest burns. My mother always says that anger is the easiest emotion to feel, and she’s right.

In my case, it’s smothering the fear and regret threatening to bubble to the surface.

I’d thought I was in the clear. I’d been so relieved that I hadn’t wanted to press further, not even when all the clues began to add up.

All of this is my fault, but I don’t have time for guilt right now.

Not when Brian is looking at Hannah like that. No matter what plan I come up with, that’s the common denominator. Hannah’s in danger. She’s not safe here, not with Brian so unstable.

He breaks off into a gleeful shriek, and his canines are sharp.

His control over the shifting is about as strong as his control over his emotions—nonexistent.

His stubble oscillates between thick fur and coarse human hair.

It takes years of dedication for a shifter to control themselves.

Years of control and strict hierarchy that he’s never been exposed to.

He could snap any second and tear out her throat.

Hannah tilts her chin up, keeping a brave face. There’s not a trace of fear on her face. This is the face she wears to work whenever she’s dealing with a feral, large animal. Calm, serene, and in control.

I study her as long as I dare, committing her face to memory.

I’m not sure when I’ll be able to see her again. If I’ll be able to see her again. If this goes wrong…

I keep my voice low, just for her.

“Hannah,” I whisper. Brian’s wild ranting drowns out my words to his ears, but her eyes immediately dart to mine. “Run.”