Page 30 of The Vampire's Werewolf Bodyguard

Cody

The words grate on Cody’s already frayed nerves. He’s a hair’s breadth from emptying his chamber into the smirking bastard. Fuck the political consequences. Dima hurt Cody’s mate, and he has to die. But Dima is old and powerful. Nothing less than a direct shot to the heart or spine will even slow him down. Cody needs a distraction to even the odds.

Something sharp like cinnamon irritates his nose. It isn’t Dima, who blocked his scent somehow. Cody doesn’t know how or why, but he knows that’s a problem.

“That’s not happening,” Cody says, barely controlled. Anger builds within him. “How about you just answer Simon’s questions?”

“Such a loyal dog,” Dima drawls. “Have you been fucking him? ”

“I’ve been protecting him,” Cody snaps back. He doesn’t dare take his eyes off the target. It doesn’t make sense. Dima’s the one who hired him. Why?

“None of my business, I suppose.” Dima’s gaze remains fixed on Cody, entirely disregarding Simon. Good. “I always thought Simon had better taste, but I hope he had a lovely final month.”

“You aren’t going to touch him,” Cody growls, his entire body tensing. He can’t find his usual professional calm in an emergency. This is like being caged during a full moon.

“Of course not.” Dima’s smile widens, frightfully sharp. “You’ll do it for me.”

The shot echoes before Cody registers pulling the trigger. He’s still too slow. Dima sidesteps the bullet in an inhuman blur.

Sharp sweet cinnamon burns Cody’s lungs. He shoots again. This bullet goes wide too—but Dima doesn’t even have to dodge.

Simon doesn’t move either.

A cough explodes from Cody’s throat. His vision wavers. Animal fury surges hotter than blood. His gun clatters to the marble.

The dust on the ground. The cinnamon scent. Dima was stalling for it to take effect.

For it to force Cody to shift.

“He wants a scapegoat,” Cody manages, with his last clear thought. “Human or werewolf. Simon, run .”

Ears ringing, Cody collapses to his knees. The shift wrenches through him. Fabric rips away from his growing form. Back arching, claws driving past changing flesh. Even the worst shift has never hurt like this. Cody fights for sanity. Control.

Failing, he surrenders to a scarlet haze .

The world is different as a wolf. Harder to see, but so much clearer. The important things are all marked bright by scent and sound and heat. Bristling, the wolf inhales the stench of death-blood-enemy. He’s in danger. His pack is in danger. He needs to protect his pack with fang and claw.

A vampire stands tall before him. That’s him. That’s the enemy, whispers something distant in his mind. The voice is Cody himself. His weak, worrying human side. The part that tries to chain him down. The part that doesn’t listen.

The wolf won’t chase prey without a scent. He turns to face the smaller vampire. The smell of fear is captivating. Strangely familiar, but the wolf’s poison-muddled mind can’t sort out those memories. Right now, the vampire smells like prey.

No! screams the other Cody.

The wolf prowls forward, jaws open to savor the scent.

This vampire is slow, small, easy prey. He doesn’t run like he should, as if held by invisible chains. The wolf lunges, brute strength uncoiling.

They slam together, and in an instant, the vampire is beneath the wolf’s paws, struggling on the ground.

Nothing separates the wolf’s jaws from the vampire’s fragile throat. His jaws are strong enough to sever a spine. He pauses in anticipation, savoring the look in the vampire’s wide, bright eyes.

This is wrong.

The thought comes not from the stupid human self, but from the wolf. Possessive instinct pierces his fury. Dizziness surges, then resettles into a different pattern. However ravenous Cody is, this vampire isn’t prey.

He’s pack. He’s mate.

He’s mine .