Page 71 of The Wolfing Hour

Ronan’s next snarl was eardrum-perforating loud. I lost focus and dropped the spell on the meanest of the three wolves,the one I’d forced to the ground. The second he was free, the wolf climbed to all fours and jogged up behind Ronan with the others.

Ronan didn’t even bother to peer over his shoulder. He shifted into a hybrid form that left him looking mostly wolf but with the ability to stand upright. Like the Egyptian god Anubis with more bulk.

We stood in silence, the wolves panting, Miles breathing like he’d just finished a marathon, and me staring at Ronan.

“This is the weirdo who thinks I kidnapped Mason,” I said.

The enormous wolf glared at Miles. I took a quick look around to ensure there weren’t any humans nearby. This side of town tended to be deserted when the pub was closed, which was a blessing while four enormous wolves—one of which absolutely could not pass for even the biggest German Shepherd—and a silver-eyed witch surrounded a man choking back tears.

“Ronan, please get off his toes,” I said. “He knows he’s been bested. We don’t need to kill him to further make that point, right?”

His muzzle lifted, and he sniffed the air. Growled.

My guess was he was picking up the scent of my blood.

“That was one of the wolves, not him,” I said, “and you’ve already got all three of them under your control.”

Ronan’s wolf snapped the air in front of Miles before releasing him. Miles stumbled back, windmilling his arms like a cartoon character. His shoe caught a divot in the dirt, and he went down, hitting the ground on his ass.

After giving the pale man another derisive snap of his teeth, Ronan turned to the wolves present and sniffed each forepaw, zeroing in on Mr. Clawsy. He growled directly into the wolf’s ear in dark and threatening whispers that made even me shiver in fear.

Miles bicycle-kicked his injured feet in the dirt to get away. The two wolves who’d held my arms cowered, showed throat.Mr. Clawsy flipped onto his back and sprayed urine like a lawn sprinkler.

I ducked out of his line of fire, keeping a close eye on Miles and the other wolves. I needn’t have bothered. They were mesmerized by the bigger, more immediate danger.

Ronan let out another growl and lunged at the wolf’s head, driving two claws into the canine’s skull.

“Never. Touch. My. Mate. Again,” he said, in halting lurches. His voice was dark and edged with cruelty—and truth. He meant every word.

Mate? Did he really saymate? Did he reallymeanmate? What did it mean if he did mean it? Was I ready for that? Yes? Yes—a firm yes, not a wimpy one. Even so, was I truly prepared for the whole?—

Betty, stop. I made myself hide my reaction. This was a subject to freak out about when Ronan wasn’t on the verge of ripping the fur off another wolf’s head.

“Never,” he repeated, “again.”

The wolf whimpered, and his body reacted in fear—stinky, wet fear. Honestly, how much had the guy had to drink today? I’d have thought he’d be on empty by now.

Ronan retracted his claws then seized the wolf by the throat and hoisted him high. The wolf’s furry feet dangled in the air. Ronan’s hazel gaze locked onto the wolf’s copper one.

“Shift.”

The word squeezed my chest like a hug from a hungry anaconda.

Miles grunted.

Wolves Two and Three writhed and whined and wheezed.

Wolf One froze.

Weaker wolves, like low-ranking betas, sometimes experienced pain with their shift unless a stronger wolf aided them. This was done slowly, and with careful attention paid totheir pain. The idea was to command and manage a minimally painless shift from human to wolf.

Or wolf to human.

However, when Ronan commanded a shifter in that tone of voice with that much alpha power behind it, it didn’t matter if the shifter was a high-ranking alpha or the lowest of betas. There was going to be pain. This was meant to be a lesson in crossing him.

Hewantedit to hurt.

Seconds after the command was issued, the wolf who’d hurt me exploded in a mess of fur, flesh, and fat.