Page 65 of Wild Games

And him.

Raven. I assess him instantly as an opponent. Tall, athletic build. Dark hair that’s perfectly styled. Aristocratic features that probably charm most females. His enforcer uniform of black combat trousers and tight T-shirt is pristine, emphasizing his physique. Everything about him screams privilege and authority.

But it's his positioning that sends my wolf into hunting mode. He's standing between me and Camille, blocking my path to my mate. One hand rests on the exam table, my table, where I treated her, like he owns the place. Like he belongs here. With her.

His gaze travels down her body with slow deliberation. The thin nightgown clings to her curves, made nearly transparent by the harsh overhead lights. He's not even trying to hide his hunger. His eyes linger everywhere they shouldn't before he turns to face me with a smug smile on his face.

For a man who’s been trying to convince her I’m dangerous, he either doesn’t believe it, or he’s not very smart.

Camille shifts on the bed, her shoulders curling inward to make herself smaller. She’s exhausted, and too tired to be dealing with this bullshit, being ganged up on by two men who think they know what’s good for her better than she does.

I see her throat work as she swallows, see the way her fingers grip her own arms. She's uncomfortable, feeling cornered.

“What the fuck are you doing in my clinic?” I growl. “Bothering my patient.”

He scoffs, still not having the sense to create some space between him and Camille. “It’s not your clinic.”

The room blurs.

“I think you’ll find that it is,” I hiss through gritted teeth, attempting to cling to the last remnants of control. “And you can’t just saunter in and bother Camille while she’s recovering.”

But he’s too fucking stupid to heed my warning.

“You’re okay, aren’t you Cammy?” He lifts a hand and brushes the back of one finger along her cheek.

She leans back, recoiling from his touch, eyes wide as her attention shifts back to me.

Dread. She knows what’s coming next.

One second, I'm in the doorway, and the next, my hand closes around his throat, lifting and slamming him into the wall in one motion. The plaster cracks under the impact. His feet kick uselessly, six inches off the ground.

"Fuck." Zane moves quickly, but Camille is faster.

She puts herself between Zane and me, one hand out to stop him. "Don't. Zane, don't interfere."

"He's going to kill him." Zane's hand hovers over his weapon.

"He won't." I hear the certainty in her voice, but I also feel her fear, not of me, but for me. For what will happen if I cross this line.

"Who the fuck are you to touch her like that?" I snarl. “To tell her what to do?”

His hands come up immediately, clawing at my grip. His face shifts from surprise to panic to oxygen deprivation in seconds. Red flushes his cheeks, then purple creeps in.

I'm dimly aware of movement behind me. Zane moving forward, ready to intervene if I don’t put an end to this.

Raven's face has gone from purple to something even darker. His wolf surfaces in his eyes, amber bleeding through. But instead of fighting, his wolf cowers. Recognizes the apex predator holding his throat. His struggles weaken, hands falling to his sides in submission.

"Jax." Camille's voice again, closer now, cuts through the buzzing in my ears. "Look at me. Please."

But I can't. Can't look away from this male who’s dared touch what's mine, who’s making her feel sad. My hand tightens. I feelthings shifting under my palm, delicate structures beginning to give way.

Black spots appear at the edges of my vision, and the room tilts.

Camille's hand touches my arm, and it's like lightning through water. "Don't do this. Not for him. Put him down."

But my wolf has control now, shoving me into the passenger seat of my own body. All he sees is a rival male who’s made our mate uncomfortable. Who stood in her space. Lusts after what's ours. Touched her.

"Put. Him. Down." There’s steel in her voice now. “We’re just friends.”