Bitten by Treachery (Hadley Werewolves) by Shawntelle Madison

protect the world from the blood demons? She had bound him to her, and he couldn’t tell any more if what he’d felt for her what real or fake. He sighed. But for now, he had to trust it was real. He had to trust it if he wanted both of them to survive.
    The sound of broken boards upstairs piqued his attention. He had a job to do: protect the house. Whatever he had to say to Charly would need to wait until after he secured the second floor.
    And he had plenty he needed to get off his chest.
    At the top of the steps, he looked down to see Charly was gone. Faintly, he heard the locks on the front door come undone. The door opened and someone left, closing it after themselves.
    What the fuck is she doing?
    Trenton stormed down the steps to the foyer—only to look into the kitchen and discover Orland standing before the safe room’s door. The crowbar in his hands meant one thing: somehow he’d gotten inside and was ready to force his way into the safe room where all the people who hadn’t escaped town now hid.

CHAPTER NINE

    Trenton froze.
    A smile spread across Orland’s face, his dark features contorting into a menacing sneer. Orland’s grip on the crowbar turned white.
    The rumble of a growl stirred in Trenton’s belly and surged toward his throat. “Step away from the door.”
    “Come make me, rogue .” Orland always knew how to rub his fur the wrong way. He’d never crossed the Hadley pack’s second-in-command. And for good reason. Compared to Kyle, Orland was just as strong and resilient. He’d survived the last attack and had protected a few townspeople from the slaughter.
    How the mighty have fallen , Trenton thought. From town hero to herald of ruin.
    Orland took a step forward into the skylight’s glow and revealed his full profile. Dark circles under his eyes and dry, cracked lips gave him a skeletal visage. Strange, pale blue patches dotted his chin down to his neck.
    “You ready to play?”
    “Bring it,” Trenton growled.
    Small talk was a waste of energy anyway. Why bother berating your foe when you could just beat them?
    There wasn’t much space in the kitchen, but that wouldn’t matter so much when his fist met Orland’s face. They tentatively approached each other. If his assessment was true, they were evenly matched—in human form. Arm length for arm length. A similar weight. And Orland didn’t have the combat training he possessed. But werewolf form was unpredictable. Bits of hairs sprouted on the back of Orland’s forearms. Trenton had to move fast. During the full moon, he’d seen Orland and the man was larger than he was by far.
    Trenton brought up his hands, and Orland surged forward first to close the distance between them. Orland’s mouth formed a scowl as he swung the crowbar right.
    Trenton caught the swing in mid-air, clasping his hands around Orland’s. To keep the man from swinging again, he shoved Orland backward and slammed him into the safe room’s steel doors. The impact reverberated up Trenton’s tired limbs, but he held on tight.
    “Is that the best you got?” Orland hissed through clenched teeth. With a roar, Orland pushed back, sending them both crashing into the nearby fridge. A coffee can and box of Oreos toppled over the edge and littered the floor. With a kick from Orland’s foot, they careened to the other side of the kitchen. Trenton’s back hit the countertop and he grimaced from the hard blow to his kidneys.
    There wasn’t time to clock out though. With a grunt, Trenton yanked the crowbar out Orland’s grasp and threw a right hook, ready to block when Orland swung. The man was crazy fast, hitting Trenton’s face and right shoulder. All he could do was hold his hands up and block.
    Orland came at him again with a combination: a left hook, a vicious uppercut, and then a left jab. He swung hard again, but this time Trenton snared his elbow and wrist. With a sharp twist, he yanked the arm behind Orland’s back. The second-in-command cried out and bent