even Casperella.
With every wild flail of legs and core, my Fae swung wildly from the end of my hand, thumping against the lid and the lift gate until she met the infamous rounded hump of the tire well with a loud hard smack that I felt from wrist all the way to the bottom of my spine.
She fell limp as a discarded sock puppet.
Fear is never good and panic is never a thing you want to endure. But doing it alone? It’s fertilizer to your anxiety; water to your worry.
I’m alone, I’m alone.
Stay small, stay quiet.
It took going that low—to the gut-level despair of a terrorized mouse—to fan anger in my Were. She did not like the wind, or the noise, or my whimpering fear, or the fact that my Fae—who’d always been so dominant and proactive—was out for the count. If me and my Fae weren’t on the job, who the hell was looking out for Trowbridge? She growled, deep in my belly. Her obsession with him was the thing that transcended every other reason in her entity.
Wolves protect their own.
Mine, she snarled, swelling inside me.
Sensations so strong, my sweet heavens. It wasn’t a flood, it wasn’t a tide, it was an immersion in animal heat. My heart was no longer a skittering, fluttering thing inside my chest. Now it felt like a giant muscle, squeezing and clenching. And with each contraction it poured another measure of rich, feral-spiced blood into my system.
My wolf was rising. Let her come.
A sense of superior physical strength—something I’d only felt vaguely once before—flooded inside me. All the things that I took for granted and never really thought of unless they were letting me down—my muscles, my balance, my sense of space and hearing—coalesced. This is how a natural athlete feels. Attuned to his body, confident that it could meet any challenge.
I’m invincible. Even blinded and tied, and locked in a truck bed. We’re so strong.
We listened to the sound of the cover shuddering. The lock sounded weak; it clicked against each tug of the wind. Weak things can be broken. I brought my knees up underneath myself.
Do it.
I surged upward. My shoulders hit the cover with the brute impact of a linebacker going for the block. The cover lifted, I could hear the lock being tested, and then the plastic gave. Cold air swirled around me as the lid was torn away. I’m free—Dorothy without the farmhouse!
I struggled to stand. Anger and terror streaked through my belly as two very real hands bit into my shoulders. I squirmed, I kicked, I wriggled. His grip slid and bare human skin touched the vulnerable half-Fae flesh. On contact, blisters bubbled.
“Stop fighting me, bitch! I’m trying to save you,” Itchy yelled hoarsely.
So that he could kill me later?
Sir Galahad caught me around my knees and threw me over his shoulder.
I am not a thing to be grabbed and hauled and hurt and told what to do.
I am Hedi.
And I am as angry as my inner-bitch.
Like a cornered wolf, I went with what I had—my teeth. My incisors bit down on his skanky ass while Merry went for his shoulder. His glutes flinched under our two-pronged attack and his spine went stiff as a poker—but I didn’t let go of my mouthful of blanket, dirty denim, and stringy butt cheek.
Itchy took four more running steps, then tossed us. My own well-padded ass met the soil first, then my back hit something solid and flat, and finally my head met a surface far denser and harder than my skull.
FYI. Never, ever slam the back of your noggin against a tombstone. Vomit rose, got halfway to my throat, then slid back to rejoin the bile in my churning gut. “Stay there!” Itchy shouted in my ear. His thigh brushed my hip as he hunkered down beside me.
Mortal, do not touch us.
Teeth clenched, I stretched my head back so that the blanket’s surface was tight, and Merry dove back to work on chewing a hole through the fabric. Hurry. I need to see. Red light flashed from her belly, as she struggled to enlarge the hole. The fabric gave, and I
With every wild flail of legs and core, my Fae swung wildly from the end of my hand, thumping against the lid and the lift gate until she met the infamous rounded hump of the tire well with a loud hard smack that I felt from wrist all the way to the bottom of my spine.
She fell limp as a discarded sock puppet.
Fear is never good and panic is never a thing you want to endure. But doing it alone? It’s fertilizer to your anxiety; water to your worry.
I’m alone, I’m alone.
Stay small, stay quiet.
It took going that low—to the gut-level despair of a terrorized mouse—to fan anger in my Were. She did not like the wind, or the noise, or my whimpering fear, or the fact that my Fae—who’d always been so dominant and proactive—was out for the count. If me and my Fae weren’t on the job, who the hell was looking out for Trowbridge? She growled, deep in my belly. Her obsession with him was the thing that transcended every other reason in her entity.
Wolves protect their own.
Mine, she snarled, swelling inside me.
Sensations so strong, my sweet heavens. It wasn’t a flood, it wasn’t a tide, it was an immersion in animal heat. My heart was no longer a skittering, fluttering thing inside my chest. Now it felt like a giant muscle, squeezing and clenching. And with each contraction it poured another measure of rich, feral-spiced blood into my system.
My wolf was rising. Let her come.
A sense of superior physical strength—something I’d only felt vaguely once before—flooded inside me. All the things that I took for granted and never really thought of unless they were letting me down—my muscles, my balance, my sense of space and hearing—coalesced. This is how a natural athlete feels. Attuned to his body, confident that it could meet any challenge.
I’m invincible. Even blinded and tied, and locked in a truck bed. We’re so strong.
We listened to the sound of the cover shuddering. The lock sounded weak; it clicked against each tug of the wind. Weak things can be broken. I brought my knees up underneath myself.
Do it.
I surged upward. My shoulders hit the cover with the brute impact of a linebacker going for the block. The cover lifted, I could hear the lock being tested, and then the plastic gave. Cold air swirled around me as the lid was torn away. I’m free—Dorothy without the farmhouse!
I struggled to stand. Anger and terror streaked through my belly as two very real hands bit into my shoulders. I squirmed, I kicked, I wriggled. His grip slid and bare human skin touched the vulnerable half-Fae flesh. On contact, blisters bubbled.
“Stop fighting me, bitch! I’m trying to save you,” Itchy yelled hoarsely.
So that he could kill me later?
Sir Galahad caught me around my knees and threw me over his shoulder.
I am not a thing to be grabbed and hauled and hurt and told what to do.
I am Hedi.
And I am as angry as my inner-bitch.
Like a cornered wolf, I went with what I had—my teeth. My incisors bit down on his skanky ass while Merry went for his shoulder. His glutes flinched under our two-pronged attack and his spine went stiff as a poker—but I didn’t let go of my mouthful of blanket, dirty denim, and stringy butt cheek.
Itchy took four more running steps, then tossed us. My own well-padded ass met the soil first, then my back hit something solid and flat, and finally my head met a surface far denser and harder than my skull.
FYI. Never, ever slam the back of your noggin against a tombstone. Vomit rose, got halfway to my throat, then slid back to rejoin the bile in my churning gut. “Stay there!” Itchy shouted in my ear. His thigh brushed my hip as he hunkered down beside me.
Mortal, do not touch us.
Teeth clenched, I stretched my head back so that the blanket’s surface was tight, and Merry dove back to work on chewing a hole through the fabric. Hurry. I need to see. Red light flashed from her belly, as she struggled to enlarge the hole. The fabric gave, and I
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