LITMIR.BIZ

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not a member of this pack,” the Elder spat, glaring at Brody’s partner. “None of you are.”

      â€œBy choice,” Mason rasped in a low slide of words, which were true. Nearly all of the Bloodrunners had achieved their required number of kills to rejoin the Silvercrest pack, though they chose not to. “It’d be wise of you to remember that.”

      â€œIt’s time now,” Fuller announced, stepping forward, sending an apologetic look in their direction. Graham Fuller may have been the best friend of Mason’s father, Robert, but he still held the position of Lead Elder among the Silvercrest League. As such, he carefully walked the line of neutrality when dealing with the ancient bad blood that existed between the purists, like Drake, and the crossbreeds. Even Dylan, who Brody personally didn’t like, but was a close friend of the other Runners, had his hands tied when dealing with his fellow Elders. If he showed too much support for the Bloodrunners, Drake would demand a vote on his removal—and there was too much prejudice among the Silvercrest leaders to think Dylan’s position was secure.

      Which meant the Runners were left on their own, same as always.

      Wishing like hell that there was something he could do, Brody watched the guards pull Max to the center of the clearing. The boy stood silent and still, his head bent toward the ground, but Brody could see the thick sheen of sweat covering the young man’s skin. The veins in Max’s arms thickened with the heavy flow of his blood, the tendons at the side of his neck, leading into his shoulders, rigid with strain, while his hands fisted at his sides, his chest rising and falling as he took each breath harder…and harder.

      â€œDo you know what’s happening?” he asked in a rough whisper, brushing his lips against Michaela’s ear. The enthralling scent of her skin filled his head, and he clenched his jaw, determined to ignore its devastating effect. “Did Wyatt or Mason explain to you what will happen?”

      She nodded mutely, and then quietly whispered, “He’s terrified.”

      Taking his gaze from Max, Brody looked down to see her pulse rushing beneath the fragile column of her throat, so slender and pale and delicate. His tongue felt thick against the roof of his mouth, and in his head, he could hear the beating of her heart in perfect tempo with that wild rush beneath her milky-white skin. Then suddenly, like a blast hitting from out of nowhere, her words sank in…and he remembered a crucial element that had somehow slipped his mind during the chaos of the evening.

      Michaela Doucet was not your average, everyday human female. No, she held powers, talents that had yet to be completely explained to him, but which suddenly seemed like a massive tactical error on his part to have forgotten. She could read people she was physically close to, he recalled Torrance telling them one night over dinner. Like peering through a window, she could sense their emotions, their feelings.

      He was a goddamn idiot! The last thing in the world he needed was to be here, holding her, giving her the opportunity to nose around inside his head! His fingers released their hold on her hip, the muscles in his arm flexing, ready to pull away from her—when in the next instant Max Doucet threw back his head and let out a bloodcurdling scream of horror that echoed through the quiet night like a sound torn straight from the bowels of hell.

      â€œIt hurts,” she gasped, her voice cracking, and with a surge of fury at his inability to help, Brody realized it wasn’t his head she was in. No, it was Max’s. She was sharing her brother’s terror…his pain!

      â€œHe…he feels like something’s trying to claw its way out of him,” she stammered, the words husky and broken, while her body arched against him, her lean muscles rigid as agony tore through her. “Like it’s going to—”

      â€œStop it,” he growled in her ear, gripping onto her side with his free hand, his other arm still wrapped across her front. “Get out of his head, Doucet! I don’t want you in there. Get out of it!”

      She jerked, her head shooting back to slam against his collarbone, and Max fell to the ground, his expression ravaged, a broken scream pouring from his throat as his body contorted, seizing, spasm after torturous spasm clenching his strained muscles. The change rolled through him, rippling beneath the dark gleam of his skin, while blood pooled beneath his hands and razor-sharp claws pierced their way through the tips of his fingers. He threw back his head, his back arching as a throaty chuffing sound surged up from his thickening chest, through the muzzled shape of his mouth.

      In Brody’s arms, Michaela trembled, silent tears streaming down her face, and something sharp and agonizing slashed through him like remembered pain, making him grimace.

      Son of a bitch. He couldn’t stand watching her cry.

      The night had turned brutal, the wind angry and vicious as it ripped through the trees with a snarling vengeance, lashing against the flames of the fires. Her long hair whipped across his face, and he couldn’t hold it—the devastating combination of her scent and those tears screwing with his head.

      Against his better judgment, knowing it was going to land him in hell, Brody found himself wrapping his other arm across her middle, until he was cradling her against his chest, his body pulled around her as if he could shield her from the world. She turned her head to the side and buried her face in the warm hollow between his shoulder and neck, her damp breaths panting against his throat, and he couldn’t stop the heavy surge of blood rushing to his groin, making him feel like a sick bastard, considering the circumstances. She went strangely still the second she felt his rigid erection pressing against her spine, and he bit back the guttural groan that rumbled deep in his chest.

      Flicking his gaze away from the dangerous terrain of her body, he looked up and experienced an overwhelming wave of relief when he saw that Max Doucet’s change was complete. “It’s over now,” he whispered.

      Despite the softness of his words, she flinched, her body trembling with an excess of emotion. She let out a slow, shaky exhalation of air, then turned her face back toward the clearing, her breath catching on a hoarse cry the instant she saw her brother.

      The newly formed wolf rose on his hind legs, his massive chest rising and falling as he panted through parted jaws that revealed long, sinister fangs. Glowing blue eyes that burned like the center of a flame searched the crowd of spectators, until he found the one he was looking for. Brody’s hold tightened as the wolf made a sluggish move toward Michaela, but the Lycan guards were already yanking on the thick chains that wrapped his throat, keeping him in place.

      â€œThe change has been taken and the human breed has survived,” Fuller announced, his brown hair whipping around his face as the wind surged, playing havoc with the towering flames of the fire as they licked at the darkness of the sky. “Who will take responsibility for the Novitiate’s training?”

      â€œThe honor will be mine,” a deep voice called out from behind them, and Brody turned his head to see Eric Drake step forward to stand beside Cian. A collective rumble of shock reverberated through the pack at this blatant, stunning show of support for the Runners from the Elder’s son.

      â€œEric?” Drake’s silver brows pulled together in a deep-seated scowl, his sharp cheekbones slashed with a vivid streak of ruddy color.

      Crossing his brawny arms across his chest, the youngest son of the most pure-blooded line in the Silvercrest pack repeated his intention. “For too long this pack has benefited from the courage and sacrifice of the Runners, giving nothing in return except the offer to join a community that treats them as inferiors. Enough’s enough. It’s time we make things right and give something back. The boy will pass his Novitiate’s training, and when he does, he’ll become a Runner and hold a position that demands our respect. To see that it happens, I’m taking on the training of Max Doucet as my own.”

      â€œLike hell you are,” his father hissed, baring his teeth as he jabbed one long finger

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