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Authors: Marissa Farrar
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in their cars and tried to reverse in the gridlocked traffic. The squeal of metal on metal joined the animals’ cries as people behind the wheels tried to get away, crumpling fenders as they did so. Those on the street either stood and gaped, or turned and ran, pushing and shoving those around them. A couple of young guys pushed a middle-aged woman. She fell to the ground, her arms covering her head as people ran like a herd around her, taking no notice if they stomped on her back, head, and neck.
Blake opened the car door. Autumn grabbed his hand again and tried to yank him back. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t let this continue.”
“What are you going to do by yourself? Don’t get involved, Blake!”
He shook his head. “I’m already involved.”
Her heart lurched. She didn’t want to see him get hurt again. “You’re recovering from three gunshot wounds. Another injury could put you back in the hospital, and then what good would you be?”
He turned on her, his dark eyes fierce, his upper lip curled in a snarl. He shook her off. “These are my people. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
She sat back in her seat as if he had slapped her. There was aggression in his face, a hardness she’d not seen in him before.
“Move over to the driver’s side, and as soon as the traffic moves, get out of here. Go to my apartment and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.” With that, he slammed the door shut.
She watched with her heart pounding as he stood in the busy street and began to remove his clothes. People who had been watching the fight, or were also caught in the traffic, cast confused glances at the big man who appeared to be stripping in public. The confusion turned to fear as Blake lowered his massive, naked shoulders, swirled in tribal tattoos, and his skin began to ripple.
Oh, Blake. I hope you know what you’re doing …
He was giving up his anonymity. People would have no doubt when it came to knowing exactly what he was.
Before them, the crowd of protestors had begun to overpower the lioness, lifting their make-shift weapons to beat down upon the shifter. Autumn caught sight of the occasional paw swipe upward, the flash of white teeth as she tried to lash out at the people. From above, the owl continued its attack, lifting one of the smaller protestors—a skinny male in his early twenties—by the arm and managing to hoist him into the air a couple of yards before dropping him back down again. The man hit one of his comrades and they both collapsed to the ground.
Tearing her eyes away from the horrific scene, she focused her attention to Blake. Silver and black fur had begun to spring from his chestnut skin, the shape of his shoulders changed, his neck elongated. Ears unfolded from the top of his head, his human hair vanishing in a pelt of fur. His face was no longer recognizable as a man’s, his jaw lengthened into a muzzle. The hard bottom she’d been digging her nails into only hours earlier had completely vanished, replaced by the hind legs and long tail of a wolf.
His change was complete.
Blake twisted his neck toward her to regard her with his deep, amber eyes. Her breath caught. There was warning in those beautiful eyes, something she instinctively read as ‘stay where you are.’ But there was also danger, and the aggression she’d recognized in his human eyes.
Would this fight—and she didn’t mean the one happening in front of them now, but the conflict Chogan had created between humans and shifters—change him? He’d spent most of his adult life in a military situation, and now that Dumas was dead, Blake found himself without a job. His role in life had been taken from him. Plus, back at the government building, he’d been forced to keep his true identity a secret and allowed Dumas to harm other shifters. Perhaps now he’d finally decided he’d had enough. If he had to choose between humans and shifters, he’d choose the shifters every time.
The
Blake opened the car door. Autumn grabbed his hand again and tried to yank him back. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t let this continue.”
“What are you going to do by yourself? Don’t get involved, Blake!”
He shook his head. “I’m already involved.”
Her heart lurched. She didn’t want to see him get hurt again. “You’re recovering from three gunshot wounds. Another injury could put you back in the hospital, and then what good would you be?”
He turned on her, his dark eyes fierce, his upper lip curled in a snarl. He shook her off. “These are my people. You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
She sat back in her seat as if he had slapped her. There was aggression in his face, a hardness she’d not seen in him before.
“Move over to the driver’s side, and as soon as the traffic moves, get out of here. Go to my apartment and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.” With that, he slammed the door shut.
She watched with her heart pounding as he stood in the busy street and began to remove his clothes. People who had been watching the fight, or were also caught in the traffic, cast confused glances at the big man who appeared to be stripping in public. The confusion turned to fear as Blake lowered his massive, naked shoulders, swirled in tribal tattoos, and his skin began to ripple.
Oh, Blake. I hope you know what you’re doing …
He was giving up his anonymity. People would have no doubt when it came to knowing exactly what he was.
Before them, the crowd of protestors had begun to overpower the lioness, lifting their make-shift weapons to beat down upon the shifter. Autumn caught sight of the occasional paw swipe upward, the flash of white teeth as she tried to lash out at the people. From above, the owl continued its attack, lifting one of the smaller protestors—a skinny male in his early twenties—by the arm and managing to hoist him into the air a couple of yards before dropping him back down again. The man hit one of his comrades and they both collapsed to the ground.
Tearing her eyes away from the horrific scene, she focused her attention to Blake. Silver and black fur had begun to spring from his chestnut skin, the shape of his shoulders changed, his neck elongated. Ears unfolded from the top of his head, his human hair vanishing in a pelt of fur. His face was no longer recognizable as a man’s, his jaw lengthened into a muzzle. The hard bottom she’d been digging her nails into only hours earlier had completely vanished, replaced by the hind legs and long tail of a wolf.
His change was complete.
Blake twisted his neck toward her to regard her with his deep, amber eyes. Her breath caught. There was warning in those beautiful eyes, something she instinctively read as ‘stay where you are.’ But there was also danger, and the aggression she’d recognized in his human eyes.
Would this fight—and she didn’t mean the one happening in front of them now, but the conflict Chogan had created between humans and shifters—change him? He’d spent most of his adult life in a military situation, and now that Dumas was dead, Blake found himself without a job. His role in life had been taken from him. Plus, back at the government building, he’d been forced to keep his true identity a secret and allowed Dumas to harm other shifters. Perhaps now he’d finally decided he’d had enough. If he had to choose between humans and shifters, he’d choose the shifters every time.
The
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