I stared at the man who led the packhouse assault. He wasn’t a werewolf so he couldn’t shift, but his weapons made my blood run cold: silver bullets, silver-tipped spears, wolfsbane darts. All made to kill me.
He stepped closer. Outnumbered, I worried they might use me to get to the pack, or worse, take me to Blackwood.
“If you plan to use those weapons, do it now.” I warned, my eyes flaring as Vexa, my wolf, pushed beneath my skin.
“Just attack. They’re human.” Vexa urged.
“I want to see what they want first.”
“I’m sick of being smart. Kick their asses.” She snapped.
She was right. I’d held back too long—training with the broker, with Talon, restraining myself. Not anymore.
A smirk spread across my face. The man stiffened.
“You should’ve shot me when you had the chance.” I rasped,
