FIFTEEN

Billie

ENZO AND I have spent the early morning riding around on his bike.

Like the old days.

Me clutching him with my eyes closed while he swerves through traffic, takes narrow alleyways, and generally just tries to scare the ever-loving shit outta me. I'm trying to remember what it was about riding on his bike that I missed. I'm not a thrill seeker. My life has been so filled with plenty of ups and downs and blind curves that I don't need any additional adrenaline-inducing activities. Roller coasters? Yeah, I'll pass. I like to keep my food in my belly where it belongs. Bungee jumping? Kinda worried about how my ankle joints and spine would feel after all that snapping and bouncing around. Haunted houses? Hells to the double no! Dude, I lived in a house where I cowered in the corner afraid of the real horrors lurking in the shadows, where every creak from a floorboard above had me shivering in fear.

So, what was it about being on the back of Enzo's bike? Enzo, who rides like he's best friends with death and this is their weekly afternoon tea, complete with cucumber sandwiches. I'm digging deep into my memory banks trying to friggin' remember while my survival brain is alerting me that if I want to live, I should abort mission and jump off at the next red light. Then Enzo's hand lands on my thigh. His long fingers wrap around the underside of my leg, giving me a solid squeeze. And I remember. It was being with him like this.

Free and together.

No one could touch us.

No one could get to us.

Just us. Enzo and me, holding on to each other.

There were several years when we only felt alive when we were together. Only us. No one else mattered. No one else knew who we really were. Our own little world of two. I'm hugging onto his waist a little tighter as the memories assault me. His hand instinctively reaches higher up on my outer leg, kneading it before he lets go and we both lean into the next turn.

All of a sudden, Enzo swerves sharply, and the bike wobbles from side to side. "What the hell?" he swears, regaining control of the bike.

My head pulls up out of his back. With overcast skies and a steady morning mist that has small water droplets collecting on the face shield of my helmet I find myself squinting for a few seconds before spotting a four-door red Ford Mustang barreling toward us. They speed up trying to overtake us by splitting down the yellow line.

Whipping my head back around, I spot a narrow side street up ahead and scream, "Turn right, Enzo!"

Enzo tips his head down to check his side-view mirror, grumbling incoherently to himself while we both lean into the quick right turn. Tires squeal into the dewy morning air from behind us. Loosening my hold on Enzo and using my hand to quickly wipe off the drizzle collecting on my face shield, I sit up taller and rotate around to see the same damn Mustang on our tail.

"What the fuck is going on?" I yell, huddling back down and banding my arms around Enzo's lithe waist.

Enzo shakes his head. "I don't know." Then he shouts, "Hold on to me, Billie! Don't let go. I'll get us out of here." I scoot forward and slip my grip under his leather jacket, clutching my wrists together, belting myself to him. The engine revs, and Enzo guns it through a yellow light with enough acceleration that, for the skip of a heartbeat, I feel the front tire lift off the pavement.

Screeching brakes and honking horns blare from behind, and my ears perk up in anticipation, waiting for the sound of metal crashing or glass shattering. Not hearing either, I twist my head around and curse seeing that the Mustang did not obey the traffic laws of our fine commonwealth and has in fact blasted through a red light.

There's no denying it now—they're definitely after us. I don't know the reason, and since my eyes tend to be equal parts closed and open when riding with Enzo, I don't if he cut them off earlier or something. But I mean, come on . Cutting off another car isn't something unheard of in Massachusetts, neither is blocking a lane of traffic when trying to merge into the other lane. Contrary to what out-of-staters like to think about Massachusetts drivers, we're not bad drivers. We're just aggressive. Aggressive but skilled.

Enzo takes us out of the narrow side street and onto William J. Day Boulevard along the ocean, probably hoping to weave his bike through traffic, putting cars in between us and our pursuers. Unfortunately, Pleasant Bay seems pretty sleepy this dreary Saturday morning, most of the residents are likely still in bed or lounging on their couches recovering from a celebratory Friday night in the neighborhoods.

The Mustang's engine roars, and it's as if I can hear the stampeding of hundreds of hooves galloping on the plains toward us, and I'm ready to run to the hills . I might start side-eyeing horses after this. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the passenger-side window is down. When I peer inside, I nearly choke on the bile burning up my throat. I blink my wide eyes several times, refusing to believe who I'm seeing. I'm willing to accept a visual or mental impairment if it means the faces twisted in anger and the snarling lips pulled back over teeth hungry for vengeance aren't real. Bring on the delusions... please.

Blink. Still there.

Blink. No change.

Blink.

Fucknuts.

"Enzo, it's the boxer and his crew from last night! We gotta get outta here!" I scream, twisting my head around to take in our surroundings. If I shift, I'll be putting the shifter community in danger, and thereby Enzo and myself in danger, so that's not an option. Though I have a feeling these guys won't care about exposing themselves, not with how freely they've been using their powers around humans. Two wheels versus four wheels seem like far better odds than twelve paws with claws and three mouths full of sharp teeth against our four feet and four fists. Stretching my neck over Enzo's shoulder, I state "We can't let them get us off the bike."

I wonder how they know it's us, then I remember I'm a walking billboard for The Den and this morning is no different as I'm wearing my black O'Sullivan's hoodie. This is bad. This is really bad. And if we get out of this, I fully expect to get reprimanded and dressed down by Xander. Fuck! I close my eyes, chastising myself. Why didn't I listen to him? Why do I have to be so stubborn? And I was kind of bitch about it this morning. Fine, I was totally a bitch about it. Argh!

Enzo takes us parallel to the causeway, and the Mustang accelerates, the sound far fiercer than a harem of horses. More like a raging dragon soaring down on its prey. I tuck my head down lower, feeling like a sheep hiding behind a scraggly shrub, hoping not to get eaten.

The car pulls ahead just enough so we're aligned with the rear window, then it freakin' turns into our lane. Enzo brakes hard, trying to avoid the impending collision, but it's not enough. The back end of the Mustang hits our bike's front tire. The screeching of wheels slices through the air, adding a discordant note to the rhythmic waves rolling ashore. The smell of burning rubber taints the cool ocean breeze. Enzo can't maintain control of the bike, and we're driven off the road, over the curb, and onto the large patch of grass between the road and the walkway that leads to Fort Independence at Castle Island. The bump from the curb lifted my ass off the seat, and I manage to jump off before the bike comes to a sliding stop, tearing up turf in the process.

Landing in a low squat, I immediately rip my helmet off and toss it to the ground before sprinting to help Enzo, who threw himself off the bike during the slide. One side of his body is covered in mud and grass stains, his jeans look a little torn, but the leather jacket he's wearing seems like it did what it was supposed to do. Hearing my pounding feet, his head whips up and he tears off his half helmet and sunglasses. "Fuck, Billie, are you okay?" he rasps yanking me into his body once I'm in reach.

Squeezing him tight, I press my ear against his chest, needing to hear and feel his heartbeat thundering under my cheek, confirming that he's alive. He's alive. With one arm wrapped around me, his free hand brushes over my head and sweeps under my low ponytail, fingers prodding along my cervical spine and then around to the side of my face. "Yeah, I'm okay." I exhale, then ask, "What about you? Are you injured?"

Kissing my crown, he rests his cheek on the top of my head and groans, "I'm fine, but my bike is most definitely not." We pull away from each other and turn to survey the damage. Thin tendrils of smoke spiral out from the center of the front tire that's smushed by the dented fork suspension, and I can see liquid dripping out of one of the lines near the back. Grass, dirt, and rocks are packed in between the spokes and fender of the back wheel. My head lifts up to check out the road we were just ran off, wondering what happened to the shifters.

I spot the Mustang heading in our direction from where they pushed us off the road. They must have had to loop around or something. I stand motionless, hoping that maybe the potentially fatal accident and busted bike will be enough retribution for the fight to call it good. But when they pull in sideways, taking up several parking spots, I'm not feeling very hopeful. The engine cuts off, the doors swing open, and three very angry wolf-shifters climb out. The doors slam, and I jump.

"Hey, you!" the alpha yells out, pointing a finger and stomping over to us from the front passenger side, his insulated red flannel looking like a cape as it billows out from the ocean breeze. His glowing eyes bore into me. "You and your mates cost us the title last night!"

Oh shit, they're definitely not done with us. I don't wonder about the mate comment—probably just an assumption. Grabbing hold of Enzo's arm, I begin walking backward, pulling him along with me. "Come on, Enzo, we gotta get the feck out of here!"

Enzo's feet stumble along with my forced steps, his eyes flicking between the shifters and me with brows pinched in confusion. "Billie, what's going on?"

Digging my heels into the ground, I lean back, tugging him with more force. "Trust me, Enzo! Please, just freakin' trust me. There's more to those guys than you know, and we're in serious danger right now."

Giving me a quick look of assessment, he shrugs adjusts so we're holding hands, and dips his chin once. "Okay."

That's it. That's all it takes for Enzo to trust me. And my heart swells with love for him, and my lungs inhale a deep breath of relief that we're not going to spend time debating. If he has questions, which no doubt he does, he'll ask me later.

Enzo and are running away from three— yup , three—absolutely fuming wolf-shifters. All I can think about is how I'm so fucked. Like, just completely fucked. I release a groan of pain, knowing what my ears will be subjected to later. Xander's going to give me the ol' told-ya-so, if-you'd-only-listened-to-me speech, and since he'll be the one giving it, it will be filled with his hurt and disappointment. I'd totally prefer cocky anger. But I'm gonna have sit there, take it, and feel like crap for not only putting Enzo in danger but for disrespecting and hurting my mates, my alpha. It's so annoying how right he is at times. What makes it worse? I've gotta reach out to them. This situation is way above my newbie shifter knowledge and experience. Once again, I'm feeling like Donny , completely out of my element, dude. Sighing, I open up the link.

Little Fox here. Need help ASAP! Wolves... fecking wolves! Over.

Xander replies.

Wilhelmina, where are you, what's going on? Over.

Three howls of rage erupt from behind me. Opening my eyes, I see the shifters picking up their pace running all out toward us. At least the alpha is older and not in the same shape as the other two. Clyde may not have been as skilled of a boxer as Jimmy, but he's definitely spent time training his body. The other one is toned and lanky, and I think he'd be able to run even faster if he weren't in heavy black work boots and tight low-rise jeans, which seem to be shortening his gait. In sync, Enzo and I both elongate our strides and push harder through our legs and feet, going from running to sprinting, leaving Pleasure Bay behind, with eyes locked up ahead on the recently opened gates to the fort. My breathing is labored.

Near Castle Island. Shifters from the boxing match are after me and Enzo. Ran us off the road... we're on foot... I'M SORRY! Can't stay in link need to run. Over and out.

Cutting the corner, we veer off the walkway onto the grass toward the large steel double doors. I twist to look over my shoulder. "Fuck! Where's DuFraine?" I scream with wide eyes, head on a swivel. Frantically searching and scanning everywhere I can, I can't see him anywhere. We race through the doors and continue on through the empty passageway along one of the curtain walls until we enter the courtyard. Before I have time to think about what direction we should take, a ferocious howl erupts from our left.

Adrenaline isn't streaming but absolutely pouring into my bloodstream. My heart feels like it's about to pump itself out of my heaving chest, while my ears and eyes are filtering all the sounds and sights, editing out anything that's determined not a threat. My brain's construct of time has drastically changed and narrowed to seconds only. Tomorrow is a figment of my imagination. Hours could be light-years. Survive this moment. Survive these next couple of seconds, then we'll survive the next couple of seconds. So, a wolf growling from my left means bank right.

Our hands are still locked together as we sprint to the only wooded area inside the fort. I don't need to look back to know the wolf is right on our tails. Besides the menacing howls and roars that keep getting louder, I can feel the drumming of his paws beating against the ground under my feet.

"You better fuckin' stop right now, little girl, or he takes your friend out!" the alpha bellows out.

Hearing the unveiled threat, Little Fox comes to the surface, ready to shift and deal with it. I push her back down. We can't shift now. The wolf is already bringing way too much attention, and no one has shifted in front of Enzo yet. There's still some hope for me to explain in a general, leading way in which I don't really say what's happened and let him believe this is all normal. Should have been a wordsmith or a politician's speech writer. Swinging my gaze to the wolf, seeing that he's a light brown and medium size, but more importantly, less than ten feet away, any thoughts of changing my major to English or political science quickly evaporate.

In a boxing match, I look for the clues, the tells, in my opponent to figure out what his next move will be, then I plan mine. Same here. Attack, deflect, distract, or dodge?

Everything happens in slow motion.

The wolf's glowing eyes are fully focused on Enzo. He uses his spine to swing his tucked-back legs forward under his front legs, so they're like a compressed spring, and then presses all four paws off the ground, leaping into the air. His mouth hangs open, showing white teeth glazed with saliva, shining under the first few rays of sun breaking through the gray skies, ready to pierce through flesh. Enzo's flesh.

Feeling Enzo's strong warm hand in mine, knowing that I can't be the reason that hand becomes limp and cold, I yell out "RUN ENZO! GET THE FECK OUTTA HERE!" Then I do what we swore we'd never do.

I let go of his hand.

I squat down and let Little Fox come to the surface, enhancing my human body with shifter strength. I launch myself into the air and collide with DuFraine's wolf in midair before he can attack Enzo.

My body jerks and my teeth chatter from the impact of my back hitting the grass-covered ground, only then to have the breath knocked out of me by the wolf using my body as a landing pad.

"I'm not leaving you, Billie!" Enzo roars, but I can't figure out where or how close he is due to the throbbing in the back of my head. Hitting the ground made everything a little fuzzy.

"Get the fuck out of here, human. This doesn't concern you!" the alpha barks, his booted feet stomping their way next to my head.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Enzo cries out in a high-pitched voice that's a trigger from my childhood, a sound I never want to hear but will always know. I need to protect Enzo. Ignoring how disoriented I am, the burning in my lungs from lack of oxygen, and the pain in my back, head, and ribs, I try to draw my arms up to get to him. But I can't move my shoulders. Peeling my throbbing head off the ground, I look down at my body to figure out what's going on with my arms. Oh yeah, wolf.

He's got me pinned, front legs pushing my shoulders into the ground and a snarling mouth hovering over my chest, glowing eyes narrowed on me. I try to ignore the current threat and crane my head back, looking for Enzo. Everything's upside down, but I find him rushing up to me from the side.

Before he can get closer, the alpha whirls on him. Gripping Enzo's throat, he drives him backward, slamming Enzo's back into the stone wall. Enzo easily absorbs the impact and falls back on his training with The Den. Using his long reach, he throws a solid hook just below the alpha's ribs near a kidney. The alpha bends over from the hit, his free hand covering his side. Enzo uses the position to his advantage, gripping the sides of the alpha's head, and holding it down he drives his knee upward. The alpha howls out in pain and releases his hold on Enzo. The alpha stumbles backward with blood gushing from what I'm pretty sure is a broken nose. Enzo shoves him aside and rushes over to me.

The wolf growls out and crawls up my body. My eyes widen in horror, transfixed on the drool spilling out from between his teeth, dripping over his jowls, and landing on my chin and throat. Each droplet feels like hydrofluoric acid burning through my skin. Fearful shivers rack my trapped body as his heated breath gusts over my throat, caressing my pulse point with a promise of death. My shivering body turns paralytical with the pinch of sharp—very fucking sharp—teeth pressing into my throat. My mouth opens with a gasp that only pushes my captive flesh into the needled points clamped down on it.

The alpha whips a red paisley handkerchief from the breast pocket of his flannel and swipes up the blood rolling down his face before applying pressure to his nose and craning his head back. The other shifter, the one with the Zappa mustache, crosses his defined arms over his leather-vested chest, raises an eyebrow at me, and drawls, "We're giving you a chance. Get him"—he jerks his chin to Enzo— "to leave, or Clyde takes you and him out."

Clyde's wolf growls against my neck and the prickling of his teeth intensifies. Warm liquid pools around his teeth, and I can't tell whether it's just saliva or my blood wetting my skin. The idea of talking or moving my neck in any way leaves me speechless, unable to respond. With another growl, the prickling pain turns to stabbing, and hot tears leak out of the corners of my eyes.

"Enzo," I say, then stop, feeling my neck muscle working against teeth, confirming that Clyde's wolf has definitely bit down harder. Unable to differentiate all the pain, I assume it's many teeth. An unwelcome thought slithers through my consciousness.

He could kill me.

And if I don't do what they say, then I may not be the only one to die. Ignoring the pain literally slicing through my throat, I shout, "GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!" I hiss and my shouting turns to whimpering, "Please, please, I can't lose you!"

"I'm not leaving you, Billie! We don't leave each other, remember?" he cries out, and images of us in that fucking basement creep into my head. The memories are quickly torn apart by the feeling of fangs biting down even harder.

"If you stay," I screech in pain, both emotional and physical, feeling warm blood oozing down my neck . The shredded memories of what we've survived together remind me of how much this one soul, this one tortured, damaged, beautifully dark soul, means to me. I sputter, wheeze, and spit, "You'll be killing me, and you... I can't have that Enzo."

The Zappa shifter casually saunters over to Enzo with the tips of his fingers in the front pockets of his jeans. Tipping his chin to me, he scoffs. "Listen to her kid. You don't know what's happening here. You don't belong here." He pauses, and those hard gray eyes soften, looking between the two of us. "You seem important to her. Get the fuck out of here."

"Please, Enzo! Please leave!" I wail with soul-emptying emotion, needing for him to leave, for him to live.

I hear the muffled cracking of something, then the alpha is bending over me. His eyes are glowing orbs of bronze surrounded by smeared blood, and he's got pieces of napkin stuck up both of his swollen nostrils. "Quiet the fuck down, fox!" he wheezes, the words somehow still fear inducing even with the wispy breath and tissue-clogged nose.

The wolf jostles his head from side to side, his teeth ripping through my flesh and digging deeper with the movement. The sharp pain has me gasping instinctively, which only causes more pain, and I quickly clamp my lips around my teeth. Fuck, this is not like the bites I've shared with my mates. NOT AT ALL! Wolf teeth in your neck really freakin' hurts. Based on how wet my neck feels, I'm pretty sure the blood that was once slowly streaming out is now gushing over. With the burning pain in my lungs from each wheezing breath I take, I realize I'm not just losing blood, I'm losing air. He's constricting my airways. And that thin slithering thought from earlier expands like the hood of a king cobra.

I might seriously die.

I start wailing, sobbing, and begging. "I love you, Enzo. Please leave, please live, tell Micky and Jimmy I love them, all The Den."

Then I enter the link to say my goodbyes.

Little Fox here. I love you. I love you all so much. Love doesn't seem to be enough to express what you've meant to me. Please watch out for Micky and Jimmy, and The Den.

There's commotion from somewhere, and the wolf shakes me in its jaws. I wish he'd stop doing that.

Little Fox, over and . . .

A nostalgic smile cracks my chapped lips.

. . . PEACE TO YOUR BUTT CREASE, MOFOS!

My fox rises, growling, and my eyes snap open with a new resolve. If we're about to die, then we've got nothing to lose.

Beast at the motherfucking bay.

My eyes raging and glowing, a wild howl rips through my mind and fills my ears. Bending my knees, I plant my heels into the ground and drive my knees up one at a time into the underside of Clyde's wolf. Though I feel the vibration of every hit through his teeth in my neck, it's enough to knock him off balance, and his paws slide off my shoulders, freeing my arms.

With a desperate desire to live, and a wicked need to cause as much damage on my way out if I don't, I wrench my arms out from under him. Gripping his cheek in one hand, holding him steady, I shove the thumb of my other hand into his eye. Torquing my torso and using as much of my body as I can, I keep pressing. When I feel the soft flesh give and hear the grotesque squishing sound of the eyeball depressing into its socket, a sickening, triumphant feeling froths within me. With what I'm sure is a manic smile, I plunge my thumb deeper. The teeth disengage from my neck, and the wolf yowls out in agony.

Squirming my body from side to side, I scoot backward, trying to get out from under him. Any feelings of hope or relief are short-lived.

In no time, he's back on me. Muzzle, teeth, and tongue all painted red with my blood, he lunges for my neck again. I managed to block his attack with my forearm, shoving it in his mouth. The wolf's jaws clamp down.

I hear it first.

Creak. Snap. Crack. Snap.

The breaking and splintering of my bones.

Sharp, intense pain lances up my arm, and I wail in enraged agony while even more of my blood spurts out from new wounds.

"LET GO!" I scream while my free hand hammers hook after hook into the side of his muzzle, trying to get him to release me. Feck me! Wolves have thick skulls. I keep clobbering away. With my adrenaline riding high and the pain from a multitude of injuries flooding my nervous system, I barely register the feeling of the bones in my hand and fingers breaking. I continue hitting him with what I'm sure is no longer a hand but a mash of broken bones and flesh.

Little Fox fights to take over. A ping rings in my mind, and a commanding voice that doesn't feel like my own roars out, "RELEASE ME!"

Whimpering, the wolf opens his jaws, and I pull my arm out.

With my fight switch still firmly turned on, with both hands I continue to throw punch after punch until the wolf disappears. I'm left hitting air.