Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

C harlie didn’t have a clue where she was. She’d lost range on her cell, and the Muber app had disappeared off the screen. She turned on her heels, deciding to walk back toward Tod’s house.

Her scalp prickling, she broke into a trot, hiding her purse under her coat. This wasn’t a good part of town to be a woman walking alone. A human woman, especially…

She nearly jumped out of her skin as a car pulled up beside her. “Are you looking for a ride?”

Charlie took a step back from the curb, keeping her distance as she asked, “Are you a Muber?”

“Sure am.”

She craned her neck. The car’s darkened interior made it hard to decipher the species, but she could see they were smiling, could make out the glint of big square teeth. “Just dropped someone and saw you there.” The face was broad-boned, with a wide bridge to its snubby nose. Its face seemed friendly enough, and on the dash was what looked like an official Muber card with a photo.

And yet… Something was off.

“I…. think I might wait for the next one, thanks anyway,” Charlie said, backing away.

The monster species, whatever it was, shrugged. “Suit yourself, sweetheart.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned on her heel and started to walk briskly away, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She kept her ears pricked for the sound of the car driving away, but after a moment, to her alarm, it seemed to be following her, its engine a low guttural purr close to the curb.

Charlie’s blood hammered through her veins.

The car stopped. Hopefully doing a U-turn.

Then she heard doors flying open, some muffled curses, and a laugh that sent chills down her spine.

A voice shouted, “Grab her.”

Panic spiking every nerve, Charlie ran.

One moment, Max was looking over the panorama of Motham City, stretched like a sparkling network of lights below, and the next, a hideous sense of dread had grabbed his chest in a vise.

Holy shit, was he having a heart attack?

He was thirty-three years old, fit, healthy. Surely not.

He pulled off his coat, undid a couple of buttons on his shirt.

His face was burning, his temples pounding.

Sudden words jumped unbidden into his head, like a tannoy blaring inside his skull.

CHARLIE’S IN DANGER.

He blinked and tried to push them away, but they kept repeating, over and over. Just those three words, louder and louder, until he couldn’t deny them any longer.

Shooting forward, Max grasped the back of the chauffer’s seat. “Drop me here,” he ordered hoarsely.

“This area is not the safest, sir.”

“I said, drop me here.” It was more a snarl than a request.

“Are you feeling alright sir?”

“No, I’m bloody not. And if you don’t take me down right now, you will live to regret it. You understand me?”

Clearly the guy did, because suddenly the hover cab was heading toward the ground.

As they touched down and the automatic doors sprang open, Max practically fell onto the street, bile rising up his throat. He stumbled into the nearest doorway and bent double, dry retching from the pain taking over every inch of his body.

A moment later his sleeves shredded like paper and two muscled flanks burst out, covered in a thick silver pelt. A blinding stab of agony made him clutch his head with his hands, except… Fuck , they weren’t hands anymore, were they?

He stared at them in horror.

Paws. And claws.

A second later, he grabbed his head again. It felt like his skull was being torn apart.

Somehow, through the haze of pain, he was aware of his jaw lengthening, ears repositioning themselves, thick fur forming around his jawline and neck. His sense of smell intensified as a snout formed, twitched. There was another hideous spasm in his legs, a ripping sound, and his pants shredded. Massive hind legs burst through the fine linen, and buttons went flying everywhere as his chest barreled out from within his shirt… A moment later, he was on all fours, panting, every nerve and sinew in his body on fire.

And then, almost as soon as it had begun, the pain receded, replaced by a strength and energy that Max—at least, the Max he had been all of five minutes ago—would never have imagined possible.

He shook off the last remnants of his clothing and crouched low to the ground, panting.

The first bound he took was so exhilarating it almost took his breath away, but within seconds it was replaced by wild, unharnessed rage.

The wolf in him was ready.

To fight to the death.

To save Charlie.

As he raced through deserted streets, the sharp scent of Charlie’s fear filled his nostrils, spurring him on to run faster. His giant paws skimmed the pavement, his tail lashing behind him as he bounded on, ears primed and twitching to catch every nuance of sound, his gaze scanning every building, every shadowy doorway and dark window.

And then Max rounded a corner, and suddenly there she was… and fuck, this was worse than he’d imagined. She was surrounded by a weregang of mixed species, being tossed from one to the other. As they laughed and played with her, he saw her dress getting torn, her hair pulled, before she broke free and ran. Almost immediately, another one pounced on her.

“Not so fast, sweetheart. It’s not often we get to share a cute little human.”

She turned on the creature, swung a blow with her fist and thwacked the disgusting feral’s leering face so hard his head kicked back. Max felt proud. That girl had guts—but hell, he knew that already.

But there was no time to spend admiring Charlie’s technique. The force of the punch had made her stumble backward and she landed on her butt. Already two other weremonkeys were advancing on her.

With a howl, Max bounded into the gang, scattering them every which way. He headed straight for Charlie.

As he ground to a halt in front of her, she cowered, terrified, her feet and hands scrambling in the dirt to escape him.

Hell’s demons, she didn’t recognize him.

Max tried to speak, but all that came out was a strange, gruff bark.

Shit. Now what?

On pure instinct, he sank to the ground, dipped his head and willed gentleness into his gaze. But still she stared at him, wild eyed.

Max let out a whine, then prostrated himself lower in front of her, nuzzling at her foot.

For a second her movements stilled. This time he whimpered, a melancholy high-pitched whine.

A light of recognition dawned behind the fear. She stared at him closer, her pupils wide. “Max?” she whispered.

He whined again, pawed at the ground, half rolled over. Instinctively, his wolf knew how to supplicate himself to her.

Charlie looked past him and her eyes were like saucers. “Behind you!” she squealed. He felt the tear of teeth on his back leg, then a ratcheting pain. Wildly, he shook off the feral that had fastened its teeth into his flank.

Then he ground out, “Climb on my back.”

It wasn’t human speech, he realized, it was a strange array of guttural noises, but clearly, she got the gist. He sank down and she clambered on and clung to his thick pelt.

He lifted his snout and bared his fangs, before taking one huge bound right over the heads of the advancing ferals.

And then, thank the gods, they were away.

Max dared not think. Dared not reflect on what had just happened. Instead, he focused on the blessed feel of Charlie clinging to his back, her legs splayed on either side of his flanks, her small hands fisted into his pelt as the full moon lit their path home.