Silver Wolf Clan, Tome 3: Brand of the Pack

Chapter 1

Pain rippled through Morgan Carter, and her hand slipped from his grasp. She stretched her fingertips toward his warmth, but the rest of her body had already hunched in on itself like a tiny grenade before the explosion. The tingling waves that washed over her skin said there was no turning back. She screamed.

Greyson Crawford turned inhuman golden eyes on her. The color was so bright they looked yellow in the saturated afternoon light. He crouched, as if driven by instinct to prepare for some unseen danger.

The only danger near his cabin was her.

She thrashed as her bones snapped and stretched and burning tears slipped from the corners of her eyes.

He hovered, not quite touching her. To do so would mean blinding pain added to the agony. Plus, she would bite his hand clean off. “Do you want me to Change with you?” Worry laced his words.

“No,” she growled out through a mouth that elongated with the popping sounds of a hundred tendons stretching. Her wolf wasn’t shy about her intentions, and she didn’t want him to see what she was about to do to his property.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be on the porch when you’re finished.”

He left her to die in pieces alone. Bless that man.

What started as a quick Change slowed and gradually stalled. She was at the dreaded in-between state that haunted her nightmares on a regular basis. She whined but couldn’t do much more. Her legs protruded at odd angles from her hips, and her chest had only half ripped through her nicest shirt, the bottom buttons still intact. She had specially picked out the cobalt-colored blouse when she’d decided to take a more proactive approach to winning her mate back. Sure, wearing his favorite color might not garner his forgiveness instantly, but it was a start. Damn the white-furred little beasty ripping out of her. Being Silver Wolf was hell on the wardrobe. It was hell on every part of her life.

Her skin was hairless and the exposed muscle was misshapen and malformed. Panic washed over her like stormy ocean waves, and she tried to scream for help. She was going to die there in the yard by the bull nettle and bluebonnets.

Against the debilitating sun, she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. It hurt. How could a living soul survive a hurt so bad? The smell of her fear was bitter and metallic against the soft sensors that lined her nostrils. She couldn’t go out like this. She was Morgan Carter, the only living silver wolf. Survivor, fighter, werewolf—she’d been attacked, kidnapped, and had lost the man who meant everything to her. And dammit, she wasn’t leaving this earth until she had a chance to make things right with Grey.