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“Don’t move.”
The bleeding stranger had one hand locked around my wrist and the other pressed hard against his stomach.
Blood slid between his fingers. Too much blood. Dark blood. It smelled wrong, like pennies left in a wet ashtray.
I yanked my arm. “Get off me.”
His grip tightened.
Then his heart slammed once inside my chest.
I gasped so hard it hurt.
Not my heart. His.
I could feel it. A hard, uneven pound under my ribs, followed by another in the alley three feet away. Like somebody had tied a wire between us and started pulling.
The ring on my finger burned hot enough to make me swear.
“What did you do?” I snapped.
The stranger’s gold eyes found mine. They were glassy now. Not sleepy. Not drunk. He looked like he was one bad breath away from hitting the pavement.
“I told you,” he said.
“No, you called me Mara.”
His jaw clenched.
“Same thing?” I said. “Not helping, asshole.”
A car horn blared out on the street. Somebody laughed. Music thumped through a nearby club wall. Normal Friday-night sounds.
Meanwhile, I had a bleeding man with animal eyes holding my wrist in a dumpster alley, and there was a ring on my finger that had apparently eaten his blood.
Cool. Great. Love that for me.
He let go of me at last.
I stumbled back, nearly slipping in a puddle that I refused to look at too closely.
“You need a hospital,” I said.
“No.”
“You have a hole in your stomach.”
“No hospitals.”
“Right. Because those are famously worse than dying in garbage water.”
He pushed himself off the brick wall. His knees buckled immediately.
I caught him before I could stop myself.
The second my hand hit his side, pain lanced through my own gut.
I folded with a curse.
He went still.
I stared at him.
He stared at me.
“Oh, hell no,” I said.
His mouth flattened. “You feel that?”
“I just got stabbed by your stomach. So yeah. Little bit.”
“It’s the bond.”
I laughed once. It came out sharp and ugly. “The what?”
“The ring took my blood.”
“I saw that part.”
“It shouldn’t have.”
“Fantastic. Glad we’re both surprised.”
He leaned one shoulder against the wall again, breathing through his nose. His face had gone pale under the alley grime.
I looked toward the street.
Dex was supposed to be waiting around the corner in the van. He had probably called three times already. Maybe ten. He got twitchy when a pickup took longer than two minutes, and this was way past two minutes.
I should leave.
That was the smart move.
Leave the stranger. Leave the ring. Find Dex. Get the hell out of downtown before claw-boy came back with friends.
Except when I tried to take one step toward the street, my lungs locked up.
Not tight. Locked.
I bent over, clawing at my own throat.
Air wouldn’t go in.
The stranger’s eyes widened.
“Stay close,” he said.
I shot him a look that would’ve killed a normal man. “I can’t breathe.”
“You moved too far.”
“That is not a sentence normal people say.”
“Quinn.”
I froze.
I hadn’t told him my name.
He saw it hit me and cursed under his breath.
“How do you know my name?”
“Your mother.”
“Don’t.”
He pushed away from the wall again. “We need to go.”
“Don’t say her name like you knew her.”
“I did know her.”
The alley tilted a little.
My mom had been dead for nine years.
Car accident. Highway outside Tacoma. Rain, black ice, some asshole truck driver who walked away with a broken wrist while my mother got zipped into a bag.
That was the story.
The whole story, according to every adult who had ever looked at me with pity and then changed the subject.
“You knew Mara Harper?” I asked.
His face did something careful. Too careful.
“Yes.”
“From where?”
“Not here.”
I barked out another laugh. “Oh, wow. Great answer. Super useful.”
A scrape sounded from the far end of the alley.
Both of us went quiet.
The stranger reached for me.
I slapped his hand away. “What?”
“Quiet.”
“I am quiet.”
“No. You’re breathing like prey.”
“Excuse me?”
He looked toward the shadows behind the dumpster. “They can hear your pulse.”
My mouth went dry.
Because the thing that had attacked us earlier hadn’t run like a man.
It had moved low and fast. Its hands had ended in black hooked nails. And when I stabbed it, it had smiled at me through a mouth full of teeth that were way too sharp.
Then it had said my mother was already dead.
Like that was news.
The stranger grabbed my elbow. “Can you walk?”
“Who are you?”
“Ronan.”
“Ronan what?”
His eyes cut toward me.
“Seriously?” I said. “You’re gonna be mysterious now?”
“Kade.”
That name landed hard.
The attacker had used it.
Kade.
Like it meant something. Like it was enough to make a monster hesitate.
“Ronan Kade,” I repeated.
He nodded once.
Then a shape dropped from the fire escape above us.
It hit the ground without a sound.
My brain stopped for half a second.
The man in front of us wore a black security jacket, ripped open at the shoulder. He could’ve passed for human from a distance. Big guy. Shaved head. Expensive boots.
Up close, his eyes were silver.
And his right hand was gone.
Not wounded. Changed.
The fingers had stretched into something long and jointed, ending in black claws wet with fresh blood.
Mine, maybe.
Ronan moved in front of me.
He swayed doing it.
The hunter smiled.
“There he is,” he said. “Thought you’d crawl farther.”
“Back off,” Ronan said.
The hunter glanced at Ronan’s stomach. “You’re leaking all over the place, Prince.”
“Not a prince anymore,” I muttered.
Ronan shot me a look.
The hunter’s silver eyes came to me.
His smile got wider.
“Well, look at that.”
I hated the way he looked at my hand.
At the ring.
“You’re the girl from the auction,” he said.
“I get that a lot.”
“You don’t know what you stole.”
“I stole a ring. It’s not a philosophy class.”
“It belongs to the Kade line.”
Ronan’s hand reached back, fingers catching my wrist.
His grip wasn’t gentle this time.
The hunter noticed.
Then he looked between us, and whatever he saw made his face change.
“Oh.”
That one word came out almost happy.
“Oh, that is bad.”
“Go,” Ronan said.
The hunter laughed. “Vera’s going to love this.”
There was that name again.
Vera.
I didn’t get a chance to ask.
The hunter rushed us.
Ronan shoved me sideways.
His shoulder hit mine, and pain burst through my stomach again. I crashed into the dumpster, my palms scraping metal. Ronan caught the hunter’s arm before those claws reached my throat.
They slammed into the brick wall.
The hunter was stronger.
I knew it right away.
Ronan’s boots dragged over wet concrete. His wound opened more. I felt it happen in my own body, a hot tearing line across my middle.
I screamed.
The hunter’s head snapped toward me.
Ronan used the moment to drive his forehead into the guy’s nose.
Bone cracked.
The hunter snarled. Not shouted. Snarled.
The sound crawled over my skin.
Ronan shoved him back, but it barely bought us anything. The hunter came forward again, claws raised.
I grabbed the first thing my hand found.
A broken bottle.
Yeah. I know. Big plan.
I lunged anyway.
The hunter turned faster than he should’ve been able to. He caught my wrist mid-swing.
The bottle dropped.
His hand closed around mine.
Not the ring hand.
The other one.
His claws bit into my skin.
I stared at them.
Three black points pressing deeper.
Blood rolled down my palm.
“Let her go,” Ronan said.
His voice had changed.
Lower. Rougher.
The hunter grinned at him. “You can’t even stand.”
“I said let her go.”
“You lost your claim, Kade. Your father’s dead. Your house is split. Vera owns half the city council, and by morning she’ll own the other half.”
Ronan took a step forward.
The hunter pushed his claws deeper into my hand.
Pain flashed white behind my eyes.
And then something under my fingernails answered.
I jerked hard.
The hunter held on.
“Easy,” he said, almost soothing. “You don’t want to make this worse.”
My fingers curled.
Something cracked.
Not his hand.
Mine.
I looked down.
Black nails punched through the ends of my fingers.
No.
No no no.
They weren’t nails anymore.
They were claws.
Short at first. Then longer.
Sharp enough to catch the yellow alley light.
The hunter’s smile died.
Ronan stopped breathing.
I didn’t think. I just moved.
My clawed hand came up between us and ripped across the hunter’s face.
He howled.
Warm blood sprayed my cheek.
He stumbled back, both hands flying to his eyes.
I stared at him, shaking.
My fingers hurt like hell.
The claws were still there.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
“Quinn.” Ronan’s voice came tight.
“I have claws.”
“Yeah.”
“I have actual fucking claws.”
The hunter dropped one hand from his ruined face. Blood streamed down his cheek. Under it, the scratches were already closing.
That was somehow worse.
“You bonded her,” he said.
Ronan stepped in front of me again.
The hunter laughed through his blood. “You stupid bastard. You really did it.”
“I didn’t choose this,” Ronan said.
“Doesn’t matter now.”
The hunter backed away, limping toward the alley mouth.
I crouched, grabbed the broken bottle, because apparently I was committed to bad weapons tonight.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
He pointed one bloody claw at me.
“Every pack in this city will smell you by dawn.”
“Cool. Send them a calendar invite.”
His grin showed too many teeth.
Then he was gone.
Not ran away.
Gone.
One blink, empty alley.
I stood there with claws out and a bottle in my hand.
Ronan sagged against the wall.
“Tell me that was drugs,” I said.
He closed his eyes.
“It wasn’t drugs.”
“Tell me I’m hallucinating.”
“You’re not.”
“Tell me why I have wolf hands.”
His eyes opened.
Gold. Tired. Guilty.
“Because my blood is in the ring.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have right now.”
My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket.
I jumped so hard the bottle nearly fell again.
Dex.
Of course it was Dex.
I pulled it out with my normal hand. Thank God that one still looked normal.
Twelve missed calls.
Three texts.
WHERE ARE YOU?
QUINN, ANSWER ME.
VAN’S GETTING NOTICED.
I looked at Ronan.
He looked like he was about to pass out standing up.
“You can’t come with me,” I said.
His expression went flat. “You can’t leave me.”
“Watch me.”
I turned toward the street.
My lungs seized again before I made it two steps.
I grabbed the dumpster lid, choking.
Behind me, Ronan gave a tired, humorless breath. “You were saying?”
I hated him.
I hated the ring.
I hated my dead mother for apparently knowing wolf princes and not leaving me a single useful note about it.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it wasn’t Dex.
A news alert filled the screen.
BREAKING: SANE FOUNDATION HEIR ADDRESSES CHARITY AUCTION SECURITY INCIDENT
Under it was a live video thumbnail.
A woman stood in front of a wall of cameras, pale blonde hair smooth over one shoulder. She wore white. Of course she wore white. Perfect makeup. Perfect mouth. Like she’d been born knowing where every lens would be.
Vera Sane.
Ronan went completely still behind me.
“Oh, hell,” he said.
The video autoplayed before I could stop it.
Vera looked straight into the camera.
“My fiancé, Ronan Kade, has been missing since this evening’s attack,” she said.
I turned slowly toward Ronan.
“My what?”
His jaw tightened.
On my phone, Vera’s smile held steady.
“We believe a woman named Quinn Harper stole a private family heirloom and may be responsible for his condition.”
My own face appeared on-screen.
A security still from the auction.
Big enough to see every damn freckle.
Vera kept talking.
“If anyone sees this woman,” she said, “please do not approach her. She is dangerous.”
Ronan reached for my phone.
And somewhere out on the street, tires screamed to a stop.