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the injuries, but two cuts on her arm bled freely. Weakness swam through her extremities. Blood loss could be terminal, and a distant part of her brain recognized the symptoms. Blocking another blow, she struck blindly—groin, elbow, ear—shockingly hitting the ear hard enough sent most wolves to their knees. The stapes, a very tiny bone, shattered with a decent amount of force and would throw off their balance.
    A neck snapped behind her, and she jerked around. Faust finished off another attacker, the stack of bodies at his feet sickening, yet none rushing from his side reached her. The speed at which he dispatched them served as a testament to his skill.
    Too late, she realized the mistake of letting his battle distract her. An arm locked around her neck and hauled her backwards. Digging her claws into the forearm gripping her, she shredded the flesh and pierced muscle. The wolf she assaulted snarled, but didn’t release her. The force crushing her throat cut off her air supply. Terror swamped her, foreign terror, and she closed her eyes and reached for her wolf. A shift would be brutal, but survival demanded it. The beast keeping her captive suddenly released her in a wrench of sick, wet bone, and she hit the pavement.
    Rolling onto her knees, she found a vicious blonde man holding the spine of her attacker—the man’s body at his feet. All around her wolves began to scream—and then run. Like a wild, bloody Celt from some film of the ancient fighters, the blond warrior launched himself into the war. Body after body hit the earth, and the stench of death polluted the air.
    Torn between changing and watching, Sovvan stared at the blond as he tore the others apart. Faust fell back a step from the battle as even those hardy few who tried to vanish into the woods met the same gruesome fate.
    “That…” Faust panted as he glanced her over, then grasped her hand and lifted her to her feet. “Would be the brutal bastard, Cassius, bless the fucking lunatic’s black heart.”
    Oh.
    Shit.

Chapter 3
    F ury thundering in his veins , Cassius savaged the last of the ambushers. Nostrils flared, he scanned the surrounding woods for movement even as he tested the air and listened. Too often wolves made the mistake of trusting one sense over the other, but he’d gotten wise to that weakness years before. A shift in the wind could disguise a scent, and a clever wolf didn’t make a sound if he didn’t want to be noticed. Violently aware of every wolf in the area, he tested pack bonds. He located his allies—Bianca. Jose. Cyril. They weren’t alone though.
    The Delta Crescent wolves…a rock skittering over the dirt alerted him a second before the child darted away from a rest stop decorative boulder. Pouncing, he snatched the kid by his jacket and jerked him backwards. The poor thing pissed himself then covered his face with his arms.
    “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” The hiccupy sobs effectively doused Cassius’ temper. The kid couldn’t be more than eight or nine years old. Disgust coiled in his gut. Which one of these morons brought their pup with them? Turning the child away from the slaughter, he set the boy down but kept him in place with a hand on his shoulder.
    “Name?”
    With a loud sniffle as tears tracked through the dirt on his cheeks, the boy raised his chin. Stubbornness vibrated around him in waves. Darting his gaze upward, he tried to hold Cassius’ glare, then jerked away.
    Blowing out a breath, Cassius stuffed all of his fury down into a box and slammed the lid on it. Dropping to a crouch, he gave the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. His wolf was in a killing rage, but even the animal understood the need to protect the young. Between them they worked to soothe and calm. “What is your name?”
    “If I tell you,” the child said, his lower lip quivering as another fat tear streaked the dirt on his face. “You’ll kill my parents.”
    Chances were, he’d already killed them if both had been