Sierra visibly bristled, her head snapping up, eyes blowing wide before narrowing into hate-filled slits. “Don’t say my name like you know me!” Her hands came up, fingers half-curled in a strange but clearly hostile stance. “You were that stupid human kid who never understood why you couldn’t keep up with the rest of us. I was happy when you left.” Her lips curled back on her teeth in an unflattering snarl. “And I’ll be happierstill when you leave again.”
Rhys growled, and Amaia felt him tensing to move forward in response to Sierra’s angry words.
Amaia tightened her grip on his hand and glared right back at Sierra. “Maybe I won’t leave.”
Sierra lurched forward as if she’d been personally insulted. Several pairs of hands shot out from the people nearest her in failed attempts to catch her, one succeeding only in ripping a chunk out of her skirt. Her sudden near-indecency didn’t hinder Sierra—nor did the rest of her clothing, which tore apart at the seams when she shifted mid-leap.
Amaia let out a startled shriek at the sight of a snarling ivory-silver wolf bearing down on her. Her outcry was joined by several others throughout the space, as, all at once, the onlookers burst into terrified chaos. People leaped to their feet, most of them running away from the danger, but Amaia’s attention was immediately captured by Rhys when he released her hand and threw himself forward to intercept Sierra.
“Rhys!” Amaia didn’t realize she’d reached out to try and stop him, knowing only that she didn’t want to see him get hurt and least of all because of her, until Davis caught her by the arm and tugged her back. She spared him barely a glance, her heart in her throat.
Rhys hadn’t bothered to shift. Or perhaps he’d not had the time. Instead, he’d tackled Sierra to the ground with a furious roar that echoed in the overhead rafters. They didn’t roll around like brawlers lost to a bloodlust. Sierra yelped as she hit the hard floor, her front legs twitching awkwardly from the way Rhys had wedged himself up under her shoulder. He had a hand clamped down on her throat near the base of her head, pinning her down.
She let out a whine, and the building went silent.
Amaia glanced beyond them, taking in what had becomeof the rest of the pack. The remaining members were clustered in two sections, the larger of which had pressed itself against the far wall. It was only at that moment, as Amaia watched a woman possibly her own age all but smother a child in her dress front, that she realized—of course—there were children present. The entire pack was present. No one was collapsed in heartbroken wails, but it only took a few seconds to spot several tear-stained faces.
Amaia drew a stabilizing breath. If she ever wanted anyone in this room to accept her, she couldn’t start off like this. “Rhys.” She stepped closer, waving Davis off when he reached for her again until she was just behind Rhys’s crouched frame. Close enough that she could lay her fingertips over his back in what she hoped was a reassuring touch when she spoke again. “I know it’s selfish, but I don’t want to be responsible for getting someone killed. Maybe, just this once, you could let her off with a warning?”
The only sound Amaia heard for the next several agonizing seconds was Sierra’s labored breathing.
Then, finally, Rhys released her and rocked back to his feet. He kept his glare on Sierra as she immediately shifted back to human form, leaving her naked on the floor. “Pick yourself up and go home. You’re in isolation for a week. You know the rules. If you pull this shiteveragain, I’ll rip out your throat.” He turned to address the room. “Amaia is my mate, so any attack against her will be treated as a threat to the entire pack. If you can’t understand that, the problem is with you. Now all of you go home.”
Sierra picked herself up gingerly, meeting no one’s gaze as she gathered the scraps of her clothing or even as Davis wrapped a wool blanket around her shoulders.
Rhys didn’t wait for the pack to file out the main doors before taking Amaia by the hand and pulling her with himthrough a side exit.
Amaia barely kept up with his pace, still attempting to process everything that had happened, and they were weaving their way between trees before she realized something else. “Rhys, you’re bleeding!” There were multiple dark-red trails of blood rolling down his forearm, dripping off his wrist and even onto her own skin.
“I’m fine.”
Amaia frowned and planted her feet, forcing him to stop or drag her. When he stopped, she lifted their joined hands so he could see for himself. “I’m definitely not bleeding. This is your blood.”
Rhys’s expression softened until he almost didn’t look angry. “Didn’t I tell you how much better we heal?”
She stared at him. It only took a moment to realize he was right. He had explained a lot about werewolves—things like how they had full control of their shifting once they passed puberty, and how they could heal from even major injuries as long as silver wasn’t involved. She had worked hard to remember the things he’d told her, but in the heat of the moment, it’d all fled her mind. Amaia looked away as embarrassment heated her cheeks. “Well, you should still wash up.”
Rhys grunted and resumed course, tugging her along with him.
“Hey, the house is the other way!” She didn’t make any effort to resist him this time as he led her deeper into the woods, the repurposed church entirely behind them. She glanced around as they walked in an attempt to orient herself. If she was right, actually, they might have crossed into the protected wilderness zone. Somehow, that excited her. “Rhys? Where are we going?” Was he mad at her?
“You’ll see.” He stopped when they reached an outcropping of rock-crusted earth, gave her hand a squeeze,and let go before promptly hopping over the ledge. The sudden difference had him standing a good two feet lower than her.
Amaia grinned. “Now I wish I’d brought my phone.”
He rolled his eyes and snatched her up by the waist, lifting her easily off the ledge. “I let you talk me out of killing someone who wanted to take a bite out of you. This is not the time to tease me.”
Her witty banter died on her tongue at the feel of his large, strong hands on her waist and the sensation of being weightless in his arms. Her hands had latched on to his shoulders on some reflexive instinct, and she felt … feminine. Her throat swelled, and she curled her fingers in his shirt. “You could’ve really been hurt.”
Rhys set her feet on the ground but held her body up against his. “Youwould haveif I hadn’t intervened.” He leaned in and pressed his face into the groove of her throat, his arms curling around her. “As long as I live, I won’t let that happen.”
Amaia relaxed her head on his shoulder, one hand stretching up to slip into his hair as her heart leaped into a wild, excited rhythm. “I don’t want you getting hurt, either.”
He rumbled, the sound vibrating straight from his chest into hers, and brushed a whisper of a kiss to her jaw before loosening his hold. “C’mon. I have to clean up, remember?”
Amaia stared at his back as he guided her further into the forest, her gaze slowly trailing down his arm. To the streaks of crimson smearing across his forearm. “You got blood all over me, didn’t you?”
“Just your clothes,” he said as he pushed some low-hanging branches aside. He pulled her forward, holding the branches out of the way. “They’re replaceable.”