A PART FROM THE BOOK
"A fist crashedinto Judd’s cheekbone. Focused on eliminating his opponent from the
field, he barely noticed the impact, his own fist already swinging out. Tai tried to evade
the blow at the last second but it was too late—the young wolf’s jaw slammed together
with a thick sound that spoke of damage on the inside.
But he wasn’t down.
Baring teeth stained red from a cut on his top lip, he rushed at Judd, clearly aiming to use
his heavier build as a battering ram to smash his adversary into the hard stone wall.
Instead it was Tai who ended up with his back slammed against the stone, his mouth
falling open as air punched out of his lungs in an uncontrollable blast.
Judd gripped the other male by the throat. “Killing you would mean nothing to me,” he
said, tightening his hold until Tai had to be having trouble breathing. “Would you like to
die?” His tone was calm, his breathing modulated. It was a state of being that had nothing
to do with feeling, because unlike the changeling across from him, Judd Lauren did not
Tai’s lips shaped into a curse, but all that materialized was an incomprehensible
wheezing sound. To a casual observer it would have seemed that Judd had gained the
advantage, but he didn’t make the mistake of lowering his guard. So long as Tai hadn’t
conceded defeat, he remained dangerous. The other male proved that a second later by
using the changeling ability to semishift—slicing up hands turned to claws.
Those sharp talons cut through leather-synth and flesh without effort, but Judd didn’t
give the boy a chance to cause him any real injury. Pressing down on a very specific
pressure point in Tai’s neck, he slammed his erstwhile opponent into unconsciousness.
Only when the changeling was completely out did he release his hold. Tai slumped down
into a seated position, head hanging over his chest.
“You’re not supposed to use Psy powers,” a husky female voice said from the doorway.
He had no need to turn to identify her but did so anyway. Extraordinary brown eyes in a
fine-boned face topped by a choppily cut cap of blonde hair. Those eyes had been normal
and that hair hadn’t been short before Brenna had been abducted. By a killer. By a Psy.
“I don’t need to use my abilities to deal with little boys.”
Brenna walked to stand beside him, her head just reaching his breastbone. He had never
realized how small she was until he’d seen her after the rescue. Lying in that bed,
scarcely breathing, her energy had been contracted into a ball so tight, he hadn’t been
sure she was still alive. But her size meant nothing. Brenna Shane Kincaid, he had
learned, had a will of pure, undiluted iron.
“That’s the fourth time this week you’ve been in a fight.” Her hand rose and he had to
stop himself from jerking away. Touch was a changeling thing—the wolves indulged in it
constantly and without thought. For a Psy it was an alien concept, something that could
ultimately foster a dangerous loss of control. But Brenna had been broken by an evil
spawned of his own race. If she needed touch, so be it."
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