Free Beauty and the Werewolf (Entangled Covet) (San Francisco Wolf Pack) by Kristin Miller Page A

wolf clearly had the upper hand in strength and size—and now, position—the darker wolf was the one who wouldn’t quit attacking. He snapped with sheer anger. He was focused. Determined to fight to the end, it seemed, no matter the cost to him.
    Well, she figured, they could simply shift when the injuries became too much to bear. Maybe that’s how the fight ended. When one wolf couldn’t take the pain anymore and shifted back, it must’ve been the equivalent of screaming mercy.
    They’d heal.
    Everyone would head home.
    It was still barbaric, but at least no one would have any lasting injuries. As she scanned the room, her gaze settled on the backs of a few men crowding near the fight. They were terribly scarred.
    These fighters would live, but be marred forever? For the fun of it?
    Yeah, forget barbaric. They were just stupid. Testosterone-raging idiots.
    Speaking of, where was Jack in all this?
    A guttural cry jerked her attention back to the fight. The darker wolf was still pinned, its feet pushing against the larger wolf’s chest. It didn’t look good.
    Severing the carotid artery could kill a werewolf. A bite to the neck from another wolf would do it. And from the way the auburn wolf’s teeth were poised at the neck of the darker wolf, he was threatening to do real damage.
    “Come on, MacGrath,” someone yelled from the front. “I’ve got three grand riding on your ass.”
    MacGrath?
    Jack.
    But where? In the fight? No…
    Desperation streaking through her, Isabelle scanned the horde of half-naked men. From this angle, they all looked the same. Thick, muscular bodies slickened with sweat.
    She’d never find him.
    “Get off the ground,” the same person roared. “Put up a fight!”
    Her stomach dropped.
    She’d come here to figure out why he kept ditching her at the end of all their dates. But clearly he had bigger issues…
    “Jack?”
    Her voice carried too easily through the room. It must’ve been the high pitch against the grumbling of the men. The swarm in front of her turned to glare. And as they moved, they created an alley for Isabelle to get a clear shot of the darker wolf— Jack —on the ground.
    She squealed as the auburn wolf reared up, teeth bared. Ready to sink its teeth into his neck.
    “Jack, get up!”
    As if her voice made a direct shot from her lips to his ears, he twitched. Writhed beneath the auburn wolf. And craned around to search for her in the crowd. In that split second of distraction, the auburn wolf sliced his paw across Jack’s neck. He howled, a sinister sound that hurt her ears.
    The mob went silent as blood squirted from his neck.
    Shift back, shift back, shift back.
    Slowly, the auburn wolf released him and backed off. Jack didn’t move. As the crowd dispersed, Isabelle fought her way to the front. Disgust wormed its way through her. Watch the fight, scream and make bets, and when someone falls to the ground dead, walk away.
    They weren’t barbarians. They were cowards.
    “Jack,” she said, kneeling at his side. “Can you hear me?”
    He was covered in gunk—blood, sweat, and drool, probably—so she didn’t want to touch him. Ghosting her hand over his neck, she could’ve sworn her heart hiccuped in her chest.
    He’d heal if he shifted back. But if he was knocked out cold…he could die lying here in a pool of his own blood.
    “Someone help him,” she called out. But everyone was filing out. Not a care in the world if one of their packmates suffered a lethal blow. “Please, someone help!”
    He was losing too much blood.
    Heart thumping out of her chest, Isabelle did the only thing she could think to do. She covered his wound with her hand. Put as much pressure as she could to stop the bleeding. His fur was soft—not coarse, as she would’ve imagined it to be—and wet, sliding between her fingers. He had large brown eyes, though they’d closed, and long lashes resting against his furry face. And he was larger up close. Not small, as she’d thought