Free Sealed With a Curse (WG 1) by Cecy Robson

and fresh blood swept in from the entranceway.
    And that’s when I knew I was no longer alone.
    “Don’t. Move.” The deep voice sounded more animal than human. But screw him—I moved anyway, crouching with arms and claws out.
    Two weres the size of my refrigerator lurked at the mouth of the alley, their stances wide, blocking my escape. Tears and gashes covered their T-shirts and jeans. Blood and drool caked their chests. They marched toward me, fists clenched, growls low and deep.
    I glanced down at the bodies, no longer certain an infected vamp had feasted.
    I tried to swallow back a growl. It didn’t work. “I don’t want any trouble.”
    “Too late for that, sweetheart. Chris, she’s yours. We’ll cover you.”
    We’ll?
    A wolf leaped over the far brick wall with the fluid ease of an eel in water. Except I’d rather have taken on an eel. Four hundred pounds of pissed-off lupine with midnight black fur stalked toward me baring his razor-sharp fangs.
    He charged. Goddamn it, he was fast.
    But tigers are faster than wolves.
    I pivoted, digging my claws into the nape of his neck and his back. With a grunt, I used the wolf’s momentum to propel him headfirst into the wall. The entire building rumbled, chunks of brick fell like hail, and a crack the size of my wrist split the mortar above his head. He shuddered once and slumped, his head firmly fixed to the building.
    I’d expected more of a fight. And so had his buddies.They exchanged shocked expressions and paused, trying to calculate their next move. I used their momentary confusion to race toward the wall. In a single bound, my hands grasped the ledge of the wall. Before I could throw my legs over, one of the wolves grabbed my ankle. I kicked with my free leg. Agonized howls blasted through the night. I made contact, yet he wouldn’t release his grip. He fell back and took me with him. We landed hard with me on top. My one-hundred-and-ten-pound frame wasn’t enough to knock the wind out of him, but my jabs to his gut were.
    His friend, a redhead, hauled me off, yanking my arm painfully behind my back and dislocating it from my shoulder. I roared and raked my remaining stiletto down his shin, stomping it into his instep. My dominant right arm hung uselessly at my side, but my left connected straight up to his jaw, silencing his pained howls. The second he loosened his hold I shifted.
    My body, clothing, and anyone I took along for the ride dissolved into minute particles, sliding through soil or concrete as easily as sand through a colander. The downside? I couldn’t breathe or see.
    By luck I sprang up as the wolf twisted his back to me, his fists up, his head scanning the alley. I kicked him squarely across the knee. Bone crunched on impact and he fell with a sickening splat. My instep connected with the back of his skull before his buddy with the Mohawk tackled me to the ground. Taran’s shoe remained firmly nailed to his face, perhaps a disturbingly comical sight to some. Not to me. I roared when his weight sent jolts of agony into my shoulder like the rapid bullets from a gun. I shifted down and across the cement floor, my lungs out of breath, screaming for air.
    Thank God I’d moved far enough. I resurfaced on my back and scrambled to my feet. Mohawk growled and swore, furious. My shifting had left him fused to the concrete from the elbows down. He kicked his legs uselessly.
    “Stupid bitch!”
    I kicked him in the face, snapping his jaw. “Watch your mouth.”
    The redhead rebounded unexpectedly and swung at my face. I dropped my head to avoid him, but he managed to graze me. The force from his powerful blow sent me spinning. He came at me again and again, legs and arms swinging like a blizzard of windmills. I dodged and scooted, off balance from the shoe still attached to my foot, my ineffective arm, and the horrid ringing in my ears.
    The redhead’s speed remained quick, but hasty. The moment I saw an opening, I spun and grated my back claws