Free Kept by Shawntelle Madison Page A

defend himself—but he told me most goblins’ magic was defensive in nature.
    Forms shifted in my direction. A low growl rumbled in my throat from the wolf straining under my skin. When I came into contact with the building, I crouched low. They had to have seen me by now. Where was Thorn? Now I was sure he’d gone off hunting the goblin alone, leaving me behind. This wasn’t the first time he’d done this to me—he’d briefly left my side to rescue my brother.
    The strong scent of goblin magic suddenly filled my nostrils from all sides. It scratched at my throat every time I swallowed. No matter how deeply I crouched, I sensed danger everywhere.
    Something grabbed my arm, and I lunged toward it. Whatever I fell into had a solid form, but I couldn’t see it. I sure felt it, though. My weight crashed us onto the concrete. As soon as we hit, I jumped off my attacker to strike again. But nothing was there. Almost as if abreeze had swept through and wiped the slate clean of magic.
    No scent. No sounds. The only thing I could hear was my heartbeat, beating loud enough to burst my eardrums. For once I wished I had a friend or two around. Nick, perhaps.
    Out of nowhere, a knife appeared at my pulse point. Its silver glinted brightly. “Don’t move, bitch!” The voice was gravelly, almost as if they’d smoked way too many cheap cigarettes.
    It cackled. “Little wolves shouldn’t come playing in Scabbard’s backyard. Unless you’re here for an oil change?”
    The olive-skinned hand that held the blade hovered close under the guise of glamour, an invisibility spell that most goblins employed.
    From the corner of my eye I peeked, but I couldn’t see its—Scabbard’s—body, only smell the overwhelming stench of its magic as it flared strongly. This goblin was more powerful than most.
    “Only cowards who offer shitty oil changes hide behind a blade,” I managed to bite out. My words stumbled a bit. “Face me if you plan to kill me.”
    He jabbed a few times with the blade again, this time eliciting a cry. I’d been stabbed before—a lot deeper, if I recalled correctly—but the new nicks on my neck and body burned like hell.
    My attacker giggled. A strange sound from such a hoarse voice. “My little intruder’s bold.” The presence shifted around me and now came from the front. “Where’s your friend? Scabbard can’t sense him anywhere.”
    His presence quivered slightly in front of me, shimmering in the dim moonlight. Then it crept closer. Close enough for me to feel the inhale and exhale of his garlic-laden breath on my face. “Perhaps if Scabbardpricks you a little bit more,” he whispered, “your friend will show up. A nick or two to wet his blade again?”
    My breath locked in my chest, and I couldn’t help remembering the feeling of another blade piercing my side. A much deeper cut. I’d had little fear on that other night, but now, tonight, was a different story. Everywhere he’d cut me pulsed like a bitter bee sting, and I was afraid.
    Before the hand could jab at me again, a form rushed at us and slammed into where my attacker stood. Sounds—a grunt, a painful croak—filled the air. The knife clattered against the concrete several feet away.
    I turned to see Thorn in wolf form hovering over the moaning goblin. He snapped and growled at his prey.
    “Don’t kill Scabbard,” the goblin begged.
    Thorn continued to tower over him, his claws digging into the goblin’s shoulders. I gasped at the sight of the creature. I’d never seen a goblin up close before without its glamour. This close anyway. Bill had never revealed his true form to me. And now I knew why.
    Goblins were ugly as hell. Either Thorn had beaten the shit out of this one until his face resembled somebody’s wart-covered ass, or his face just looked like someone’s ass.
    I touched my neck and winced at the bleeding wound. He’d done far more damage with a few pricks than a regular silver blade could do. What the hell had he