Free Sliver of Silver (Blushing Death) by Suzanne M. Sabol Page A

I knew it, my hand rested on the gun holstered at the small of my back. The cool metal felt familiar and welcoming in my hand, clearing my head of all the emotional bullshit that made me question myself. The feel of my gun in my hand let the rage in my system percolate to near boiling. The holster’s safety notch clicked as I dislodged the gun and slid my finger across the trigger.
    I could kill him right where he stood and not be one bit sorry for it.
    He’s a danger to us and ours to discipline , that soft voice whispered through my mind, and I couldn’t help the malicious smile that turned up the corner of my mouth.
    Dean’s large, warm hand settled gently on my shoulder, shaking me out of my focus by the hum of power passing through my skin. Heat reached down to my womanhood, tilting my world on its side. I gripped the metal of my gun harder, to focus.
    Jackson, I wanted to hurt Jackson, I reminded myself.
    Dean shook his head, staring down at me with trepidation in his crystal blue wolf eyes. Rubbing his thumb lightly across my clavicle, he sent shockwaves rippling through me. It was a slight touch that rocked me to my core, making my body ache for things I didn’t understand.
    Ours . . . Mine.
    I rolled my shoulders and stretched my neck as I relaxed into Dean’s warm touch. I let his strength, his power, flow over me in hot waves. I allowed my body to relax and released the death grip I had on the butt of my gun. Later. I could hurt Jackson later.
    “Enough, she was not to blame,” Dean boomed over the crowd, quieting them all into chastised silence. His Caribbean blue eyes never left mine.
    “Perhaps you are to blame for the death of one of our own,” Jackson said in a soft, mocking subservient tone, but the implication was plain enough.
    A collective gasp rippled through the crowd and then an eerie silence fell over the Pack. The air shifted, capturing all the static electricity of trepidation and anxiety of the group. Even I couldn’t believe Jackson would be so openly disobedient, so brash. Perhaps things in the Pack were more in flux than I’d thought.
    Dean reached out, more quickly than my eyes could detect and much more quickly than Jackson was prepared to dodge. Snatching Jackson by the throat, Dean yanked him close and slammed the smaller man into his brick wall of a chest.
    “Are you challenging me, Jackson?” Dean snarled. A low, vicious growl rumbled through him as he bared his teeth to his Beta. “You wanna finish this?” Dean growled, bashing Jackson into the ground like a sack of dirty laundry. “I’ll take no more disobedience, from you or anyone.”
    I actually prayed for Jackson to stay down, for his own good.
    Jackson glared up at Dean, his eyes narrowed with a ferocity that was dangerous. Then that bastard turned his gaze on me, weighing his options. My hand was back on my gun in the blink of an eye.
    After a long pause, Jackson turned, resting on his hands and knees. He rubbed his cheek reluctantly against Dean’s leg, tilting his head away and exposing his neck in submissiveness. Now I knew Jackson, at least, had a brain in that head and could actually use it, making him that much more dangerous.
    “Gaoh?” Jackson asked by way of apology. I could tell that one concession killed him. His shoulders were stiff with tension and his grim expression drew his brows together and tightened his already thin lips.
    Dean glared down at his Beta with a fierce contempt that made me almost giddy. I wanted to taste that rat bastard’s blood on my tongue and feel his bones crumble in my fists.
    “Yes, Beta,” Dean bit out the title, reminding the ass he was second to Dean. My heart thumped hard in my chest at his show of power.
    Mine.
    “I’m not the only one who doesn’t trust her. How do we know she’s not lying? How do we know it was werewolves? That could put us all in danger,” he cajoled. His voice and tone appealed to the crowd, drawing cheers and whispers of