Free Wicked Magic by Madeline Pryce Page A

the table and turned right into
Jeremiah. The kid didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. Never removing
the cigarette from his mouth, he blew a line of smoke into his brother’s face.
    Waving the mist aside, Jeremiah straightened to his full
height. Being as tall as he was, he tended to slouch.
    “She doesn’t deserve to be punished because you’re afraid,”
Jeremiah said, tone defensive.
    “You think life with me would be sunshine and fucking roses?
I’m doing her a favor by walking away. Get out of my way. I’m not in the mood
for this.” For every step he took, his brother took one more. He’d forgotten
the ashy aftertaste cigarettes left in his mouth. As he walked by a table of
werebears, he dropped his partially smoked cigarette in their pitcher of beer.
    “If it’s not fear, then what in the hell put your panties in
a bunch?” Jeremiah yelled.
    Trent stopped, turned to look into his brother’s eyes. ’Miah
was asking for a beat down.
    The room changed. His eyes pulled tight and colors morphed.
It was too late to pull back the beast. Trent barely made it outside. The night
pressed into him, cool and windless. He dropped to his knees—his stomach
curled, twisted and he fisted the gravel beneath his hands. Glass dug into his
palms, drew blood. The scent filled the air until he tasted copper in his
mouth.
    Bones shifted. His back arched, spine lengthening. The last
thing he heard as a human was the ripping of cloth before his jaguar pushed to
the surface and took control. He shook his head, body following. He whipped his
tail, felt it curling in the air. He drew in a deep breath. The familiar scent
of the earth filled him. Pine. Soil. Rain. There was something else much fouler
that lingered in the air. Terror. Blood. Female.
    He padded forward, following the scents. This, protecting
humans and other shifters, was what he knew. Trees rustled along the edge of
forest that lined the western side of the bar. Through the cars and trucks,
branches swayed in the breeze. Leaves crunched, giving off a subtle scent. He
tilted his head, studied the shadows that appeared between the trees.
    “Please, no more!” A woman’s sobs filled the night and drew
his focus as his heart thundered with adrenaline. The scents around him
shifted. There was something familiar in the air, something evil. A tight
sensation puckered the skin below his fur, and his hackles rose. The wolf pack
he’d tangled with earlier was nearby. And they weren’t alone—assholes.
    He sprinted forward. The impending hunt had his blood
singing. The air caressed his fur. Each strand that moved tickled his skin,
invigorating him. The faster he ran, the more scents he took in. All those
smells stayed with him, told him where to go.
    He stopped at the edge of the clearing. Rage and disgust
filled him. He was too late, and now a woman was dead. A naked blonde lay in
the dirt, her pale flesh splayed open with deep claw marks. Teeth marks and
bruises marred her skin. Trent let out a bellowing roar that reverberated
through the night. If these assholes wanted blood, he was more than willing to
teach them a lesson. One by one, the glimmering sheen of the wolves’ eyes
pierced the darkness.
    Padding forward, he drew them out, into his sight. This was
going to be a dirty fight. As an enforcer, he had the authority to put down any
shifter he’d deemed a threat. The corpse before him was more than enough cause
for him to take action. He knew this would be a fight to the death. The pack
filtered out through the trees and surrounded him.
    Trent moved in a circle, baring his teeth and eying his
prey. He swatted, his razor-sharp claws gleaming in the light of the nearly
full moon. The pack initiated the dance. They snarled, advanced and then
retreated. Power leaked into the air. It was potent, unsettling. It should have
been a warning, a sign that he might be outclassed. At six to one, he knew he
was being foolish. Everything went silent, as if the earth