Free The Wild Side: Urban Fantasy with an Erotic Edge by Mark L. Van Name

argument, Armando warned her off bringing the weapon, but lacking wolf claws and jaws, she was determined to protect him as best she could.
    Raging howls stopped her cold. Tricked by the shadows, she took a moment to focus on the sudden swirl of dust and fog that resolved into two huge wolves staring each other down. Matched in size, they differed only in color, one solid gray in the dim light, and the other darker with an odd white tip on his ears.
    Liz’s heart raced. Armando had not transformed into the cougar. How the hell was she supposed to know which wolf was him?
    The animals circled one another, snarling, teeth bared, each looking for the other to back down.
    Her heart pounded and she struggled to stay still as their circling stopped. White-tip leapt at the throat of the gray. It faked high, then dove low and grabbed the exposed flesh below the jaw. It lost its grip as Gray shook his head and rolled at the same time, forcing White-tip onto his back. Before White-tip could get up, Gray clamped its jaws on the exposed throat of White-tip, growled, and increased the pressure.
    Liz was nearly paralyzed in confusion. She had to break up the fight enough to figure out which wolf was Armando. She dropped her gun back into her pocket and grabbed the broom from inside the doorway. As Gray shook his head, she planted her feet behind him and swung for all she was worth with her improvised bat. She bounced from the impact and fell back into the shadow.
    The gray wolf released his opponent and fell back, more shocked than hurt by her blow. It spun, looking for its attacker. Liz froze and held her breath, wishing frantically that it would move before she passed out.
    White-tip stood and faced her. She saw the glowing amber eyes. She clung to the wall, hoping the harsh breathing of the two wolves covered her sudden gasp.
    Gray backed to the opposite wall and swiveled between Armando and her location. The broom lay on the pavement. Gray clearly couldn’t see her.
    White-tip faced her direction still, sniffing deeply.
    Without warning, Gray leapt over Armando and grabbed his neck from behind. It buried his teeth in the flesh behind Armando’s head and shook its whole body, ripping into Armando. Armando struggled to roll or swing his head to throw off Gray, whimpering in rage and pain. Gray forced Armando down, stood on him, and raised its head in a triumphant howl. It bent and opened its jaws wide to bite Armando another time—maybe, Liz realized, for the last time.
    With more calm than she thought she possessed, Liz pulled the pistol from her pocket. She aimed for the biggest target, its chest, and calmly squeezed the trigger. She prayed the gray did not have amber eyes, too.
    The impact of the close-range shot blew the gray wolf off Armando and tossed him on the pavement in a tangled heap. Armando jumped up and over him, nuzzling into the wound, assessing the damage.
    As if the pain forced a change, the gray returned to his human shape. Its body slowly extended, stretched, and changed color. Jaw dropping, Liz watched as fur slowly became flesh. The gaping hole in the shoulder of the wolf now was a wound in a man’s right shoulder trickling blood. The man panted, but his eyes were alert.
    Liz ran into the studio and grabbed a wad of towels. She ran into Armando, naked and himself, as she charged back out.
    “What are you doing?” he growled, his voice raspy and deep.
    “Oh, get the hell out of the way,” she yelled back. “I hurt him, and he’s bleeding. I just want to staunch the blood.” She shouldered past him and stopped when she realized the other man was gone.
    “Where is he?” she said.
    “Why would he stay?” Armando said. “Georg doesn’t know exactly how, but he lost. And he won’t be back.” His words carried a tone of finality. “His pups saw him lose to me.”
    Liz looked around as Armando picked up his clothes and realized Georg’s clothes were also gone.
    “We get a boost in recovery from the