Free Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1) by J. C. McKenzie Page B

the right direction.
    With the last of my gas, I rolled the car into a Supe-Mart parking lot, and got out. My arm ached when I stretched, still fatigued from my initial flight. An angry red spot marked the bullet hole. The skin strained thin over the wound, feeling raw with a shiny look, but more healed than it should’ve been. Wick’s pack magic somehow sped up the healing process through my wolf. I didn’t want to think about the implications or the possibility of belonging to another pack.
    The wind swirled around me and I froze mid-stretch. Wolf.
    I looked up to see two SUVs barrelling toward me. With no time to think, I willed the shift. The sting was fast and gripping. My arms condensed into solid wings and a sharp pain radiated from my injury.
    My wings beat frantically to take off. I got a few feet in the air when a heavy weight slammed me back to the ground.
    Shaking my head cleared some of the stars. I hopped around underneath what I now realized was a net. Someone’s hand grabbed my wings through the net and flipped me onto my back—a submissive position in any form.
    Men surrounded me, appearing larger because of my size and vantage point; their wolf-yellow glares an unwelcome sight. Their wolves were close. The flight or fight instinct of my falcon kicked in and I flapped and twisted uncontrollably under the net trying to get away. I couldn’t turn over. My screech of frustration echoed off the pavement and the walls of the surrounding mall. My head snapped from side to side searching for a way out. I’d been so close. The taste of freedom still lingered in my mouth.
    Another SUV pulled up and a large man stepped out. Anger vibrated off him. Wick.
    He stepped up to the other men and joined them in their group glare—his big frame more imposing as he loomed over my petite form.
    “Shift,” he said. His alpha power rolled over my feathers.
    I flapped my wings against the net in defiance.
    Wick squatted down beside me. “Do not mistake my past congeniality as weakness. I will pluck every feather from that bird body of yours until you shift.”
    A shiver rippled through me. Pluck my feathers? No, thank you.
    “Shift.” The power in his voice called to my wolf, demanding obedience. Fucking alphas.
    I used the momentum of his power to change, not out of submission, but because I was partial to my feathers. My mountain lion rippled out.
    “Christ!” One of the men holding down the net leapt back. He hadn’t been briefed.
    “Hold her down.”
    The men standing back joined their pack mates as they held the net down on my rage. I railed against the barrier. My claws snagged in the mesh. Too strong to rip apart, the skin at the base of my nails tore instead, releasing the coppery scent of blood into the night. Abandoning the effort with my paws, I lurched forward with a snarl and tried to bite my way through—until my gums started bleeding, too. These Weres had arrived well prepared. My ears pinned to the back of my head as a hiss ripped from my throat.
    The pack smelled of triumph, confidence and pride.
    One smelled of fear. I turned to him and yowled. The sound hung in the air. The young wolf averted his gaze, but held strong.
    My thoughts of freedom vanished.
    I huffed again and lay my heavy head down on my front paws.
    “If you’re done with your temper tantrum, it’s time to shift back,” Wick said.
    I turned my feline gaze to him and hissed again.
    He held up sweat pants and a t-shirt. “If you shift now, I’ll let you ride back fully clothed.”
    I licked the blood off my front paw.
    “Just because you have no feathers to pluck, doesn’t mean we’re at an impasse.”
    I shifted my attention to my other paw.
    “Don’t make this harder on yourself, Andy. We have tranq guns.”
    His statement froze my tongue. I hated tranquilizers. The recovery from one shot meant days of feeling like the sludge from the bottom of a stale beer barrel. I’d rather lance boils off homeless people than