Free Werewolves of Chicago: Curragh (Werewolves of... Book 6) by Faleena Hopkins

the window. What he’d just told Xavier was a lie. He didn’t have a handle on his wolf. More like the other way around. It was a first. Ever since he was a pup, he’d had control of his emotions. When the wolf was given leave to take over, it still had a leash on it. And when he was angry, in fights, or attacking for any reason, even during those times, he called the shots.
    Just now, in there, it hadn’t been a struggle. It was pure war. When they’d left her on the floor, he’d wanted nothing more than to grab her up and take her with him and it took everything he had not to do just that. “We didn’t get Tutors. We were going to bring him with us.”
    “And how were we supposed to do that with that detective watching us?”
    “You could have tried,” grumbled Curragh.
    “Are you really that unaware of yourself?” Xavier demanded. Dropping it, he said, “Well, hopefully the cops will be able to get something out of him. We’ll be listening. And when you want to ‘fess up about that female cop, I’m all ears. You must think I’m pretty fucking stupid.”
    Curragh stared out the window. “I need a steak.”
    “I bet you do.”
    When they got back to the loft, they got another rude surprise. Draik was in a heap on the doormat, bloody and unconscious. His packmates rushed forward and tried to wake him. It was no use. He was cold, too, and wolves run hot.
    “He’s on the edge,” Curragh whispered, stunned.
    Xavier leapt up and unlocked the door. “Carry him inside.”
    Very gently Curragh picked up Draik’s limp body. He’d been beaten badly. Cut, too. He was missing patches of dirty-blonde hair like someone had shaved him for the fun of it. From the cuts, they’d used an old razor. Rushing him to the coffee table, Curragh demanded a pillow and laid him down.
    Xavier said, “I’m going to call Howard,” handing it to him.
    “Why? Oh. He can sew him up.”
    “He’s the only doctor we know, and who knows what we are.”
    “Right.” Curragh stared down at the victim, inspecting from a distance the cuts in his friend’s dark jeans and shirt. His belt was gone. He had no shoes. There were burns under his feet. “I’m going to kill whoever did this.”
    Xavier said into the phone, “Howard?” raking strained fingers through his hair. “You need to come over here. Bring anything you have to save someone’s life. Now. I’ll text you the address.”
    “On my way!” the young wolf exclaimed and hung up.
    “He’s too excited,” Curragh grumbled.
    Xavier sent the text, and tossed the phone on the couch. He approached Draik, kneeling down. “What can we do?”
    “Wait.” Twice today he’d felt helpless. First against Kara’s pull on him, now this.
    “Hey.” Xavier pointed to a white corner sticking out from the pocket of Draik’s jeans. “What’s this?” He pulled it out and unfolded blood soaked paper, standing up as Curragh leaned in. In a handwritten black scrawl read: Stop trying to find me.
    A primal growl ripped from Curragh’s lungs and he shifted, clothes shredding from his body, his fangs biting for the paper. Xavier jumped back and kept it out of reach as best he could. “STOP! This might lead us to him!” His eyes glowed dark amber.
    The black wolf snarled low, pacing back and forth, palest of pale green eyes on the prize. What Xavier said made sense, but he needed somewhere to put all this pain. He leapt up, fangs lashing out. Xavier jumped back in time, throwing the paper like a ball to a dog to save himself. Curragh’s wolf devoured the thing and let out a long, forlorn howl. Shifting back, he knelt naked on the ground, panting, eyes still glowing.
    “Curragh,” whispered Draik. The familiar howl had roused him.
    Both packmates spun around and went to him. Their friend’s eyes were slits, his mouth dry and open.
    “I’m here. I’m right here.”
    “I’m here, too, buddy,” Xavier said, kneeling down again. “You’re going to be okay.”
    Draik was