Dire Needs: A Novel of the Eternal Wolf Clan by Stephanie Tyler Page A

inside of her had decided to revolt.
    “Get off me,” she heard herself snarl as the anger throbbed between her ears, white and hot, and she dropped the jacket and backhanded the man who refused to release her.
    He fell back, harder than he should have, but pulled a gun on her from his position on the ground. That only increased her ire, especially when one of the other men tried to subdue her from behind.
    Without worrying about being shot, she jabbed an elbow into his ribs and turned in his grasp, shoving the base of her palm up toward his nose; she heard a satisfying crunch when she made contact.
    He let her go, and as she dropped to her knees, she was vaguely aware that the other officer had fired his gun several times. But at what?
    The weakness was gone, and she was too busy taking out her aggression on this man to care.
    “Don’t kill her,” the downed one with the bloody nose cried out. She almost laughed that he was worried about her when the only thought in her mind was killing him.
    She jumped up after the firing ended and droppedhim to the ground after her key hit his carotid. She still had two more men to contend with, and she wasn’t going to be able to stop—doing this felt natural and right, and she was so strong…
    “Get her in the van and call Mars.”
    She growled as they circled her, and then she realized she wasn’t the only one growling.
    The beautiful wolf from last night was next to her, looking a lot more deadly. When it leapt toward the men, there were screams and they scattered.
    She swore she still smelled Rifter, heard the rustling in her ears again. She remained behind the wolf because, like the one in the woods, he was protecting her. And when she saw one of the men come up behind the magnificent wolf with a knife, she charged his back without thinking, clawing and kicking, even as she prayed this was all a dream.
    Vice shifted, tearing the shit out of his clothes, and his Brother Wolf roared, catching the young wolf’s attention and stopping him from following Rifter.
    Either way, the young wolf was a dead man. It was never good to see a wolf lose control without the lure of the moon, like a rabid dog, and there was a body to prove he’d done so.
    The young Were backed off farther, as though he would run as well in the opposite direction, and then the bastard turned and charged at Vice, attempting to grab his wolf by the throat.
    Stupid, stupid Were.
    Vice’s wolf rose on his hind legs and let out a howl so fierce it rang his ears. He lunged and pawed, and in one hard, fell swoop, Brother took down the wolf like the pup he was.
    A soft whimper rose from the dark brown wolf. Magnificent coat, stately animal. He stared into Brother Wolf’s eyes with chocolate brown ones of his own.
    Intelligent. Not moon crazed. But he’d been hurt recently. Drugged. And his chest was bleeding.
    Vice’s wolf nosed him, an order to shift. And even though the younger wolf hadn’t bared his throat in submission to the Dire, something that would’ve normally found him flayed, Vice’s wolf wasn’t insulted.
    The shift happened fast—the young man lying pinned under him. He was sweating and pale, and under different circumstances, Vice would’ve let him stay in wolf form to heal. But they couldn’t risk anything—who knew if the trappers had alerted the police anonymously about the murder?
    “Is she okay? I tried to save her—,” the young guy croaked out. “She was in danger.”
    He was talking about Gwen. About saving humans. But he’d killed a weretrapper, and Vice couldn’t fault him for that.
    Vice told his Brother Wolf to take a backseat, and the wolf reluctantly allowed him to shift back, without moving off the boy first. The young man, who was probably close to twenty, stared at Vice, who now lay squarely on top of him, demanding, “Who’s the dead girl?”
    “Witch. She was working with the humans—the weretrappers. You’re a Dire.”
    “No shit. What was your first clue?”