Renny couldn’t hold back her gasp when Geoffrey the coyote launched himself out the back of the van and straight at her mate’s ridiculously larger form. For an instant, she expected to see him bounce off the werewolf’s chest before being torn apart by those five-inch claws. But Geoffrey hadn’t completely lost his mind. Instead of attacking Mick, the coyote copied the move Renny had used to outmaneuver Bryce her first night in Alpha: He threw himself past his opponent to land untouched and ready behind the wolf’s back.
Before Mick could spin to face him, Geoffrey darted forward, fangs slashing at the back of the larger animal’s leg. He was trying to hamstring the enemy.
Renny recognized the merit of the tactic. The coyote didn’t have a prayer of matching the werewolf when it came to size or strength. Even had Mick worn his fully animal form, he still would have outclassed Geoffrey in both areas, so the smaller man had to rely on his one real advantage—speed.
He danced out from under the werewolf’s swiping claws, spinning around to launch another attack at the other leg. This time he scored a more solid hit, and Mick howled as the tendon in his leg tore and weakened.
He went down to one knee, and Geoffrey pulled another unexpected move. Instead of leaping immediately for the werewolf’s throat, the coyote gathered itself and threw its full weight against its opponent’s weakened legs, attacking its unstable balance and sending Mick sprawling to his back in the dirt.
Shit, shit, shit. She should have known there was no way Geoffrey was going to play fair. She had to get out there and help her mate.
Renny squirmed to the left and froze when her hip rolled over a long, narrow, cold metal object. The knife. She had just rolled onto Geoffrey’s knife, only it was currently pressed to her belly, and she needed it behind her back where her hands and feet remained tied. Shit, now she knew why her mother had always encouraged her to take up gymnastics. Maybe her occasional forays into yoga would prove to be enough.
Rocking her weight to the side, Renny slowly and carefully worked to reverse her position without sending the knife sliding away across the slick floor. It took some doing, but she finally managed to get herself flipped onto one side with her back facing the blade. At the moment, back equaled hands, and her fingers itched to close around the sharp object. If she could even manage to free just her feet, she’d be able to run to her mate’s side, and then she could—
“Damn it, hold still, you little hellion.” Zeke cursed, reaching around her to grab the knife and saw through the rope binding her wrists to her ankles.
Her body immediately unbowed, and she gave a whimper of relief. Her hands and feet remained tied, but at least they weren’t being yanked to the small of her back and turning her into a lupine pretzel anymore. The relief was staggering.
“I said hold still,” the lion ordered, grabbing and shaking her arms to emphasize his point. “You want me to accidentally cut your wrist instead of this rope? Your mate would finish up with that coyote and have my liver for dessert.”
Renny didn’t bother to respond. She was too busy gritting her teeth against the pain of the newly restored circulation in her limbs and calculating the time it would take her to shake off the rope, leap out of the van, and rip a certain coyote’s heart out once Zeke got her fully untied. She was estimating about 4.7 seconds. Give or take.
Unfortunately, things didn’t work out that way. If she thought coming out of the hog-tie had been bad, it was nothing compared with the searing agony of her contorted limbs finally relaxing from the bonds into which they’d been tied. When the last of the rope slipped away, instead of jumping into battle at her mate’s side, Renny found herself involuntarily curling into a fetal position, as if her muscles were rubber bands that had stretched too far in one direction and now had to overcompensate by collapsing in the other.
Her eyes watered the same way they had done when Geoffrey was dragging her around by the hair. Shit, it hurt!
She fought to control her breathing and to beat down the red tide of pain that obscured her vision. Okay, she decided semi-hysterically, crossing bondage off the list of kinks she might be willing to try. Really not her thing.
“Oh, shit. Come on, buddy,” Zeke muttered, and Renny’s eyes popped open immediately. She followed the lion’s gaze to where her mate knelt once more in the dirt. He might not be lying on his back anymore, but he clearly hadn’t managed to regain his feet, and she could see by the blood on his fur and the oddly limp appearance of his right leg that Geoffrey had gotten in a fortunate swipe and severed the Achilles’ tendon. Mick would be lucky if he could stand, let alone walk.
What a pair the two of them made at that moment, she thought, choking back a laugh. Him crippled and on his knees, her so stiff and in such pain, she could barely move. Talk about matches made in heaven.
Mick’s fur whipped around in the heavy wind while the coyote faced him uninjured. She saw the smaller animal shift its weight back and felt time slow down.
She knew with perfect clarity what was about to happen. Geoffrey was coiling himself into a position to spring at her mate. One leap would close the distance between them and have his fangs around Mick’s throat. The unusual thickness of the muscles in his current form might spare him from the worst possible injury, but all the coyote had to do was get one fang deep enough to nick the carotid artery, and the werewolf would bleed out in seconds.
Her mate would die, and not even the hope of vengeance would be enough to keep Renny from following.
Her body moved on pure instinct.
She didn’t plan out her actions. In fact, later when someone asked her about it, she couldn’t remember when the idea had occurred to her, because it didn’t really. There was no idea, there was just reflex.
Ignoring the pain and stiffness, ignoring the small chance of success and the impossibly long odds, Renny rolled to the side and in one smooth move, she snatched Zeke’s weapon from the holster where he’d replaced it, flicked off the safety, pointed it at the coyote’s head, and pulled the trigger.
Of course, this wasn’t a movie and Renny wasn’t either a stuntwoman or a sharpshooter. She missed. Her bullet went wide of Geoffrey’s head and instead struck him in the side, in the vulnerable spot where hip and side and belly all converged. He collapsed to the ground at Mick’s feet with a shrill howl.
The werewolf immediately took advantage. Instead of Geoffrey sinking his teeth into the wolf’s throat, Mick hurtled forward, never rising off his knees, and closed his powerful jaws around the coyote. He crushed the windpipe and severed the arteries with one vicious tug.
And then, Holy shit, Renny thought as the gun slipped from her hands. It was really over.