The tear gas was unexpected. Suddenly my eyes burned like a son of a bitch. It didn’t do anything to even out the steady painful throbbing of my groin. Ashley had some powerful legs on her, that was for sure.

If I’d had time to explain what I was doing, she might not have reacted the way she did. But, without my pack there, it had been the only way I saw forward. The only way I could get at least the two of us out of this alive and in one piece.

Now she was gone and had disappeared in the tear gas filling the room.

I’d been gassed during basic. That was one of the many fun things they don’t tell you about before you sign on. Tear gas works by inflaming and irritating all the mucus linings of your face and respiratory system. Your mouth, your eyes, your nose, your throat, your lungs. Milk over the eyes would get rid of most of the burning, but you’d still have a runny nose and an awful, wet cough for a while.

But I didn’t have any milk. I coughed again, my eyes still burning as I fumbled for my pistol and tried to get to my feet.

Someone ran into the kitchen, body checked me aside, slamming me into the cabinets. The cabinet door shuddered and caved inwards as my body hit it full force. Vodka fumes, potent and full, filled my nose, right alongside fireweed, one of the local wildflowers.

I instinctively kicked out, trying to sweep the legs of whoever was attacking me.

Air. Nothing but air. And tear gas.

I crawled forward, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come, and crawled forward.

The gas layered more heavily and began to settle. One of the canisters had landed right next to me, the second one. I couldn’t hear any more gunshots, even with my acute senses.

But where had Ashley gone? There was no more shooting. Did that mean Simon’s men were dead? Killed by the cartel? Or was the cartel dead, killed by Simon? If so, where were the Eagle Eye Security mercenaries? My chest burned and my head felt fuzzy as I crawled forward through the kitchen, the ceramics and glass cutting into my knees and hands.

I had to. I had to shift. I wasn’t going to be able to get out of here otherwise. I knew it. I began to tear the clothes from my body. I tore off my shirt, sending buttons flying around the destroyed kitchen. I unbuckled my jeans and unzipped them, even as I forced the change through my body.

If my burning tissue had been painful before, it was nothing now. I roared, my throat ragged, as my bones shifted painfully, as all my muscles grew in size, as my organs rearranged themselves. I’d never tried to move this quickly through the shift before.

But I had to do this fast. I had to find Ashley. I had to make sure she was safe. I had to make sure my mate was safe.

I roared again as my nails lengthened, as my jaws cracked and my fangs pierced my gums.

Finally, only seconds later, I was a wolf.

The air shifted behind me. Simon called out, surprised as he rounded the corner.

I spun, saw his tear-streaked face, vomit covering the front of his tactical gear and his Kevlar vest. He stumbled back and raised his submachine gun. He opened fire, one of the bullets catching me in the side.

I dodged to the side, leaping so that my paws landed right on the refrigerator door. I leaped forward, my jaws aimed right for his throat.

He tried to bring his gun up to keep spraying into me, but my body blocked it.

My jaws found his throat. My fangs bit through his throat, his jugular. The hot blood of a betrayer, of a Judas, filled my mouth. I shook my head, rending his flesh as I rode his body to the ground.

He gurgled, spraying blood from his wounds. He wouldn’t live. I knew it.

I glanced around, saw no one else standing, and took off back into the kitchen. Even through the tear gas, even through the blood filling my nose, I could smell her. I could smell my mate. I grabbed my jeans in my teeth and took off, out into the garage.

The garage door stood open. Two black Suburbans were parked out front beside my Mustang, and an old Bronco was parked further down the way. I raced out onto the drive, denim pants dangling from my snout.

“Frank!” Richard shouted from my left. I turned, and he came running towards me, semi-automatic rifle slung at ease in front of him. “They’re all dead, Frank! Where’s Ashley?”

I looked around, turned back to him, and whimpered low.

“Fuck, Frank. Fuck!”

Peter came running out of the garage behind me. “Frank! She’s gone!” He came to a stop and crouched down next to me. “Someone took her.”