Driven by Armstrong Kelley

Author:Armstrong, Kelley [Armstrong, Kelley]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781596067585
Publisher: Subterranean Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

I would have dealt with Malcolm, but I didn’t get the chance. Clay vaulted clear over me and jumped on him, jaws snapping, blood flying. Clay and Malcolm went down, biting and clawing and snarling, frenzied.

This wasn’t Nick’s gentle warning to Davis. This was full-out rage, more than Malcolm’s insolence justified. This was Clay’s frustration, pent up over two days of having to deal with him, travel with him, act as if he was just another Pack member. I crouched there, watching for the chance to intervene. As soon as I saw some of that blood spraying from Clay, I lunged.

I cut my lunge short. I had to. Jumping in to help Clay was wrong, as much as every part of me wanted to, not because he couldn’t handle himself in a fight, but because this was Malcolm Danvers. The guy who sliced Vanessa’s agent’s throat just enough for her to slowly bleed out on a warehouse floor. The guy who’d cut out his ex-partner’s tongue for betraying him and then stapled the man’s dead wife to the attic ceiling. The guy who’d given Vanessa that choice—that terrible choice—for no crime greater than helping Nick track him down.

I remembered all that, and it took everything I had to avert my lunge and stand my ground and tell myself I was here—I was right here—and Malcolm couldn’t do any of that to Clay. He wouldn’t do it—deep down I knew that, but at that moment, what mattered was that he couldn’t. The moment this fight showed any signs of turning lethal—for either of them—I’d break it up. Until then, I could only watch.

I was still watching when Nick came running, drawn by the sound of the fight. He raced up the rise, saw the bodies and twisted sharply, snarling at Davis to stay back. Then Nick scrabbled down off the rock and began circling the fight, doing the same thing I was, watching for any sign that it needed to be broken up.

Finally Clay had Malcolm pinned, the older wolf snarling and spitting, bloody froth flicking from his jaws. Clay snarled back, ears flattened, lips curled. Nick and I moved in on either side of Malcolm, flanking him and growling, sending the message, “Stay down or we’ll put you down.”

Clay backed off. Once he was far enough away, I let Malcolm up. He rose and stalked away, as best he could stalk, limping slightly and leaving a trail of blood. Going to lick his wounds, quite literally. I walked to Clay, who stood a few feet away, his flanks heaving as he struggled to get his temper under control.

I nosed his injuries carefully, making sure they weren’t serious. After a minute, he leaned against me and exhaled, and I pushed him down to clean his wounds. He let me for a few minutes, and then rose, pressing against me, nose buried in the fur at my neck, inhaling and exhaling, steadying himself with my scent.

When we separated, we both looked toward the bodies.

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