Lycan's Prey by Jessica Hall

Chapter 95

No wolf likes the idea of hunting she–wolves and mating them. It’s just something she–wolves have learned to accept since there is no stopping it; the men are slaves to their instincts, just as the she–wolves are. Staring at the man, I tried to tell myself it was self–defense, a necessary evil to protect Max, but the hollow justification offered little to remove my guilt.

But now I worry about when the moon is uncovered by the clouds because this body could be Max.

“Run,” I plead again, the word a broken whisper. “Please, Max, you need to run!” I clutch at the dirt, trying to cover myself. His face is ghostly pale in the dim light, his eyes wide and unseeing.

But once again he’s frozen, immobilized by fear or shock, or both. The silence is heavy, suffocating, until the moon glides free from the canopy above us. Silver light floods the clearing, and agony lances through me as another shift begins.

“Max!” I cry out, my bones contorting. “Your dad-”

“He’s on the way,” he stammers, fear battling with concern. “I mindlinked him,” he tells me.

“Go!” I manage before the beast surges forth, drowning the last vestiges of humanity. As my vision tunnels into predatory focus, I see him, still a statue of dread.

Muscles tense, fighting the inevitable, I dig my feet into the

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ounce of my will to hold back the beast clawing its

It’s a losing battle; my skin ripples with suppression as my eyes look for anything to

I listen for the crash of the river on the rocks of the waterfall at the end of it. The chances of me surviving a fall like that are slim and if I do, I won’t survive the rocks at the bottom once

have? I won’t let my beast hurt him.

is a distant echo, his figure blurring as my eyes start to betray me, shifting from human to wolfish sight. He needs to

howl, I pivot on my

waterfall roars in the distance behind him. That’s it–my chance to evade the impending shift long enough for Max to escape me. The pounding of the water syncs with my racing heart as I near the cliff’s edge. The air is heavy with mist, the scent of

beg myself,

through my spine, and I stumble, almost sprawling onto the dirt. My body betrays me, the shift erupting from within as if my flesh were merely

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to the precipice of the abyss, I leap at the same time Max’s scream pierces the air, loud and blood–curdling. The rush of air past my ears is a fleeting freedom. The water below surges up to meet me,

from all sides, disorienting, smothering. In the tumultuous depths, the transformation completes, and the beast

threat I pose to him. The water’s roar drowns out everything else,