Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Those are the challengers,” Billy points out the row of shifters standing in the front of the circle. Most are men, the biggest and brawniest I’ve ever seen. “Brick has to fight every one of them.”
“How many has he fought?”
Billy points beyond them, to the far wall. “Those are the losers.”
It takes me a moment to register what the towering pile of blood-stained fur is. Dead wolves. So many of them.
I clamp my hand over my mouth. I am so out of my depth here. I could’ve had a hundred conversations with Catherine and Brick about their world, and it wouldn’t have prepared me for this.
This isn’t a pack meeting.
It’s the apocalypse.
“The alpha must face every challenge,” Billy continues. “He has to defeat them all in a fair fight.”
“But it’s not fair,” I burst out. “There are hundreds of them–he has to fight them all?”
“That’s the best case scenario.”
“What’s the worst case?” I’m afraid to ask.
“The rest of the room decides there’s no hope, and they all turn on him together and kill him.”
Oh my God.
“These are desperate wolves,” Billy says. “Without a strong leader, they know they’re in danger. A wolf in danger, with no options, goes feral.”
I sense the desperation. It hangs overhead, thickening the air. I see it in the eerie bright eyes, the flashing fangs.
These wolves have lost hope. Brick is fighting for them, but he needs help.
But what can I do? I’m one woman in a strange new world.
I’m not completely unarmed. After Sweden, I bought myself a weapon. It’s small and fits into my coat pocket, and I’m not sure how effective it’ll be against 200 plus pounds of shifter muscle. A bazooka might be the only thing that would stop a werewolf, and there’s not just one here. There are thousands.
Someone spots me, does a double-take and lopes over to the small staircase where Billy and I stand.
It’s Nickel. The British wolf is the most disheveled I’ve seen him–his shirt unbuttoned and smeared with dark red. His hair’s on end.
I barely recognize him until he says in his cut-glass accent, “For Fate’s sake, why did you bring her here?”
“I had to,” Billy says. “My wolf recognizes her as alpha.” He shifts on his feet and mutters, “She used the voice.”
Nickel blinks and looks at me with new eyes.
“I’m here to help,” I tell him.
“How?” He looks at me like I’m a puny human too weak to do anything.
I stare into his eyes.
Rule number one of Wall Street: never show weakness.
If I think I’m weak, I will be.
Strength isn’t always about muscles and speed. Fangs and claws.
“Get me on stage,” I order. I don’t know what Billy means by the voice, but I infuse my tone with all the force and certainty I can muster.
Nickel straightens. After a moment, he angles his head slightly, dropping his gaze. “Your funeral,” he murmurs, which isn’t exactly a vote of confidence. But he turns and shouts for Jake and Vance.
Jake and Vance emerge from the crowd and leap up the stairs to close around me. We shuffle backstage.
I’m the center of the knot of four men. Billy’s at my back, Nickel in front. I feel like Goldilocks surrounded by four papa bears.
I push to tiptoe, but can’t see over Nickel’s broad shoulder. “Get me on stage,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
“This way.” Nickel charges forward. A few men stand in his way, their eyes on the crowd below, and he savagely shoves them away. They growl, and he snarls back, showing thick white fangs. “Come on,” he motions.
Someone plows into Jake, and I’m jostled as he whirls and snarls. Blood flies. Vance gets a face full. He licks his lips, his eyes gleaming.
My stomach drops to my toes. What am I doing? This is crazy. A part of me wants to run and hide.
But then I see Brick, in the center of the fight. His huge wolf is twisting and turning, fighting to bite his opponent or pin him. His fur is matted, dripping. He’s still standing strong, but there’s a slowness to his movements. A delay. And a dullness to his eyes I don’t like.
He’s killed so many, and has so many more to kill. He won’t stop until the bodies are piled to the ceiling.
So much death. So much waste.
“Stop it,” I’m whispering. “Stop it.”
Enough. I step up to the microphone. “Listen up.” The mic screeches, and a bunch of wolves howl.
Behind me, Nickel, Jake, and Vance shove wolves off the stage. Billy’s at my back, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
On the floor in front of me, Brick pins his opponent, but the other wolf is biting into the top of his leg, coming dangerously close to reaching his jugular. A few wolves on the sidelines push forward, snapping at him. Another second, and the circle will break, and Brick will be underneath a pile of desperate wolves.