I’m frozen, not like ice, but like stone. Because if I ease my grip on myself, even the smallest bit, I’ll burst into flames and burn him down. I’ll go for his jugular—and I know I’m no match for him, and I’ll end up humiliated again. Knocked down. Again.
He ruined everything. With one shove. That’s all. He didn’t even notice the crushed mushrooms. For years, I’ve been coming to the market. I learned bees. Jams. Herbs. I learned how to deal with humans, how to deal with the chemical reek of their plastic and Styrofoam and synthetic perfume.
The girls and I have a brand. Cottage Industry. That’s what we’ve decided to call ourselves. Kennedy’s designing us a logo.
We had a purpose and reason to get excited about the day. And Killian Kelly comes in like a wrecking ball and takes it all away without blinking, and there is nothing I can do about it.
I’m a hostage. He rules everyone and everything I love.
My fists are shaking. He circles the hood and hops in. Somehow, he gets the truck to start on the first try. He puts his arm behind me while he reverses, and it’s all I can do not to rip it off and beat him with it.
What am I going to tell the girls?
No farmer’s market means no money. No phones. No hotspots. No games for Kennedy and Fallon. No music and fancy shoes for Mari. Nothing to make life bearable. Nothing to look forward to.
I hate his guts.
He’s glowering, all put out because I broke his rules. That’s the worst thing that can happen to him. Somebody gets a little out of line. Maybe earns a little something for themselves that he didn’t provide. He’s such a big man, he has to keep everyone else small.
“You got something to say, say it.” His jaw flexes. He doesn’t even look at me.
I lift my chin and turn to stare out the window. The passing fields are blurry. My eyes are still wet. At least the tears aren’t falling.
I make my eyes real wide and blink. He’s not going to see me cry.
“You’re in big trouble,” he says. “You know that.”
There is nothing he can do to me worse than losing the market. Also, fuck him.
He sighs, blowing out his cheeks. “What the hell were you doing? I could have killed that man.”
I didn’t barge into a situation I had no idea about and assault a human. That was him. I’m not taking the blame for his unhinged behavior. I was trying to sell some mushrooms. And I’m not sorry. I’m mad. Furious.
His huge hands tighten on the steering wheel. “You just gonna sit there and ignore me?”
Why shouldn’t I? He’s ignored me his whole life. And I’m grateful for it. He should go back to ignoring me. It’s the best I can hope for in this shitty, backwards pack.
“You’re acting like a child,” he says.
And it erupts, bursts out of me so hot it scorches my throat. “You followed me. You ruined my mushrooms. You ruined everything. You’re a—you’re an asshole.”
There’s a beat of stunned silence.
And then he laughs. From his belly. Like I’m genuinely funny. If I had a knife, I’d plunge it into his throat and listen to him gurgle, and then I’d laugh, too. I’d laugh and laugh.
I clutch my arms to my chest, as if that’ll hold my wolf in. She’s snapping, lunging, bloodthirsty and wild. She’s going to bite his face off.
When he’s done laughing at me, he wipes his eyes and asks, “What mushrooms?”
My wolf surges at the same time I drop the reins. Our switches flip simultaneously, and we go off. She barrels through my skin, embodying me, and I welcome her, let her wiry strength join the fury seething in my veins. My spine snaps. My limbs realign. The sizzle of ozone fills the cab.
I can taste his face already.
Killian startles, eyes widening in alarm. “What the fuck? No. Shift back. We’re in a fucking vehicle.”
But I’m the wolf, and she doesn’t recognize his authority. We’re tangled in the seatbelt, but that’s not stopping her. She swipes at him, snapping her jaws, contorting her neck to sink her teeth into his thick thigh, ripping through denim so she can gnaw flesh from his bones. Make him sorry. Make him hurt.
What mushrooms? He’s gonna learn.
“Holy crap, Una.” He jerks the wheel, skidding onto the shoulder, and he unbuckles himself, trying to dodge my muzzle and my claws. I’m tearing up the upholstery. My good back leg nails the window and it cracks like a spiderweb.
“Stop. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” It’s an alpha command. I fight harder, and I manage to rip his shirt, scrape his shoulder and draw blood.