A throaty rumble issued from the woods that grated like laughter in my ears. Fear dug talons into my spine a second before the wolf I had assumed was Graeson leapt for my throat. Black as the oncoming night, the sinuous beast widened its maw. All those months of marshal academy training snapped like a rubber band in my brain, and I swung my left forearm up high in a defensive pose that absorbed the impact of the wolf’s body smacking into mine. Teeth grazed the tip of my nose as I shoved up with my right arm, turning as I used the wolf’s momentum against it and flung it aside.

It landed nimbly on all fours and, as if its legs were spring-loaded, pivoted and launched itself right back at me.

The fingernail of my right hand’s middle finger wobbled and fell off. A sickle claw extended from my nailbed. Clacking teeth grazed my chin before I cinched my hand around the wolf’s throat. Spur fully extended, I punched its curved tip through the thick fur protecting the beast’s throat, sucking in a gasp as its blood wet my fingertip, its magic flowing over my tongue.

The wolf hit the ground hard, flung its head side to side, then bunched for a third strike.

Ebony fur erupted down my right forearm, the bones lengthening as my fingernails arrowed into claws. Droning white noise buzzed in my head, persistent bees, as a cacophony of presence clashed against a chorus of indistinct words without substance or meaning.

The pack bond.

“Cam,” Isaac roared.

“Stay back,” I growled. “I can handle this.”

The coiled wolf lunged, and I threw my weight behind swinging out with my clawed arm. Nails swiping across its neck, I ribboned the column of its throat. Crimson sprayed my face, my shirt, running hot and slick through my fingers. Gurgling wetly, the beast thumped on its side.

This time it stayed there.

Strong hands clamped over my upper arms, and I yelped at the pinch. Isaac spun me on my heels until the carnage I had wrought was hidden behind my back. Struck dumb by the sudden violence of the attack, the stickiness coating my palm, I let him fold me against his chest until the shock dulled enough for anger to flare in its place.

His chin bumped the top of my head. “What the hell?”

Breathless, I couldn’t speak and didn’t know how to answer. The fingers of my right hand—sleekly furred and razor-tipped—trembled where they scrunched his T-shirt into a fist.

Hard pops brought a lump to my throat, and I pivoted on my heel. The animal seized, back arched. Lips peeled away from its teeth, claws raked furrows in the dirt. Its gasping whimper as a human shape emerged caused me to dig my nails into my palms. That had to hurt.