Slow Shift Nazarea Andrews (most difficult books to read .TXT) 📖

gentle with Tyler. He wants to snap at Chase for it, but he’s too selfish to.

The other werewolves in Reid territory itch like a threat, a splinter under the skin, and Tyler hates it, wants it over. Lucas spends more and more time away from them, coming back snarling or silent.

Luther is playing least in sight, but his betas and alphas flaunt their presence, and once, Tyler sees the dark-haired woman from the grocery store.

“We can’t attack them,” Chase says simply, “The magic—the Standing Stones will defend itself and us, but it won’t if we attack first.”

~*~

In the end, it doesn’t matter.

~*~

He feels the rage washing through him through the bond that ties him to Chase, and he shouts for Lucas, stumbling out of bed and reaching for his pants.

“Hurry,” he snarls, then darts into the woods, only distantly aware of his brother cursing behind him. He can feel the rage still, a band of heat on his tongue.

The Chief lives close, a fifteen-minute trek through the forest. Tyler makes it in eight, skidding into the familiar backyard and hearing three heartbeats, one pounding, one familiar, and one sluggish.

Tyler bursts through the back door and Warren snarls, ripping his gaze away from Chase. He’s got the Chief pinned to the wall, claws deep in his shoulder, a savage grin on his face.

But he looks away. For just a second, as Tyler lunges at him, as Lucas howls in the forest, he looks away.

Chase has been training with werewolves since he was fourteen and weaving spells since he was seventeen. He doesn’t hesitate at all. He flicks his fingers and crackling witchlight slams into the Alpha. John makes a pained noise as the werewolf collapses, his claws dragging through fragile flesh, and Chase snarls, leaping on Warren as he writhes in witchlight and crackling electricity.

His expression is blank, cold, when he shoves his runed dagger into Warren’s heart and gives it a savage twist.

~*~

“Chase,” Harper says, and the boy shakes his head. “Chase, you can’t—”

“Take care of my dad,” Chase orders. John grimaces at him from the exam table.

The druid watches him, intent and concerned. “Chase, I warned you—”

“I’m fine,” Chase snarls, and Tyler fidgets, because that was a lie.

“You’ll burn yourself to ash,” Harper murmurs, “You’ll kill yourself, and then who will protect them?”

Chase glares at him for a long moment, and then says stiffly, “Fix my Dad.”

He leaves without a word, and Tyler wants to ask. He wants to demand answers from the druid staring after Chase with something like regret in his gaze.

He doesn’t.

He follows his Shaman.

Chapter 19

“We can kill them,” Lucas suggests quietly while Chase paces. The tattoo on his arm is writhing, the air around him crackling.

“I don’t want to kill them, and you can’t,” Chase dismisses. He flicks a look at Lucas, sees the stubborn argument building there, and sighs. “I’m the Reid Shaman, Lucas,” Chase says gently.

Lucas stares at him for a long enough time that Tyler shuffles anxiously. “You—you bound yourself to her.”

“I bound myself to the Reid Pack because you are my Pack. You and Tyler.”

Lucas takes a deep breath, settling his fury for later, and nods. “What do you want to do?”

Chase goes still and a smile tilts up his lips, dark and vicious. “Let’s give them a present.”

~*~

There’s no scent on the box, and June has no idea how it even ended up there—but she carries it to Luther and watches while he slits it open.

She roars, a noise that breaks into a moaning cry as she stares at it.

“That is interesting,” Luther murmurs. He turns to the Pack. “I don’t want anyone approaching them.”

“We have to do something,” June snarls.

Luther gives her a patient smile. “We will.”

Then he walks away, leaving Warren’s head on the table behind him.

~*~

Tyler dreams. He dreams of the preserve, of Lucas howling and Chase watching him, of running, the feel of the ground sure and steady under his fleet feet, the Standing Stones’ magic a familiar hum ruffling through his fur.

He dream of a sticky sweet voice from a red mouth, dark hair, and darker eyes vanishing into the foggy woods. He chases her and she murmurs in his ear when he lays beside her, panting happily, her fingers stroking his big head.

Distantly, he can hear howling and he thinks he should care, but all he cares about is her, all he wants is to press closer and rub his scent into her, get covered up in hers.

She laughs and murmurs, Silly wolf.

She says, Show me where it is.

She tells him, Stay.

He lets the fog roll over him and her words tug at him, and he wonders what she wants him to show her.

~*~

“Tyler!” Chase is screaming and Lucas’s claws are digging into his arms, and Tyler growls, fighting them until—

He goes limp.

“Chase?” he asks, voice small. “Lucas? What happened?”

Chase stares at him, face so pale it makes Tyler whine and press into the boy, gathering him into his bleeding arms and curling around him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“It’s not your fault,” Chase says thinly.

He looks at Lucas and says quietly, “You can’t kill the alphas, but you can kill their witch bitch.”

~*~

“Trust me?” Chase asks.

He’s holding a little bowl that smells of ash, blood, and aconite that makes him want to sneeze. Chase is watching him like everything hinges on this one question, on Tyler trusting him.

Tyler nods. Even with the cloudy disconnect he’s been feeling all day, he knows this is true—he trusts Chase with his life.

Chase rewards him with a tiny smile and lifts a metal tube. “This is going to hurt,” he murmurs.

Tyler nods and stretches, exposing the curve of his ribs. He feels the quick, light press of Chase’s fingers, followed by the cool wet touch of silver. Then the needle punches in, and his vision goes grey.

~*~

He’s sweaty and shivering when it’s done, and Chase wipes it clean, movements nearly desperate. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Tyler, I’m so sorry.”

He can feel it, the way Chase’s