Dark Wolf Rising. Rhyannon Byrd
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in his ears. His eyes narrowed with deadly purpose as he tightened his hold on the son of a bitch beneath him.
“No one touches the woman,” he scraped out in a low, chilling voice, aware of something shifting inside him. Something feral and violent and savage that wanted the bastard’s blood—but it wasn’t his wolf. It was darker, deadlier, rising up from the depths of his being like a primordial beast surging up from the seething belly of an ancient, merciless god. His fangs burned in his gums, heavy and hot, while his claws seared beneath his fingertips, eager to draw a river of blood.
Taking a deep breath, he could scent the Lycan’s fear in the air, and knew the male had sensed the darkness building inside him. Seeing through a red haze of rage, Eric lowered his mouth to the Lycan’s ear. “No one—not a single one of you gutter-slime assholes—is ever going to touch her,” he said in a soft, deadly slide of words. “Because I’m willing to do whatever it takes to see that she remains unharmed.”
Then he curled his hand beneath the Lycan’s chin, jerked it around with a powerful yank, and made his warning a fact.
Chapter 5
Blinking her gritty eyes, Chelsea tried to focus her wavering gaze, but it wasn’t easy. Making it onto her hands and knees, she crawled a few steps forward, until she was able to peek around the edge of the alcove.
Holy…crap.
She blinked again, unable to believe what she was seeing. She’d been worried Eric was getting his ass kicked—but she needn’t have been. He was standing in the hallway, hands clenched at his sides and his chest heaving, powerful muscles and veins bulging beneath the golden skin on his arms, while a massive, unconscious man lay at his feet.
From the look of things, Eric had been the one kicking ass.
She smiled, relieved to see that he was okay, even though she was finding it difficult to keep her thoughts straight. One moment everything made sense with perfect clarity, and in the next, she couldn’t remember what they were doing there…or why she was finding it so difficult to concentrate.
“Eric,” she said, her voice coming out as little more than a whisper. But he heard the scratchy sound, his head instantly lifting, hooded gray gaze locking with hers. “Are you okay?”
He gave a jerky nod, then reached down and swiped up what looked like a knife from the floor. The blade was long and gleaming, making the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It should have scared the bejesus out of her, but Chelsea felt strangely at ease as she watched him walk toward her, that lethal knife still clutched in his hand. For all his animal-like intensity, she was confident he wouldn’t hurt her—that he’d do whatever it took to protect her.
She watched him with rapt fascination, thinking it was ridiculous, the way she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about this man from the moment she’d walked away from him. That kind of obsession wasn’t like her, and she didn’t care for it. Wasn’t comfortable with it. Didn’t know how to handle it. She was scared to think about what it meant—but she wasn’t scared of him. Yeah, her head might be spinning, but she knew her best bet of getting out of that place alive was the gorgeous hunk who’d just slipped the knife in his boot, and was now reaching down to grasp her arms, pulling her back to her feet.
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