Mated to the Mafioso

[ 3 ] - Wolf With a Gun

[ A N D R E A ]

I try to think of any logical options, but no matter what I do, I can't outrun a lycan's supernatural speed. He'll shoot me on the first step. Shifting's too slow to consider, too.

So I lift my chin and give the wolf an even stare, raising my hands. "I'm a shifter too, okay? I'm on your side. Fuck the humans—"

"Forget about her! She's one of us—join Mike inside!" some guy yells from inside the car. I can't see through the tinted windows, figure out who it is, to try and meet his gaze. But I do look at the window, hoping that I'm looking at him.

"No. You know the orders, Dante—it don't matter what they is, we just gotta kill 'em—"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. The wolf's gun remains steady. His eyes are honeyed and golden, but his words are anything but. Werewolves can shift on a sliding scale from human to giant wolf, the middle point being a giant, bipedal wolf-person. This person's halfway between wolf-person and person. If the bullets in that gun don't kill me, a few swipes of his claws will. I don't know what options I have.

Do I offer to work with them? Show them a shift? Run?

I can't die here. Not like this, not here. Not my last real conversation being with Charlie.

"Fang! The fuck you doin'? Come on, stunad!" the gunman inside the store—Mike, I figure—says, voice making the ground shudder.

My knees wobble. I stay silent and keep staring at the tinted window, the man inside the car. Please don't let me die.

Fang's gun's is readied. Clawed finger on the trigger. I swallow.

"Fang, drop it. And that's an order."

Fang growls but complies, wordlessly rushing into the café, locking the door behind him. I immediately hear three gunshots and gasp, heart tightening. Okay. I just survived that—now—

"You'd better leave, and fast. If we find out that you called the police on us, you're dead."

The window rolls down, revealing a handsome man, Dante—all sharp edges, shadows. Deep-set, long-lashed eyes, shadow of a beard, jaw cut from stone. There's something angry in his eyes, which are golden, shimmery. Something alive. He watches me intently, chest rising, falling.

Oh G-d.

No. No. He's the man from the dream. The vision. The one who pulled me into that space, and let me lay against him, and—

"You—" I point, taking a step back, eyes narrowing. "You ass, you—"

He rushes out from the car, walking up to me. I square my shoulders, flare my nostrils.

"You remember me." He searches me, looking up and down, tone hushed, distant. Neutral. He's not angry.

"Of course I do! Wait—" I freeze, shaking my head. He saw the vision, too? "What—who—"

"Give me your name."

"Fuck you." I shake my head, looking back. My pepper spray and pocketknife are in my bag. I can't shift, not if this man's a werewolf—which he likely is. "Look. I just need to get my things and go, and I won't bother you, intervene. I'm on your side here."

"Please. Just—"

"Sofia." I lie, quickly. Easily. It's my go-to, when I look like myself. "You get a witch to do a weird, random naked vision thing? Or—"

"No time." he says, voice low. Screams behind. More gunshots. I flinch. "Get your things and go."

I want answers, but I want to live more. So I do just that, movements feverish, shaky. I stick my laptop into my messenger bag and sling it across my arm, not realizing how shaky I am. My arms are covered in patches of fur; no wonder he didn't question if I really am a shifter.