Charmed Wolf

everything from picnics to birthday parties. It was also the perfect setting for a battle. Plenty of room to swing bladed weapons with the intent to kill. In this case, Rune was hacking and Ryder was dodging and I could already smell the salty tang of blood.
Which made no sense. For the entirety of our acquaintance, Rune had always been able to contain himself. As Ryder said, he’d never once gone wolf—a shifter’s usual response when pushed past our emotional limits. Barring a few seconds with Erskine, he’d never even seemed close to losing control.
But, past notwithstanding, Rune was out of control now. His blade swiped low and Ryder barely blocked it. Metal screeched against metal before the two sprang apart.
Perhaps Ryder was similarly confused. That’s the only explanation I could give for him throwing oil on the fire. “What, you can’t reel her in but you’re mad when I bait a hook?” the tattooed shifter grumbled. He stank of electricity and fur.
Rune smelled even worse. Like fallen leaves slumped into a puddle, rotting there without oxygen until bubbles of sulfur strained for the surface. I swallowed against the foulness, knowing that in three, two, one....
Yep, there was nothing like a fight to attract the entire pack.
At least a dozen shifters were now assembled around us. I could feel them jostling for better views, which was annoying but not really problematic. From the little I’d seen of him, Ryder liked to start things, and I well knew that Rune was proficient at shutting down dicey situations. Momentarily, Rune would brush off his friend’s teasing. Momentarily...
...I was proven very wrong. Because this time, Rune feinted then aimed for a place much more dangerous than knees or shoulders. This time, his sword settled sharp and deadly across Ryder’s unprotected throat.
My chest tightened. One wrong move and Rune’s friend might bleed out on my turf. That wasn’t right. Was it possible the tattooed motorcyclist wasn’t really Ryder but a fae impersonating him? Or perhaps...?
Whatever was going on, I chose to trust Rune’s instincts. So I slapped my pack mates with an order: “Disperse!” Then I drew my knife and stalked up to the pair of panting men.
“Butch, what do you want me to do?” I murmured, keeping my voice low enough so any stragglers wouldn’t hear it. Gripping my weapon tightly, I kept the rest of my muscles loose and ready to move.
I was ready, but Rune didn’t even acknowledge my presence. Instead, he growled deep in his throat, sounding so much like a wolf that I shivered. His gaze didn’t waver from Ryder’s. It was almost as if he didn’t even realize I was there.
Ryder was more aware of his surroundings. His eyes flicked down to the blade, then back up to his friend’s face. “Ru—” he started.
And Rune pressed down so hard blood rose along the sword’s edge. Ryder’s breath was raspy now. His hands curled into fists.
Meanwhile, I was even more confused than I’d been previously. If this person knew Rune’s true name, then he really was Ryder. And if the person bearing Rune’s face didn’t want his true name spoken, then he really was Rune.
So why wasn’t Rune releasing his friend?
Whatever the reason, the sword sank in a millimeter deeper. Ryder made a frantic grab for the hilt then let go with a strangled moan as the beads of blood at his throat coalesced into a trickle sliding down his chest.
His eyes were closed and I wasn’t so sure he was even breathing. Rune was killing his friend and I knew deep down inside that he’d regret it once he was back in control of himself.
So I did the only thing I could think of to save Ryder’s life.
IN RETROSPECT, I COULD have used the same weapon Ryder had been going for. Rune’s true name would have forced him to obey me. Utilizing that, I could have called him off as if he was a dog being forced to heel.
But maybe my subconscious realized that was the wrong move. Realized Rune needed to be the one to stop himself. Whatever the reason, instinct sent me in another direction, straight for the sweat slicking Rune’s chest.
Because, despite the swamp-muck stink rolling off him, my gut said there was still some persimmon hidden beneath the surface. Still some of his inherent sweetness. All I had to do was hunt it down.
Cautiously, my fingers feathered across Rune’s muscles. His breath caught, and I paused, hoping I hadn’t just prompted him to drive his sword in deeper.
No, he was statue-still. Achingly slow, I drew away from him then lifted my damp hand back to my face to sniff.
Yes. There it was. Persimmon, faint yet present. Careful not to wipe away the sweetness, I used the same fingers to pick at the scab on my throat.
Because my blood plus Rune’s persimmon would rekindle the hint of a connection I’d severed an hour earlier. Or at least I hoped it would. Hoped that would make a difference in Rune’s current daze....
I winced as the scab came loose. Now Ryder wasn’t the only one with blood on his throat. I had no real idea what I was doing, but I smashed my palm into the wound I’d recreated, ignoring the pain as salt struck damaged flesh.
And something inside me clicked into place. Persimmon rebounded, not full force but stronger. Was it my imagination, or did the indentation beneath Rune’s blade lessen the tiniest bit?
It had lessened, but the danger didn’t ease up entirely. Meanwhile, the persimmon scent emanated from me only while Rune still smelled like swamp muck.
So I’d need to take this one step further. Removing my bloody fingers from the source of the persimmon, I wafted the combined aromas in front of Rune’s nose.
Wafted the aroma...and my unprotected neck. Mine was thinner than Ryder’s. More easily snappable.
Meanwhile, so close to Rune, I could see into his eyes. There was no humanity present. Instead, he resembled a predator doing what predators did best.