Rejected By My Pack, Claimed By The Lycan King

len

the rusted awning of a pawn shop, water dripping steadily onto my cheap canvas jacket. I kept my shoulders h

ending a spray of dirty water over my boots. The driver didn't get out

ckseat. In the rearview mirror, Justin Frye's nose wrinkled in profound disgust. He was an Omega, the lowest ranking wo

ry, trash," Justin muttered,

pathetic, tr

he cabin, sliding up to seal me in the back. The second it clicked s

cross the screen, exploiting a vulnerability in the Lincoln's Bluetooth network. Justin wouldn't

Justin's voice crackle

are waiting under the I-94 overpass. Let them have their fun. Break her spirit,

one. They thought I was a lamb being led to the slaughter.

neath the massive concrete pillars of the I-94 overpass. The locks clicked shut.

rth, and feral aggression seeped

leather seats and my lap in shattered glass. A fi

gh-pitched, te

went t

ow straight into his exposed throat. Cartilage crunched. He dropped with a choked gu

e cheap, decorative stick from my hair bun. It wa

with feral intent, their bodies easily twice my

ng his arm instantly. I spun, sweeping the knee of the second, feeling the joint snap under my boot. A stri

er. Six massive rogues lay groaning and twi

pour and the frantic, hyperventilating

ed smear off my titanium pin onto his flannel shirt, and slid i

face pale, his eyes wide with a primal, suffocating terror. He was star

m, my eyes dea

said, my voice devoid of a