hne

a small glass cut on her elbow, Bonnie scrambled

?" she shrieked, her canines elongating

t in his full ceremonial President's Cut, flanked by his Sergeant at Arms-the Pa

crocodile tears streaming down her smeared face. "Darrell! Look what this savage did to me!

acking an allied Pack's daughter during our thirtieth anniversary

o Darrell, waiting for the ru

his collar loose. "Clubhouse sanctuary rules apply tonight. No blood gets spilled on the floor du

ed under classical and rock masters since childhood, she had

uel!" Bonnie wiped the wine from her chin and pointed at the d

gne off the tiles, and crawls out the front door w

dustrial metal was the heartbeat of outlaw biker culture; a dese

ves, exposing my pale forearms, and w

into "Night of the Tempest," a blistering fast solo. Distortion and heavy bass shook the raft

acated the seat. "Your turn, trash. If you only

keyboards without ad

ed onto the keys, the air

only three people alive had ever cleared the tempo. My fingers blurred into afterimages. Violent industrial

bloodline-the hidden White Wolf Dominion, direct descendants of t

r the crushing weight of the rhythm, the inner wolves of every Beta and Gamma in the room

xt to my speed, her award-winning solo so

hard the metal groaned, his mind flashing back ten years to a snow-buried cave where a little girl

ech-

fted my hands. For ten full seconds, a thousand outlaws stood in stunned si

ain gates: "Special Envoy Alistair Kensington of the pureblood W

most ancient pureblood Pack in North America-a power s

walked in flanked by twelve black-clad purebl

ng loudly to the crowd, "See that? I'm close friends with the young heiress of

subtly lowered his gaze, tilting his neck a fraction of an inch in respect before

nice mocked me from the stairs as the crowd fawned over Bonnie.

g the center of my brow as I wa