Twenty Six year old Blake Hunter is the Alpha of the largest pack in the region. Finding his mate is the last thing on his mind.
But, in the midst of dealing with uninvited relations, aspiring future Lunas and increasing rogue attacks on his easter...
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Fire.
A burning sensation that tore through his whole body, leaving no nerve untouched. A pain only the touch of silver could create, but unlike anything he'd ever endured before. Marcus clenched his teeth and tried hard not to scream. Penetrating deep into his torso, scalding waves of agony assaulted his senses; blocking out all thought but for a single, tortured cry: Luna! Make it stop.
Hands touched him. Every movement setting off new tendrils of torment across his skin. Fingers wrapped around his neck; a wet stickiness seeping down into his ear. He felt pressure above his liver, and in his chest; an agony that burrowed deep as though it had taken on a life of its own. Forcing his eyes open, he found himself confronted by a disembodied head hovering over his own; all wrinkles and weathered skin.
Heedless of the fight for survival raging around him, Samuel seemed to be concentrating on something below Marcus's neck; urgency in his every movement. He didn't notice the pain-filled eyes following his lips as he talked to someone out of sight. “Pack it tightly, use whatever you can find...”
“Like this?”
Issac's voice, Marcus thought blearily. He could just make out the young warrior's drawl over the ringing in his ears.
“That's right... nothing else we can do. Some are going to have to come out though...”
“How many are there?”
“At least two dozen. There's too much blood, I can't see...”
He couldn't focus on what they were doing. The fire in his veins numbed his ability to focus too closely on his surroundings. He sucked in a deep breath; the air burned in his throat like scalding tea, the effort of filling his lungs an act of pure determination.
I'm injured.
One hand made a valiant attempt to reach up and touch his stomach; it made it as far as his side before dropping back to the floor, slick with blood and exhausted from the effort.
Issac’s head swam into his field of vision and the warrior stared down at him with worried eyes.
Is it bad? Marcus wanted to ask him, but the flames kept him quiet.
“Oh, Goddess, he's awake!” Issac called to Samuel, the panic evident in his tense, cracked voice.
Okay, it’s bad.
Samuel’s head appeared beside Isaac’s, the lips moving frantically, but a tinnitus-like ringing blocked out half the words: “Damn it, get" – Marcus tried to lift his head – “would be better if he” – He couldn't. The arid reek of burnt fur stung his nostrils – “hold on Marcus, we need to extract” – He could taste rust on his tongue. Panic set in, stoking the flames further – “Hold him down...”
What's happening to me? What's happen –
Two strong hands pressed down on both his shoulders. Agony pierced his chest wall. A sharp, stabbing, probing pain that reached deep beyond the fire to a whole new level of torment. The scream that tore from his lips was primal. He arched his back in an instinctive attempt to get away, writhing against whatever pinned him to the cold, damp earth. But Issac held on with all his strength, his eyes apologetic but determined.
