Blood Rights [Wicked River 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read Free

clearing.
    It was for that reason that Brock couldn’t believe his eyes when Moira charged the Walker, her arms pumping hard as she ran full-out. Did she really think that she could simply run right through her enemy? What the hell was she trying to do?
    When the monster swung at her again, Moira ducked the blow and dropped her shoulder, ramming it right into the Walker’s midsection, sending them both crashing to the mud. “Go!” she screamed to her pack as she rolled off her foe and hit the ground running.
    The beast was just as quick to gain his feet, splashing through the rising puddles in his pursuit. Barking and snarling, Brock ran faster than he ever had in his life, his paws clawing against the earth to propel him forward and his eyes never straying from their target—the unprotected nape of the Walker’s neck.
    Chaos and panic surrounded him as most of the pack fled for the cover of the nearby barn. A few of the male members stayed behind, engaging the enemy to give the smaller and weaker a better chance of escape. While Brock worried for Koba, hadn’t seen him since the battle began, he knew the man could take care of himself. So, he focused all of his attention on Moira and the Walker closing in on her, pushing himself harder, faster, and with single-minded determination.
    His tunnel vision gave him a front-row view to the tragedy unfolding before him, and his heart nearly stopped beating as he watched the Walker leap through the air and tackle Moira to the mud. The pair slid several feet across the slick ground, but came to an abrupt stop when a large, gray wolf appeared out of nowhere, catching the Walker around the neck and using his momentum to pull the asshole off of Moira.
    Too bad the stubborn alpha couldn’t let it go. And they said men had more pride than brains. “I had him!” she shouted, delivering a hard right hook to the Walker’s temple.
    Finishing off the beast with a fierce growl, Koba backed away a few steps and shifted right there in the middle of the clearing. The rain pelted against him, soaking his long, black hair and running off his nude, tanned body in rivers. None of that seemed to bother him, though. He advanced on Moira, grabbing her by the upper arm and spinning her toward the barn that sat on the edge of the field.
    Brock slowed his pace to a trot, following silently behind the pair as Koba prodded Moira through the downpour. The surviving Walkers had retreated back into the forest, and it would fall to Brock and his team to hunt them down.
    They needed to clean up the mess in the clearing, make sure the pack was safe, and regroup before that could happen, though. Just then, his main priority was sticking close to his mates and ensuring no further harm came to them.
    “I had him!” Moira repeated, wrenching her arm out of Koba’s grasp.
    “Yes, and there’s an open bar in hell,” Koba countered with a snort. “Are you always like this?”
    “Who the hell do you think you are?” Spinning around so fast that her wet hair slapped her in the face, Moira pushed a finger right into Koba’s chest and snarled. “You don’t belong here.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “You’re welcome,” Koba repeated. “You know, for saving your life.”
    “I didn’t need saving. Now, tell me. Who are you?”
    “Koba Blackheart.”
    “And that means what to me? Why are you here?”
    Deciding things couldn’t get any worse than they already were, Brock dropped his head as the change washed over him, and his body reformed to his usual six-four height. “He’s with me.”
    Moira’s head snapped in his direction. The shock was evident in her expression, even in the darkness, though it was quickly followed by cold, hard rage. “Brock Lancaster.” The name was spoken with such venom it was a wonder he didn’t drop dead where he stood.
    “Hey, Mo. Fancy meeting you here.”
    His lame attempt to lighten the mood would have earned him a fist to the jaw if Koba