Blood and Wolf by S.M. Gaither (The Shift Chronicles: The Next Generation Book 1)
English | 2020 | Children/Young Adult Fantasy | ePUB | 780 KB
Eleanor McLelland is the daughter of a legend among shifter kind.
Oh, and she’s also the carrier of a curse that gives her the power to rip the world apart.
For seventeen years, she’s suppressed her magic and her wolf shifter abilities in an attempt to keep that curse under control, trading fangs and fire for manmade weapons that she trains with in secret, all while doing her best not to attract the attention of a Supernatural Council that thinks she’d be better off dead.
But you can only keep a wolf caged for so long.
After a devastating slip of her control, Elle finds herself on the run from enemies hell-bent on using her dangerous magic to break down the barrier that protects Earth from the creatures of parallel worlds. Determined to prove herself a savior instead of a destroyer, she sets off on a quest to find a way to make the walls between those worlds permanent.
Her greatest potential ally is a sorcerer who’s an even bigger outcast than she is. One as beautiful and as deadly as any sword in Elle’s extensive collection of them.
But can she really trust him to help her save the world?
Or are they destined to tear it apart?
An entire trail of it. Fainter on this side of the creek I’ve just waded across, but still acrid and burning in my nostrils.
I palm the handle of my sword—a seventeenth-century saber, one of my favorites in my impressive collection of weaponry—and I pick up my pace, ignoring the mud splashing on my jeans. It rained harder than I thought it did last night. The ground is basically a messy slip ‘n’ slide waiting to happen, which could be fun, but it isn’t really why I’m here, so…
I hold my arms out for balance. Study the path ahead, against which I can see the faintest trace of pawprints. So faint I hardly noticed them, but they’re definitely there.
Which seems weird.
Why would he have left prints?
The mud is soft, but so are a lycan’s footsteps. And combined with the very obvious scent trail he’s left, even the occasional outline of paws makes this…
This is way too easy.
It’s almost like he wants me to be able to find him.
The suspicion that I might be walking into a trap hits me about a second too late, and then—
“Son of a—”
(Language!) scolds a cheerful voice in my head, just before a massive ball of muscle and white fur slams into my side and sends me sprawling face-first into the mud.
I slide several feet in the mess, as predicted.
But it’s not fun. Definitely not fun. Mud should not go in noses. Or eyes, or ears, or…hell, any other crevices of the human body, really.
I’m trying to sit up, to sputter and wipe out said mud when I’m hit again. Knocked flat on my back this time, and suddenly Liam is over top of me like a giant, dumb, overexcited dog, with one of his paws lightly balanced on my chest, holding me down.
“If you drool on me, I swear on The Beatles that I am going to stick this sword right through that big floppy tongue of yours.”
(Say you surrender, and I won’t,) he replies. The words echoe in my head, sounding less smug than they would have if he was in human form and had spoken out loud; thoughtspeech has a way of diluting emotion.