Wild Card by Moira Rogers

base of his spine.
    Jack pulled Dawson’s arm behind him and leaned down. “Give me a compelling reason why I shouldn’t snap your spine right now and save myself a world of headaches later on.”
    Dawson made a valiant effort to throw Jack off of him, but he couldn’t muster the leverage. “You don’t deserve to be alpha,” he muttered angrily. He snatched a knife from his belt and slashed it across Jack’s forearm.
    It hurt like hell, but Jack didn’t release his grip. He grabbed Dawson’s wrist with his free hand and used the strength he usually kept so carefully in check. Bones gave way beneath his fingers with a grind and a sickening crunch. Dawson screamed a curse and jerked his injured wrist away. Then, insanely, the man began to laugh.
    Jack’s blood chilled. “What?”
    His laughter died with a wheeze. “You think those three idiots up there helped me cut the fence? You’re stupider than you look.” He snorted. “I sent the rest of them out to her place already to take care of things.”
    With the blood pounding in his ears, he didn’t hear Dawson’s spine snap. A furious growl tore free from him as he rose to his feet, leaving the limp body on the ground as he shifted his gaze to the three men on the porch. “This is your only warning.”
    None of them lifted their eyes, and all of them murmured their understanding.
    Fury rode him hard, and it was impossible to get within five feet of his horse. He tore his clothing free instead and channeled that rage into the change. As soon as his paws hit the ground he launched himself in the direction of Ginny’s property and prayed.

 
    Chapter Five

    “Hazel, where are the rest of those .30-30s from the hall closet?” Ginny swore and worked the lever on her rifle, sparing Oliver a quick glance. “You’re bleeding.”
    Oliver rose up on one knee as he stuck his rifle through a shattered pane of her front window and fired. “It’ll stop soon.”
    “Here.” Hazel appeared around the corner with her arms full of boxes. “I think these are all of them --”
    Oliver made it halfway across the floor and dragged Hazel down before Ginny could even speak. “Stay down ,” he hissed. “Unless we’re covering you with fire, you keep your ass below window level, got it?”
    The tension in the room twisted into something hot and feral as Hazel let out a low snarl. Her shallow, quick breaths were audible even over the gunfire from the front yard. For a moment, Ginny was afraid the girl was going to lose it then and there, in the middle of a firefight.
    Hazel rolled away in the next instant, coming to her hands and knees a few feet from Oliver. “Ginny.” Her voice sounded high and frightened -- a lot more frightened than it had a few seconds ago. “Where can I go?”
    “Get to the washroom in the back hall.” Ginny caught the boxes that Oliver kicked her way and tore one open with one hand. “Stay there until I come get you.”
    The girl scurried away, and Ginny made a face at Oliver as she reloaded her rifle. “Nice, Ollie.”
    His own chest heaved, and he growled at her as he made his way back to the window. “Cut me a little slack, Ginny? I’ve been shot.”
    “Not a lot of time for slack, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
    She could have sworn he smirked. “Again, shot .”
    She blew her hair out of her eyes and peered out the window. “Only four left. Not bad.” We won’t wonder how many Jack ran into over at Dawson’s, will we, Ginny? “Unless someone flanked the house and is about to bust through the back door.”
    “Doubtful.” His dark eyes studied the front yard. “I think they planned on numbers and surprise.”
    “And catching me and Jack with our pants down.”
    He made a small, choked noise. “I wasn’t going to say that.”
    “You were thinking it.” It was Ginny’s turn to growl. “What the hell are they waiting for?”
    “Bet they’re almost dry.” He slid the barrel of his rifle slowly through the window. “Doubt