Chapter 19

Riley’s POV

I screamed like an overdramatic soap-opera star as four gleaming fangs sliced into my hip—through my favorite jeans, no less. My world went from “holy ow” to “wait, did I just black out?” in thirty seconds flat. The searing pain melted into a buzzing numbness, as if someone had hit “pause” on my hip and cranked the swelling volume to zero.

Then Noah’s wolfish grin retracted his teeth, and he gave my wound a wet, apologetic lick—think giant, slobbery Band-Aid—and whimpered. I shoved him away, slurring something like “Get. Off. Me,” though the only thing that came out was a gurgly gargle. My head grew fuzzy, my legs turned to Jell-O, and the planet did an unsolicited spin cycle.

Next thing I knew, I was free-falling toward the cold bathroom tile. Cue Noah’s heroic rescue dive: his broad back cushioned my skull so I avoided a face-plant