Page 136 of Torin

Torin lowers his head.

He could kill him.

“Don’t kill him.”

Torin looks at me.

“He needs to answer for this.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move.

Then the huge body begins to change.

His shoulders narrow. Fur recedes. Claws shorten into fingers until Torin is crouched naked over my father, one knee planted on his ribcage.

My father stares up at him.

“Who the hell are you?”

Torin’s chest is still heaving.

“I’m Torin. Hannah’s mate.”

My father looks at me, then back at Torin.

“And now you think she belongs to you?”

“No.” Torin’s answer is immediate. “That’s the difference between you and me.”

His grip tightens on my father’s shirt.

“She doesn’t belong to anyone. She chose me. And I chose her.”

Dr Whitmore groans.

I turn towards him.

He’s slumped against the front wheel of his Volvo with one hand pressed to his shoulder. Blood has soaked through his shirt and is running down his arm.

“We need an ambulance.”

“My phone’s in my jacket,” he gasps.

I find it and pull it from his pocket. My hands are shaking so badly I nearly drop it.

I call 911.

“911. What’s your emergency?”

“Two people have been shot. We need an ambulance at the Hayes residence on Ridge Road.”

Dr Whitmore grips my wrist.

“Tell them who shot me.”

I look at him.

“Sheriff Hayes,” he says clearly. “Tell them Sheriff Hayes shot me.”