The growl that rips from him is pure fury. His hand clamps around my neck like a vice, squeezing until my feet lift off the ground. I gasp, struggling as he chokes the air from my lungs.
“I haven’t seen you around before, and I know a brat when I see one,” he snarls. “You can’t possibly be from the Blood Fang pack. Our women are well-trained—submissive, obedient. But you—” his lip curls in disgust, “you’re a mouthy little brat who clearly doesn’t belong.”
My hands scramble uselessly against his wrist. Then, without thinking, I spit—straight into his eye.
He roars in rage and lets go, stumbling back with a curse. I collapse to the floor, coughing violently, sucking in air like it’s the most precious thing in the world. My lungs burn. My throat screams.
“How the hell could I be from here
