Ezekiel barely had time to react when a book came hurtling toward his face. It struck him in the jaw and fluttered to the ground like a dying bird. Face stinging, there was a sudden and drastic change in Ezekiel’s appearance. His fur rippled from his neck to the base of his spine, hidden only by the wolverine quiver. Amber eyes darkened and narrowed to a terrible thing, furious that she had dared to strike him. This he could forgive. Afterall, he had not struck back, though his traitor hands demanded such a thing.
His lip was bleeding. The warrior rubbed the back of his hand across his jaw. Without moving further, he spoke in a voice that was low and like distant thunder. “Get out.” It was not a request. Both hands had curled into fists. Ezekiel did not fear her. He feared himself, and he feared what he would do to her if she continued on like this.
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