Clash of Claws (Shifter Guardians Academy, #1)

by Elizabeth Dear

“The redhead is Wyatt Gale,” Mallory went on. “His beast is a bear, believe it or not.” I blinked in shock, then immediately began to sneakily check him out from under my lashes. Most Prime bear shifters were big burly guys built like offensive linemen on a professional football team. Wyatt was big—at least six-four by the look of him—but he had more of a linebacker’s build, brutal but agile. His hair was a dark auburn shade, cut short on the sides but long and messy on the top. He wore distressed black jeans and boots with a white Henley molded to his broad chest. I could just make out small black plugs in his earlobes and the intricate tattoos that crawled out from under his collar and up the sides of his neck.

Heath was only an inch or so shorter than Wyatt but built just as solidly. He wore a gray long-sleeve shirt with the college crest and crisp blue jeans that hugged his very tight ass. His hair was darker at the roots before fading naturally into sandy-blond strands, wavy and artfully tousled. His exposed tan skin was tattoo free, and he sported just enough stubble to add a rough, masculine edge to what was a very pretty face.

He was at least six-foot-two, with broad shoulders and a solid torso that tapered down to trim hips and strong thighs. His chocolate-brown hair was wavy, curling over his forehead and at his temples. He wore stylish dark-framed glasses, tailored gray slacks, and a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, which put his corded forearms on display.

“If that man doesn’t anger-bang you before the end of the semester, I will eat my shoe.”

He was beautiful, this guy. His eyes were an eerie yellow gold—a unique color, even for a shifter. His inky black hair hung in tousled waves over his forehead and around his ears. A thin gold hoop hugged each of his earlobes, and he had another looped through his nostril. He wore no jacket or sweatshirt, only a loose linen shirt that was unbuttoned halfway down his sternum, showcasing olive skin and a sculpted chest. A tattoo peeked from his collar—a snake, wrapped around the back of his neck and draped over his shoulders, the head and tail each dipping just below his collarbone. This had to be Elijah. The basilisk shifter. Fourth and final member of the Blackwell Quad. George’s daddy. He stared at me for a second, and then he broke into a big, beaming smile as if I was the most exciting thing he’d ever seen. He resumed his climb, headed straight for me.

“You are the most infuriating female I’ve ever met.” Finally, some praise. “Thank you.”

My brother’s practical reading of the situation was that while a girl like Phoebe was mostly his type (pretty, well-mannered, wolf blood) and kind of my type (pretty, smart, agreeable), she wasn’t Wyatt’s (hot, mouthy, wild), and she sure as hell wasn’t Elijah’s (we’d yet to unlock this mystery).

“Give me back my sword, and keep your groupies in line if you don’t want to clean their blood off the walls of the Magical Ed building. And if you proposition me again, I will cut off that cock you’re so fond of using to make all those poor girls think they have a chance. Understood?”

“There she is,” Wyatt said, green eyes blazing. “Our savage girl. Wrap that hand around my throat again anytime, Wildcat.” Heath and I both slanted a look at him. Avery had choked Wyatt? Not fair.

Because the fact that her body rejected magic after an attempt to kill her? It was eerily similar to my own mother’s story.