Page 62 of Enemy Wolf

I felt like a half-dead mouse getting batted around by a cat.

This is why wolves run in packs, I thought, returning shakily to my feet.

Another voice, one I recognized as my wolf’s, growled in reply. Why do you need a pack? Are you not strong enough to do right by your mate?

My head swam with fuzzy images, memories that all blended together. All of Shiloh. When she first confronted me with that baseball bat over her shoulder. Her hands reaching out toward my wolf, her scent and voice filling him with calm and ease. Her flushed face and the heaves of her chest when she’d needed me during the full moon. The taste of her then and afterwards. Our times together here, in these woods. Not just the sex we had but the conversations and laughter.

No, this fight wasn’t meant to have a pack involved. This was about her, my mate. No one could fight this dragon but me. Because he had threatened, had harmed, the most important person in my life.

Bleeding from at least three places, Mokir eyed me warily as I rose to all fours to confront him again. He still had the advantage but knew he couldn’t be careless. Plumes of smoke curled from his nostrils while his lips pulled back in a terrifying grin. Panic stabbed at my chest, and I tried to discreetly sniff at the air. Did he…?

The dragon reared back with a great gulp of breath. The air between us distorted, and I could already feel the oppressive heat. I turned and started running, darting behind a boulder that was immediately engulfed in flames. My flank that had touched the rock burned with a hot, stinging pain that made me howl, and I ran for cover.

Yeah, the fucking dragon had his fire back.

I was so preoccupied with escaping the fire that I again didn’t anticipate the tail.

It barreled into my side, shoving me into another rock. This time, I heard the distinct pop of a bone breaking and felt the radiating pain that followed.

The tail pulled away, and now I was limping on three legs, just trying to get anywhere that wasn’t fire and pain. My broken leg slowed me way down though, and I screamed in agony as a blast of fire hit me directly. I could smell my own flesh cooking, hear the sizzle and pop of burning tissue and fat.

I wasn’t going to win this. I could only drag my burnt, battered body so far. A few flesh wounds on him compared to my getting absolutely wrecked? It was no contest. Only shock and adrenaline kept me going, kept me limping and dragging myself away like the prey I was.

The blistering heat was being replaced by a deep sense of cold, and I knew my body was shutting down. My nervous system could no longer process all the pain signals, could no longer support my racing heart and aching lungs.

I had failed not only my mate but the territory.

I was getting so fucking cold that I began to see my own breath puffing in front of me.

Mokir had given me a bit of a head start, but he was on me again in no time. A light shove knocked me over, and I hit the ground to see him towering over me, grinning once again.

I was so damn cold that my whole body shivered now. He probably wouldn’t even finish me off, he could just watch the life drain out of me instead.

I’m so sorry, Shiloh.

Pressure built up in my stomach and chest. Weirdly, that sensation was freezing cold too, like my insides were turning to solid blocks of ice. If that wasn’t a sign of dying, I didn’t know what was.

The pressure inside me mounted as Mokir shoved me again, rolling me to my back. My stomach began to convulse, and I felt the urge to cough. Knowing how painful it would be on my likely-broken ribs, I suppressed the urge. Although projectile vomiting as my final act on the monster who was about to kill me would be funny. Shiloh would probably laugh.

The dragon stood directly over me now. With my vision going out, I could only make out the rough shapes of his body—front legs on either side of me, long neck, triangular head.

Another icy convulsion rolled up from my stomach to my throat, the urge to throw up stronger this time. My flagging strength made it harder to keep my jaws clamped shut.

Mokir reared his back, his jaws open and relaxed enough that I could see the glow of the fireball inside his mouth. He paused with his neck curled back, the size and brightness of that fireball growing.

More ice, more pressure building up in my stomach and throat. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop it this time. Oh well. Puking on a dragon as a last hurrah it is. At least the pack will have stories to tell, if they ever find me.

My upper body rolled forward with a strength I didn’t know I had. The convulsion started low in my belly and rippled upward like an icy wave. I opened my mouth just as the dragon opened his.

Fire singed the fur on my ears and top of my head. The pain was a bygone thought as a horrific shrieking sound pierced my ears. The fuzzy outline of the dragon was now thrashing back and forth, the high-pitch sound full of horror and agony.

It took me too long to realize with a detached fascination that it was not vomit pouring out of my mouth.

It was ice.

Chapter 23

Shiloh

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