Page 37 of Tomlin

Tomlin’s vision blurred red as he collided with Finnar, his world shrinking to the Vultor beneath him. The scent of smoke and Etta’s fear filled his nostrils, fueling his rage. This male had dared to threaten his mate. He released Finnar’s throat, but only to rear back and slash at him with his newly extended claws.

Finnar howled in pain and bucked, throwing him off. They circled each other, teeth bared and eyes glowing with fury. The other male began to transform, growing larger as his fangs lengthened and fur covered his skin. His Krythian side growled a response, the increased threat only fueling his rage.

With a snarl, Finnar lunged, and he met him head-on, their bodies colliding in a tangle of limbs and rage. Claws raked across flesh, drawing blood and eliciting grunts of pain. His teeth found purchase on Finnar’s shoulder, and he bit down hard, tasting copper.

Finnar retaliated, his claws digging into Tomlin’s back but the pain was a distant echo as they rolled across the ground, a blur of snapping jaws and slashing claws. His world narrowed to thefight, his only thought to protect his mate. He barely registered the sting of his wounds or the ache in his muscles.

Finnar managed to pin him for a moment, his eyes wild with pain and hatred.

“You don’t understand,” he hissed. “They took everything from me!”

He roared and surged upward, flipping their positions. He slammed Finnar’s head against the ground, stunning him.

“And you tried to take everything from me,” he growled.

The fight continued, neither male willing to yield. Blood stained the earth beneath them, their primal battle reducing them to snarling, feral creatures. His claws raked across Finnar’s chest, leaving deep furrows and Finnar’s teeth snapped shut inches from his throat.

His chest heaved as he pinned Finnar to the ground, his claws digging into the Vultor’s shoulders. His Krythian side reveled in the violence, urging him to finish the threat to his mate. But a small part of him, the part that remembered his own struggles, held back from delivering the killing blow.

Finnar’s struggles weakened, his eyes losing their wild gleam. The fight drained from him, leaving only a hollow shell of the vengeful creature he’d been moments before.

“End it,” Finnar rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve won. Finish what you started.”

He dimly heard Etta calling his name, but he couldn’t stop. His fingers curled around the Vultor’s throat, squeezing. The need to eliminate the threat consumed him.

“Tomlin, stop!” Etta’s voice finally cut through the haze of rage. “He let me go. Don’t kill him!”

His grip loosened a fraction. The Krythian part of him still screamed for blood, urging him to eliminate the threat to his mate, but as he stared down at his defeated foe, he saw something familiar in those pain-filled eyes. The same anguish he’d carried for years, the weight of loss and isolation.

Finnar’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths. “What are you waiting for? Do it!”

The rage that had consumed him began to ebb, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. The part of him that understood loss, that had grappled with his own darkness, held him back. He finally released the other male and sat back on his heels, his body shuddering.

Finnar’s eyes met his, a mix of confusion and resignation in their depths. “Why?” he croaked.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he fought to find his voice. The words, when they came, surprised even him.

“Because I understand,” he growled, his voice rough with emotion. “I know what it’s like to lose everything.”

Etta put her hand on his shoulder, her presence calming his inner turmoil, reminding him of who he was. He was afraid to look at her, afraid he would see horror, or even fear in her eyes, but when he reluctantly met her eyes, he saw only understanding.

“You haven’t lost everything,” she whispered.

Thank the gods. He turned into her arms, pressing his face against her stomach as she gently stroked his back. Her lovesurrounded him, stripping away the last remnants of the fury which had consumed him.

He sensed someone approaching and sprang to his feet, pushing Etta behind him, ready to defend her again if necessary. Even when he recognized Seren’s scent, he remained alert, not sure how the pack leader would react to the violence.

Seren’s eyes went from him to Finnar, sorrow filling his face before his expression hardened. The Vultor lay motionless on the ground. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He was damaged but alive.

“I’ll take him from here,” Seren said, his voice low and authoritative.

Finnar’s eyes snapped open at the sound. He struggled to push himself up, wincing in pain.

“No,” he growled. “I won’t go back.”

“Yes you will. This ends now.”

He felt a shift in the air, an invisible pressure emanating from Seren - the power of an alpha asserting dominance over a pack member. Even as an outsider, he could sense its strength.

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