Page 19 of Relics of the Wolf

Not slowing, Duncan ducked the blow of the man swinging the pool stick. It smashed into the wall where his head had been and broke. Another guy surged into his way, blocking him like a football fullback.

Duncan roared and rammed a shoulder into the man, sending him flying. So powerful was the blow that the guy’s feet left the floor and he landed on his back on the pool table. Its stout legs shuddered under the weight.

These were big guys, and, as I crept closer, not sure how to help but wanting to, I sensed that some of them had magic about them. They weren’t werewolves, but could these be more imbibers of the Tiger Blood potion?

With one man out of the way, Duncan tried to get by again, to chase the blond guy, but the big brutes continued to block him. One did more than that; he hurled an axe at Duncan’s chest.

I cried an alarmed warning and raced in, grabbing a pool stick off a rack on the wall.

Duncan blurred as he dodged, moving so quickly that the axe didn’t even brush him. It struck the wall instead, bounced off, and landed on the floor. Another man with a pool stick in hand lifted it, aiming for Duncan’s back. With my new weapon, I surged forward and cracked him on the head.

The man staggered as the wood snapped. They didnotmake pool cues stout enough to handle paranormal strength.

Unfortunately, my target didn’t drop. He snarled and turned toward me, swinging his own stick. I managed to duck but felt the wind of its passing over my head.

“You dare attack a lady!” Duncan snarled and sprang onto the man’s back, his arm snaking around the guy’s neck.

“Don’t kill him!” I blurted in fear, glimpsing the utter savagery in Duncan’s brown eyes.

He had to be close to changing, but this wasn’t the wilderness where the authorities would shrug off a death caused by a wolf attack as a force of nature. That was especially true in this bar where at least half the people knew exactly what we were.

I expected Duncan, his instincts ruling him, to ignore me—or not even hear my cry—but he glanced at me. Instead of choking the man or breaking his neck, he drove a knee into the back of the guy’s thigh and hurled him sideways. Our foe smashed into the wall, then pitched to the floor, dazed.

“You okay?” Duncan asked me.

“Yes, but— Look out!” I warned again.

A man who could have tried out for the role of the Incredible Hulk shoved the pool table across the floor, demonstrating much greater than human strength as the thick legs skidded across the floorboards. That table had to weigh hundreds of pounds.

The hulk caught Duncan off-guard and managed to pin him between the table and the wall as his buddy crawled away, barely avoiding being crushed himself.

Duncan grunted as the table rammed him in the waist. The guy kept pushing at it, as if he could smash a werewolf like a bug.

Grabbing another pool cue, I moved toward him, but a couple more men crouched in the way, eyeing me with axes or fists raised. They glanced toward the back of the bar. The blond man had disappeared through the door. They seemed to be checking to make sure he’d gotten away. Damn it, he might have had the case with him. We had to finish this so we could try to catch up with him.

His back against the wall, Duncan gripped the edge of the pool table and pushed back. The tendons in his neck stood out as he growled and shoved it away, overriding the strength of the hulk. When he had space, he sprang atop the table, landing in a crouch and dodging dangling light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. Not hesitating, Duncan kicked his adversary in the face. The man spun away, not able to maintain his footing, and tumbled to the floor.

I growled, the noise far more lupine than human, and advanced with the pool cue. The two men who’d been blocking me considered me anew and decided to back away. Duncan jumped down, ready to attack further, but the hulk was crawling away on hands and knees. The rest of the men backed farther, dropping their weapons and raising their hands.

Crouched with his fingers curled, Duncan looked like he wanted to keep fighting—like the savagewolfin him wanted to keep fighting.

“The blond guy,” I reminded him.

I jogged toward the back door, keeping the pool stick in case one of the men changed his mind about letting us go. But they’d accomplished their goal of buying time for their buddy to get away. They didn’t impede us as we ran out the back door.

On the walkway, the foot traffic had dwindled, the fog thickening and muting the city lights. The mist had turned to drizzle, and the blond man wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Duncan thrust his nose upward, inhaled deeply, then ran toward the waterfront street. I couldn’t smell our enemy but would have guessed he’d gone that way, regardless. It was either that or hiding out on the pier—or jumping into the water.

I jogged after Duncan, glancing left and right, half-expecting the guy to leap out of an alcove or doorway and attack us. But all we saw were shoppers and diners meandering along the walkway. Duncan paused when we reached the street, again testing the air.

“Can you smell his trail?” I wouldn’t have doubted he had that power as a wolf—I would have also—but, even though our senses were keener than typical in human form, we lost the anatomy necessary to rival bloodhounds.

“He smelled of crushed lavender. It was noticeable.” Duncan took off along the sidewalk of the waterfront street.

Ihadn’t caught a floral whiff from the guy, but Duncan had gotten closer to him than I had.

“Maybe the soap in the men’s room has that scent,” I said before remembering the man hadn’t gotten to go in. Still, I couldn’t imagine that thug carrying lavender sachets around for kicks.

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