Page 35 of Runt of the Pack
“You should have stayed gone, boy.” Boris spits in the dirt, beady eyes deranged. “I’ll take pleasure in ending you properly this time... right after I’ve had my fun with your worthless bitch.”
A ferocious roar tears from my chest. The insult against my mate propels me forward, a blur of claws and fury. I bring down the first brute easily, tearing open his throat in a spray of hot blood. Whirling, I snap another’s spine with vicious efficiency.
But the others surround me swiftly, raining blows and splitting my skin with their talons. I thrash violently, dragging down another even as gnashing teeth gouge my shoulder. Sheer desperation fuels me. I will die before letting them touch Anya.
Through the snarling tangle of limbs, I glimpse Boris’ hulking form stalking towards where Anya lies vulnerable and unconscious, dagger glinting red in the fading light.
“NOOOOO!” I scream hoarsely, throwing my attackers off. But their grips only tighten, muscles bulging as I strain futilely. Triumph lights Boris’ pig-eyes. He raises the blade, aiming for Anya’s heart.
A deafening roar shatters the night. Boris whirls just as a giant fur-covered dark mass collides with him—eight feet and five hundred pounds of furious grizzly. The dagger goes flying as Boris hits the ground hard. He scarcely has time to shriek before mighty jaws close over his skull with a sickening crunch.
My opponents stumble back, bellowing in terror as more beasts burst from the trees—Ursa clan warriors in bear form, savage and unstoppable. In seconds, they make short work of Boris’ outmatched followers.
Now shifted into my human form, I drop to my knees, gasping harshly as the last body hits the ground. “Anya!” Thank the ancestors... I crawl desperately towards where she lies motionless in the trampled grass.
Before I reach her, a figure leaps between us, crouching protectively over Anya’s prone form.
“Stand down!” comes the thundering order nearby.
My vision is blurring, but I make out the glint of pale blonde hair and piercing sapphire eyes. Sasha, captain of the Ursa Elite guard.
Staggered footsteps approach from behind. I try twisting around only for agony to seize my battered body. A heavy hand settles on my shoulder. Turning my head takes monumental effort. I squint up at the battle-scarred face looming above me like something from a fever dream. Dark hair, granite jaw, chestnut eyes I know better than my own.
“Hello, brother...” Gavriil rumbles.
My throat works, but only coughs out red flecks. “You... came...” I choke out.
Gavriil kneels beside me with surprising gentleness. “Did you truly think I would abandon you?” His eyes tighten at my injuries. “Rest now. The nightmare is over.”
The last of my strength finally flees, darkness clouding my vision. But I force out ragged words past blood-soaked lips, clinging desperately to consciousness:
“Anya... protect her... please...”
Gavriil clasps my shoulder. “She’s safe, brother,” he assures me. “We shall watch over your mate as one of our own. But you’ve pushed yourself to the brink. It’s time to heal and recover.” He wavers as he grips me tighter. “Do not leave me alone in this world... Vlad...” His expression hardens, fierce maroon eyes glistening with held-back emotion. “I’ve already lost my most beloved mate. I couldn’t bear losing you, too.”
His voice fades away, along with the pain.
The roar of my pulse slows to a tranquil lull. Anya is protected, with Sasha watching over her. Gavriil is by my side. My wounds will mend. For now, blessed darkness beckons, promising much-needed rest...
I surrender to it fully, allowing it to claim me.
28
VLAD
Sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains stirs me awake. I blink against the unaccustomed brightness. Crisp linen sheets rustle as I shift upright, taking in the luxurious bedroom.
Velvet drapes hang heavily over the wide windows, offering a view of the meticulously maintained gardens. Rainbow prisms dance across the walls, cast by crystal chandeliers that hang from the high ceiling. The massive four-poster bed could easily accommodate four people, its intricately carved posts spiraling up to support the embroidered canopy above. A pitcher of water and glass sit atop the nightstand, accompanied by neatly stacked white towels.
Polished black leather shoes stand beside a mahogany dresser, a sleek bespoke suit hanging ready to be worn.
I rise slowly, muscles stiff and sore. But my wounds seem well on their way towards mending, the pain muted to a background ache. I make my way to the window and push back the drapes.
Warm spring air spills over my face. I breathe in deep, sorting through the scents of blooming vines and fresh earth. Beneath it all, a familiar note—cedar and aged timber, worn leather, and crackling hearth fires. The lingering fragrance of my childhood home, my father’s estate in Saint Petersburg. And now, Gavriil’s seat of power. I haven’t set foot on these sprawling grounds in almost a decade. However long I’ve been here recovering, my brother has clearly been a gracious host.
A loud trill grabs my attention. In the garden below, Samara strolls along a cobblestone path, arm in arm with an auburn-haired young woman. It’s Mila—sister to one of my brother’s Elite guards, Dima. They stop to admire the budding yellow tulips swaying gently in the breeze.
I turn reluctantly from the vibrant view, my thoughts drifting back to Anya as I dress in the fine clothes laid out for me. My fingers fumble with the white gold and diamond cufflinks, a burning desire to have her by my side once again pulsing through every fiber of my being. But Gavriil’s words echo in my mind—she is safe. Despite my overwhelming need to personally shield her from all danger, I must trust in that, and in the loyalty of the Elite Ursa warriors Gavriil dispatched to guard her.
