Page 87 of Pack Rage
“As a matter of fact…” He sent a pulse of power through my body. All the bullets that had been caught inside me were ejected suddenly. It hurt like fuck, before the power of my pack rushed through me, healing me instantly.
“How is Margarette?” Brand asked. “Where—” But Mom had loosed an unmistakable howl from the edge of the fight, drawing the enemy to her, while the others got the girls of Eastern and the boys of Tenebris to safety.
“She’s angry but alive, and I’d like her to stay that way,” I replied, before shifting into my wolf form.
“We’ll make sure of it,” Grigor said gently, but then went still. “Brand? Help Glen. I may need to assist Finnick.” He was gone before Brand could reply.
I nudged Brand with my snout. He responded by shifting into his own wolf form, massive and dark brown, like the loamy soil of the deep forest, but with silvered scars intersecting all over his coat. Proof of what he’d suffered to protect the pack so far.
I howled my promise to do every bit as much, if I needed to. The abuses, the imbalance—it had to end here tonight. And it would start with us keeping the smallest members of any of the packs from suffering even one more injury or injustice.
Thirty wolves howled along with me, through muzzles as well as human-shaped mouths, and the battle began to shift as Northern did what it had failed to do for years.
It protected the weakest ones.
Chapter 42
Fool Me Once
FINNICK
Iwas pushing myself to the outer limit of my endurance and strength as I fought as many of my parent’s new “allies” as I could at once, desperate to protect the innocents huddled near me. The two Russians I faced now both held silver blades, which meant they had no honor. I responded in kind, dropping to my knees and grabbing handfuls of dry earth. Fighting dirty, I’d accused Flor when we first met. Southern tricks.
These two were no more ready for them than I’d been, and when I leaped up toward them, flinging the dust in an arcing cloud into their faces, it flew directly in their eyes.
The first died on my claws before he could react. The second was still blinded and coughing when he died on his own blade. Their fellow soldiers stood around us, frozen at the speed of my attack.
That shock was the last thing they’d feel.
Just then, the moon brightened, bathing us all in its light. It felt like holy fire, racing across my skin and pouring into me, filling my veins with magic. I soaked it up like a desert landscape in an unexpected rain, and bloomed with violence.
The spell was down.
I tapped into the power that poured like a spring flood from Grigor and my bonds, and from the moon directly into my blood, and fought like a creature possessed. I sensed my brothers and my mate fighting their own horrific battles, carrying their share of the moon’s power and Flor’s red rage along with their own strength as we all threw ourselves against the enemies.
To my surprise, I was not alone in my fight. The same females who had leaped onto Niall’s corpse rose up at my sides and my back, grabbing every weapon they could find and protecting me from more than one strike, even though they suffered for their trouble.
They fought like Flor had back at Southern, as if they had nothing to lose, since they’d lost it all anyway. No hope, no future, no dignity. They fought with stolen blades, clawing silver bullets out of the packed earth and jumping onto the swords that were being used against them, getting far enough inside the soldiers’ guards to shove the silver into their mouths, forcing them to swallow, even as the girls bled out in the attempt.
They died bravely, escaping the trap of living in my father’s corrupted pack at last, and each death was a match on the fire that burned in my chest. I fought harder, trying to keep them all safe, though it was futile.
Until Grigor was there, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Did you save any for me, pup?” His grin was terrifying, and even though the Enforcers facing us didn’t know who he was at first, every one of them flinched when I replied.
“Grigor Dimitrivich, you know I’ll always share.”
The scent of urine filled the air as Grigor whirled to face the tall, battle-hardened soldiers. To their credit, they gave a half-hearted effort to raise their weapons against him. But none of them stood a chance. He spun, almost flying, his shadowed form appearing just long enough to pluck out an eyeball or two, or slita throat. In seconds, the ground around us was a thick mud that smelled of iron, piss, and despair.
But for once, it wasn’t the despair of the innocent. No, those females had risen again, and were doing creditable impressions of the boogeyman themselves, showing a savagery that had me blinking. Everything seemed to be going right, but my wolf was clawing at me, urging me to break away from this fight, insisting the true danger lay elsewhere.
My father. He had fled, but I knew better than to dream he’d left the battle entirely. He would know there was nowhere on earth he could hide from what he’d done.
Though he hid from me as I ran from one group of fighters to another, taking in the various contingents who were fighting, shame rising in my heart and bile in my throat as the Eastern Enforcers showed they all had silver, and used it without compunction.
Finally, I spotted his head bobbing near the edge of the crowd, his red hair a beacon. He was running toward an area that seemed to be clear, which was odd. Unless it was magic that held the others back… or a battle.
Of course, it was Flor. My mate, and my witch of a mother, swords cutting the air in a deathly dance, though Flor was laughing as she fought.
But she didn’t see my father running up behind her, no more than thirty feet away, a knife in one hand.
