Page 4 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
The firelight turns red, and the third man runs.
I chase him.
He makes it to the tree line before I barrel into him from behind, sending him sprawling. He screams for help, begs me not to kill him, calls me a monster.
I pin him with one paw and look into his eyes.
He’s crying. Wetting himself. He’s not sorry; he’s afraid.
I press my weight down and hear his ribs cave in.
One breath. Then none.
The last man was the first one to laugh. The one who said I had “holes.”
He’s the only one still standing. Staring. Frozen.
His mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
He takes one step back. Then another.
He turns to run, but I’m faster.
I tackle him to the dirt. He fights. Harder than the others. Punches land on my neck, my side, but they don’t hurt me.
He’s loud. Screaming more shrilly than the others. It pleases me.
I rake my claws across his face, and he shrieks.
I bite down on his side. He bucks as I tear away flesh.
“I’m sorry! Please! Don’t—don’t kill me!” he sobs.
I could let him live. Let him limp back to his friends, broken and bloodied and less of a man.
But I remember what he said. What they all said.
I remember the hands. The metal walls. The faces.
The last man is crawling now.
I stalk toward him, blood matting my fur, breath steaming in thick huffs. His legs are useless—twisted beneath him from being slammed to the ground. He’s howling now, face slick with tears, blood, and spit.
He reeks of fear. I savor the scent.
He tries to scramble backward, but all he does is smear more red across the forest floor. “Please,” he gasps, his voice hitching. “Please—I didn’t—”
I snarl. Not just from rage, but from something deeper. Something old. Something hollowed out by too many nights in the dark with nothing but pain for company.
He said I had “holes” that they could “use.” He said I was a gift the forest dropped at his feet.
He was wrong.
I bare my teeth, feeling the taste of his terror like iron on my tongue. My muscles coil. One more lunge, and I’ll rip his throat from his neck. He doesn’t deserve a quick death, though.
I stalk forward, and a growl cuts through the night.
It’s not mine.
