Page 93 of His Claim
I tilted my head, hearing voices, quiet, urgent, distorted slightly by the hum of machinery. We edged closer, ducking behind a rusted ventilation console near the intersection.
The voices grew clearer. Two wolves in uniform stood near a doorway, their rifles slung casually, unaware of how close we were.
“…said the serum worked better than the original sample they collected from that one girl,” one was saying.
The other snorted. “That’s good. That was a fucking mess.”
My breath stuck in my throat. I glanced at Elsie, but she only pressed a finger to her lips and motioned for me to keep listening.
“The commander wants them to start field tests next week,” the first continued. “They’re calling it Rage Type Two. That it’s twice as strong. Even works on wolves, or so the rumors say.”
“Twice as strong?” The other wolf whistled low. “What’s the point? The test subjects already tear everything apart. You make it stronger, you’ll have nothing left to study.”
“Orders are orders,” the first said. “The Council wants an army that doesn’t think. Just kills. Effectively.”
Elsie muttered under her breath, barely audible. “Idiots. You can’t control madness.”
My stomach twisted. “They’ve developed a new version of the rage serum!” I whispered.
She nodded grimly. “Sounds like it.”
The wolves kept talking, oblivious to us.
“I hear the original formula came from an organization called the Watch, some human conglomeration fighting against us wolves or something like that,” the first said. “Council just refined it.”
Refined it.
The words turned my blood cold.
They started down the hall, their voices fading. Elsie waited until the sound of their boots disappeared completely before she stood.
Her face was tight, pale under the grime. “Well,” she said quietly, “that’s new. And by new, I mean catastrophic.”
I swallowed hard. “Type Two… if it’s stronger?—”
“Come on, if we move fast, we can reach the lab before they find us,” Elsie interjected.
We followed the corridor toward the lab, the hum of machines vibrating up through the floor. The air reeked of antiseptic and ozone. I could taste it, that cold, clinical scent that always meant pain.
Elsie held up a fist, signaling for me to stop. We crouched behind a bulkhead door, listening. Voices drifted from inside, quiet murmurs punctuated by the hiss of vents and the click of metal on glass.
“Guards?” I whispered.
She tilted her head, listening. “At least a dozen.” Her eyes cut toward me. “We’ll never get a clean shot if they call for backup, so we go in loud. You shift; I cover you. No hesitations.”
My pulse quickened. “You sure?”
She grinned, cocky and wild. “Sweetheart, I was born to make bad decisions.”
And then she was moving.
Elsie slammed her shoulder into the door controls, sparks flying. The door screamed open. She burst through before the wolves inside could even look up, her rifle barking in tight bursts. The first two went down before they could even react.
I was right behind her, the scent of blood hitting me like lightning. My wolf howled to be let out, clawing under my skin until it hurt to breathe. I didn’t hold back.
I shifted.
The world cracked open into sound and scent from the burn of gunpowder, to the sharp tang of fear-sweat, to the heavy thump of boots against the floor. Every detail hit like a storm raging against the world. My claws raked the tile as I lunged forward.
