Page 11 of Howling
He smells of dirt and pines and something ancient and lethal that no longer roams the earth.
While I’m skilled, the chances of taking on the two of them at the same time are slim at best. Releasing the blade, I slowly straighten and raise my hands in the air. I rise to my feet, stepping backward so the stool is in front of me.
A slim barrier, but it’s better than nothing.
“Dante! Garth! Knock it the fuck off!” Foxy darts forward before I can stop him, standing between me and the threat.
Everyone moves at once.
I grab Foxy, kicking the chair at the other two for a distraction. I push off the cupboard, flipping us both over the top of the island, ignoring the way dishes crash to the floor. The wolf snarls, wood shatters like kindling, and claws clatter against the floor as the beast scrambles after us.
I don’t even hear the Adonis move as I snatch a frying pan off the counter. I whirl, ready to brain the closest attacker…only to have Foxy grab me from behind. He twists, pinning me against the fridge, and a twinge of betrayal cuts me deep. Even as I shove away from the appliance, part of my brain wonders if this was a trap from the very beginning.
Then the wolf plows into both of us, and we crash to the ground in a pile of tangled limbs.
Foxy spins, keeping himself between the wolf and me. I whirl, ready to fight, then still when Foxy grunts in pain. The sharp scent of blood fills the air, and my wolf snaps its teeth in fury.
I bark out a command, using every ounce of power at my fingertips. “Stop.”
Everyone stills.
The only sounds are their panting and the steady drip of blood slowly pooling under Foxy. I’m virtually pinned underneath him. He’s so close that barely an inch separates us, the position so intimate that my insides squirm with discomfort. Ignoring the sensation, I scan his face with concern. “Foxy…how badly are you hurt?”
The lines of his face soften, then he scowls and glares at the others in the room. “Fucking idiots. What happened to talking like rational human beings instead of attacking like savages?”
CHAPTER FOUR
DANTE
“Foxy?” I mutter, highly amused, despite the dire situation. My beast thrashes beneath my skin, a furious snarl escaping him, enraged at the thought of anyone controlling us. My fingers twitch with the need to snap her neck, but damned if I’m able to move.
The rational part of my brain is curious how she manages such a feat when no one else can contain us.
Including myself.
I’d been wandering for what felt like decades when I stumbled across the guys. I’ve been staying with them for three years now, living under the radar, doing everything not to draw attention to myself. I’m one of the last of my kind, maybe a dozen of us remain, and that’s a good thing, since we’re pure psychopaths.
I’m a fabled skinwalker.
Something about us being able to shift into one creature after another fractures our psyche or some shit. As long as we’vetasted their blood, we can turn into them. We’ve been hunted to near extinction, thanks to fear or straight-up jealousy.
If you can kill us and take our skins, you can steal our abilities. Lies, of course. That special talent is reserved for skinwalkers alone. We’re considered the ultimate predators—and the ultimate challenge if you can take us down—expecially by our own species.
The only way we survive is by blending and adapting.
And what is quicker than stealing someone else’s existence and stepping into their life?
Many people have forgotten we existed, lost to the annals of time, and that’s the way we like it.
The other two men are as big of misfits as I am, making them unsuitable for life in a pack. We shouldn’t get along. We’re complete opposites, not to mention alphas in our own right. Yet somehow, we work.
We never stay in any place for too long, always on the move, not wanting to draw attention to ourselves and our unusual quirks. Though it’s a hard way to live for shifters who thrive on being part of a pack, our fucked-up family works.
I’ll be damned if I allow a female to endanger us…no matter how gorgeous a temptation.
I glance at Tyler, smothering my concern, and focus on the threat. He grimaces when I mention his cute little nickname, but it’s the girl who answers me, gently wiggling out from under the pile until she’s crouched next to him.
“Foxy kept things mysterious and neglected to introduce himself,” she murmurs, peeling the shirt from his back to reveal deep claw marks raked down his spine. Her attention is focused on the fox, completely oblivious to the feral wolf frozen just a foot away, despite every panting breath he takes rippling the silken strands of her blonde hair.
