Page 32 of Howling
Worse…I’m starting to agree with him.
He’s desperate to shift and show off our prowess. Unfortunately, the damned runes etched into the necklace around my throat prevent it. I’m only allowed to shift when the council grants their approval. It’s slowly driving my beast feral, the need to fly, fight, and fuck ingrained in every cell of my existence.
To be denied is a form of torture, which is exactly why they did it.
Can’t have me become more powerful than them.
When the advancing wolves attack, I have to bite back the instinctual need to roar in challenge. I won’t allow Francesca to use the fight as a distraction to escape me.
It’s time for me to finally step out of the shadows.
I’m done with just watching.
I step off the branch, dropping to the ground and landing in a crouch that barely disturbs the leaves. As the wolves breakthrough the clearing, darting toward the house at full speed, I charge through the forest to reach my little obsession.
The dragon huffs in excitement to finally be so close to her, the beast practically preening at the chance for her to admire our prowess while being able to slaughter her enemies at the same time. Since being captured nearly a century ago, true excitement thrums through my veins.
One way or another, the fate of my little obsession changes today.
I just hope she’s ready for it.
CHAPTER NINE
FRANKIE
The instant the wolves breach the house, a snarl escapes Garth. His body bulks up, his mouth fills with fangs, and deadly black claws tip his fingers. He doesn’t hesitate to throw himself into battle, tangling with the first two wolves through the door.
Energy crackles in the air, bones snap and pop. Before I can turn, Dante launches himself across the room, his wolf sailing right out the door. A cacophony of snarls answers his challenge, then I have no more time to think when I spot a wolf slinking up behind Garth.
I plant one hand on the island, gripping my blade tight in the other, and I vault across the room, landing directly in his path. The beast growls, murder darkening his mud green eyes, and he charges toward me.
I drop backward and swing out my foot, my boot nailing him across the snout. The pain is enough to disorient any animal, something I learned firsthand during training. The beast yipsin distress, lowering his head and shaking it, as if to clear the ringing in his ears.
Not giving him a chance to recover, I spin back to face him, lashing out with my Carpathian blade. The lethal edge slashes across his face with enough force that blood splatters, and the beast retreats a step, leaving his throat exposed.
I force my claws to emerge before reaching forward to clamp my hand around his neck. My talons slice through fur and flesh, cutting arteries and cartilage. When I pull back, his shredded trachea is in my fist.
Innocent people are often confused about the rules when fighting.
Only, there are no rules.
It’s all about survival.
The wolf’s mouth opens and closes a few times, his eyes round with disbelief, then his beast staggers and drops dead to the floor. I don’t have a chance to celebrate my win, as the clicking of more claws clambers across the wood floor from the front of the house.
The next wolf emerges from the darkness, charging toward me at a dead run. I brace myself for the collision, unable to move with Garth still fighting at my back…then three deafening reports of a gun fill the air. Blood blooms along the wolf’s side, causing him to yip and snarl.
A glance over my shoulder shows Tyler standing on the kitchen island, a smoking gun still clutched in his hand. The cheerful fox has vanished, replaced by a merciless killer with no emotion. His charming personality is gone, like it never existed, and I suddenly wonder which version is the real one.
The bullets weren’t enough to kill the wolf. The beast stumbles, his pace slowing only slightly, then the creature is on me. I punch him directly in the snout, earning me a sharp yip,and I barely dodge back in time when his paw lashes out to swipe at my face.
Thankfully, Gramps insisted I learn to fight against different beasts. While shifters are fast, I’m faster. When the shifter lunges for me, I fall onto my back, plant my feet in his chest, and fling him over my head.
Claws breeze by my face, the razor-like nails so close that a tiny bead of blood lifts from the barely there scratch on my cheek. Even as the beast snarls, twisting to attack me, I thrust my knife upward and gut him in one smooth move as he soars over my prone body.
Blood and guts spill, the liquid hot as it splatters my face and chest. Experience taught me that it’s a killing blow, so I don’t bother to watch where he falls, already searching for the next attack. When two more wolves stalk me with slow steps, I hastily shove to my feet, almost slipping in the gore coating the floor.
People never tell you how messy it is to kill someone. As the two wolves advance, I fish out the small capsule from my back pocket, puncture the plastic with my claws, then I toss it at the encroaching beasts. “Sanguineus.”
