Page 33 of Howling
Instead of allowing the capsule to land, one of the wolves snaps it up into his mouth, and I wince. “Bad move, dude.”
Once activated, nothing can stop the spell. The blood in the tiny capsule explodes out in all directions, the shards hardening like spikes, impaling anything within a three-foot radius. The wolf doesn’t even have time to yelp as seven needle-like spikes impale him. Three pierce his skull, one emerging from the underside of his jaw, where it practically decapitates him. Another slices out his ear, splattering blood and brain matter, while another punctures his eye socket…ripping his eyeball clear out and presenting it to me like a macabre kabob.
The last needle exits out the side of his neck, impaling the second wolf. He yelps, scrambling backward to remove it fromhis flesh. We both watch as the first wolf sways back and forth, the blood needles slowly melting before the creature crashes dead to the floor.
The second wolf glances at his dead packmate at his feet, peers back toward me, then turns on his paws and dashes back out the door with his tail between his legs. When I turn, I find myself alone in the kitchen with five dead wolves littering the floor. Following the sounds of battle, I leap over the mangled remains and hurry out the door.
Stepping onto the back deck is like walking into a war zone. Three additional wolves lay dead on the ground, looking like they were torn apart by a monster, leaving seven more wolves still standing and fighting. Just as I step off the porch, ready to enter the battle, I notice a set of bloodied footprints leading off the edge of the steps before they vanish into the darkness.
The sharp report of the gun from above has me twisting to see Tyler taking aim from the rooftop. He must have crawled up the support columns, the fox using his advantage to play target practice with the wolves. With his legs spread, arms steady, he systematically shoots at the beasts without missing. When the clip runs out, he replaces it without even blinking, the smooth action sexy as fuck…and very practiced.
Who the fuck are these guys?
Dante is holding his own, blood matting his back and white fur, most of which is not his own. Even from a distance, I can tell he’s enjoying himself, not hesitating to take the kill when it presents itself. He throws himself into the fight without a care for his safety…and with good cause. He’s fucking magnificent to watch as he destroys his opponents.
Garth remains in his human form. Though he’s a brutal fighter, he’s taking too many hits, and concern tightens my chest. Despite the wounds that litter his body, the blood soaking his clothes, he moves like he doesn’t feel them. He kills anythingthat steps into his path with a focus that is deadly…and worrisome.
A wolf spots me standing on the porch, the creature bigger than the others. From the alpha power radiating from him, he’s obviously the man in charge.
And for some reason, I’m his target.
Fucking great.
The wind suddenly changes direction, and a rank, wet dog smell drifts on the breeze.
Pack.
Corrupt.
The wolves are the same ones who attacked Foxy just this morning.
This is obviously retaliation for getting their asses handed to them by a girl, and I roll my eyes that men can be such macho dicks. Even the slightest hit to their pride, and they have to settle the score.
It’s rather pathetic, if you ask me.
A snarl curls the mutt’s snout, saliva drips from his fangs, and he slowly stalks closer. My wolf is desperate to shift, wanting to join the battle and meet the challenge wearing fur and claws. It’s been too long since I last shifted, and I tighten my hold on my dagger to keep my wolf from taking over.
My beast doesn’t understand the need for secrecy.
We are different from other shifters, and my wolf wants to show off our badass nature.
We are something special, something to be cherished and praised, not something to tuck away in shame.
We are alpha.
I shove her down hard, unwilling to distract the others and put them in danger. If anyone guesses the truth, even more people will hunt us. Focusing on one problem at a time, I place my hand on the railing, ready to leap the distance to the wolfcreeping toward me, when a shadowy shape streaks out of the forest. The two creatures collide with a thud that I swear shakes the ground.
I spare a quick glance at the new guy, wondering if the men have a fourth member of their pack that they didn’t mention, but I’m distracted when another wolf bounds up the steps toward me. Grabbing the railings on either side of the stairs, I kick out with both feet, my boots slamming into his throat and chest hard enough to throw him back three feet.
He lands with a heavy thump, a high-pitched yip escaping the beast. The wolf bounces on impact, and I swear I hear bones crack. Even as he scrambles to his feet, wobbling precariously, I refuse to let him escape, the need for his blood filling my veins.
Following him, I leap off the porch, skip the steps completely, and dash into battle. Just as the wolf lashes out, I bring up my knife. When the blade nearly severs his paw, the wolf yowls in pain, and I hiss in a sharp breath as his other paw manages to skate down my arm, shredding flesh in the process.
A flash of agony registers briefly before my training kicks into overdrive, and I compartmentalize it. It’s a brutal injury, but not enough to take me out of the fight. My advanced healing is prioritizing the worst of the wounds, already starting to stitch the muscles back together, but it will take a while without one of my potions.
Pissed that blood continues to drip down my arm, I switch my blade to my other hand, never once taking my attention off the threat. The wolf stumbles back on three feet, rage twisting his features. When he limps backward again, like he’s ready to flee, I follow him, refusing to let him retreat, only for him to come back for the guys later when I’m not here to protect them.
Snarling in a fit of fury, the wolf charges me in a blitz attack, determined to take me down in retaliation before he dies. Though I’m fast, running isn’t an option, not when dealing withshifters. Their instinctual drive to hunt will take over…not that my wolf ever considered it.
