Page 93 of Howling
Isobel is a few steps away, her own group of men around her in a tight circle, her guards viciously fighting with blades.
The bodies are piling up.
Unfortunately, I am weakening.
My head throbs like when I receive one too many blows during training. Warm liquid trickles from my nose, and I hastilyswipe it away with the back of my hand. It comes away with a smear of bright red blood. I swallow hard, and the pain of holding so much magic burns through my veins like I’ve been guzzling acid. I sway alarmingly, but I refuse to release my hold.
Not yet, not until the threat is gone.
Gritting my teeth, I force the magic deeper into the ground when it tries to rise, ignoring the way my muscles feel like they’re slowly being stripped from my bones. Despite the pain, I can’t turn away from the horror when Geoffrey staggers in my direction, like he would physically suck the magic out of the very marrow of my being.
His body twists unnaturally with each step, a large hump forming between his shoulders, and his advance slows to a painful shuffle. Raw hatred gleams in his beady little eyes, but the stupid fool refuses to stop.
He knows if he stops, he will die.
Only pure spite is keeping him alive at this point.
Instead of a dapper gentleman, a wizened old man now stands in his place. The elegant clothing he’s wearing swamps his twisted frame, making him resemble a child dressing up in his father’s clothing.
The black cloud around him thickens. He’s so close that I realize it’s not insects circling him, but actual souls from the many victims he has harvested over the years. There must be hundreds of them, and I’m sickened by the destruction one man’s greed has wrought.
Without him pulling on the magic, my hold on it suddenly goes slack, and I fall back on my ass, gulping air like my body has been deprived of oxygen for too long. I cradle my arms to my chest, my whole body aching like one giant wound, and I’m unable to tear my eyes off what remains of Geoffrey.
The stubborn asshole stumbles toward me, his hold on the spell sputtering before it extinguishes altogether. Each breaththe old man takes rattles in his chest, but he never turns away from his target—me.
Only a few scraps of skin remain stretched across his face, revealing milky eyeballs and a grungy skeleton yellowed by age. A few tendons flex along the side of his face, the stringy muscles the only thing keeping his lower jaw attached. His mouth moves, but no lips or tongue remain, so nothing emerges but a chattering of teeth and a whisper of what sounds like air escaping a tire.
His whole body trembles as he lifts his leg, a wheeze escaping his throat. When his foot lands, the leg crumbles under his weight. He teeters for a moment, then crashes to the ground like a felled tree.
The instant his body slams to the ground, his fragile bones are obliterated on contact. His clothes barely contain the shattered remains of his skeleton. A fine plume of powder and grit explodes in the air and dusts everything in the vicinity. I immediately cough, ducking my head away to avoid breathing in the toxic cloud.
“May the gods save me, I think I just inhaled him.” I sputter and cough, trying to scrape my tongue with my teeth. “So gross.”
I don’t realize the fighting has stopped until Tyler snorts and crouches in front of me. He reaches out and clumsily swipes at the dust coating my face, and I grimace when his fingertips come away black.
Just fucking great.
“I need a shower.” I pull my shirt away from my body, shuddering when more Geoffrey bits tumble further down my front.
Surprise lights his face, his eyebrows shooting up, then a heated look brightens his green eyes to a dark, burnt gold. He flashes me a flirty wink, his expression a little too eager. “Do you need help?”
I snort at his horrible flirting.
Much to my surprise, damn if it doesn’t actually work.
Only I ruin everything when I shift, and my bones rattle around like loose marbles beneath my skin. His flirting turns to concern. Before he can open his mouth, Garth shoves his big body between us. Tyler is knocked away with a grunt, and I find myself with a lap full of a very concerned black wolf.
I forget just how massive he is until I can barely see over the top of his shoulders. He’s careful not to put his weight on me, and I can’t resist sinking my fingers into his fur.
He grumbles slightly, and I freeze.
Is he…purring?
The sound immediately stops, and his giant head swings in my direction. I swear his expression is accusing, but it’s ruined when he pouts and presses harder against me in a silent urge for attention.
After the way he protected me so diligently, who am I to deny him?
As my fingers dig deep, he melts into a puddle, a guttural groan rumbling deep in his chest. He swipes his tongue across my face, and I sputter, twisting away from his attempts to clean me.
