A curtain of red covered some of her vision. She was bleeding from above one of her eyes. Through the curtain, she was barely able to see Anders fighting for his life too. At least there was one wolf she didn’t see—his father’s.
A blow to the back of her head had her tumbling down to the ground, dirt and bloodied grass on her tongue. She spat them out. I have to stand. If they trample me, I’m dead.
Her legs pushed against the ground, but she hadn’t the strength to stand completely. Her legs buckled the first two times she tried to stand. On the third, a wolf’s head plowed into her midsection. She slammed to the ground again, lying on her side. Her neck was exposed. Her paw went to her throat to protect herself, which meant there wasn’t a chance of her standing.
The wolf that headbutted her stood over her. Before it could attack her, a Red Nightwalker sneaked up on him and engaged him in battle.
Misti forced herself to stand. It took her a minute to be able to, but once she was up, she could move again. Instead of fighting, she tried to wiggle around the battles, and soon spied a form near the bushes, low and trying to hide.
Now that was the right idea.
Too bad there weren’t any other bushes nearby for her to claim.
She limped her way over to the bushes. The wolf was obviously injured, maybe even dying. If she could kill him or her, she’d be able to use the body to hide herself.
The wolf was none other than Anders. From the way he didn’t even stir at her approach and the sight of his bruised and broken body, she could easily kill him and implement her plan.
Misti stalked toward him, feeling almost like her old, hunter self.
But could she really kill him in what might prove to be a vain attempt to save herself?
8
Anders couldn’t move. Every breath he took sent a shockwave of pain throughout his body. His father had disappeared from the fighting, he had noticed, but that didn’t give him any degree of happiness. His father still lived, and his father was even stronger than he had been the first time they had battled. Another time when his father had bested him, and on that occasion, Anders hadn’t already been half-broken from numerous battles.
He’s always had the upper hand on me. He always will. And my death, that will be his too.
He almost wanted to die. The pain, the agony, it was too much to bear.
A shadow crossed his vision, and he could hardly lift his head to see who had come to finish him off.
Was it…
Misti?
Her upper lip had been curled back into a snarl, but now she was tilting her head, staring at him as if puzzled. You’re dying.
Maybe. Now that she was here, he could pass on more peacefully. His life had changed the moment he met her, and if he could go back, he wouldn’t change a thing.
Actually, he might have tried to have her a few more times, and he definitely would have told her how he felt about her, so yes, he did have some regrets.
She snuggled beside him.
His nostrils quivered at the scent of blood. You’re hurt yourself.
I’ll be fine. Just need a… moment to rest.
Rest equals death right now.
They were howling softly to each other, their words barely audible among the death shrills and howls and whimpers all around them, the slashing of claws and fangs. This battle was vicious. This battle was an all-out war.
If this doesn’t stop, everyone or just about everyone will be dead.
Misti laid her head down on her paws. Maybe that’s for the best.
Anders had been shivering. With Misti beside him, he was stealing his warmth, and he felt marginally better. He forced himself to stand. It’s me Father wants. If I surrender, maybe he will call back his wolves, and you all will be safe.
Don’t be ridiculous. Her howls were getting louder, but none of the battles wolves paid them any attention in their secluded spot. My father won’t—