Page 99 of The Pack

Suddenly I saw what I could only describe as my worst nightmare just feet away from me.

It was a man, but I meant that in the loosest sense of the term, and he wasmassive.

His body was grotesquely muscular, his skin pale and mottled with scars and strange, dark patches. He wore the tattered remnants of what might have once been clothes, but they hung in shreds around his bulging frame. His head was bald, his features twisted and asymmetrical, with a jaw that jutted out unnaturally and eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light.

He grunted as he rifled through some wreckage, his massive hands tossing aside pieces of rusted metal like they weighed nothing at all.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

It wasn’t just his size or his appearance that sent a shiver racing down my spine—it was the way he moved. Controlled. Too human to be an animal, but too warped to be entirely human.

He wasn’t like the creatures I’d seen so far; this was something else.

And then he turned, his glowing eyes locking onto me.

“Fresh meat,” he rasped, his voice deep and guttural, but unmistakably English.

He was talking about me!

My heart stopped, and for a moment, I couldn’t move.

Then he lunged.

I barely had time to react, my instincts taking over as I darted to the side. His massive hand slammed into the ground where I’d been standing, the force of it sending a tremor through the earth.

I scrambled backward, my knife in hand, as he straightened to his full height.

“You run?” he growled, his lips pulling back into a grotesque grin. “No one runs from Mogg.”

Mogg. He had aname?

Now I had no doubt he was intelligent. This was bad.

He came at me again, fast for someone his size. I slashed at him with my knife, the blade catching his forearm and leaving a shallow cut, but it wasn’t nearly enough to take him down.

He roared, the sound shaking the air around us, but it didn’t slow him down. His enormous hand swiped at me, and this time, he caught my arm.

I cried out as he yanked me forward, his grip like iron. I twisted, driving the knife into his side, but it barely seemed to faze him.

“You fight good,” he grunted, his grin widening. “Mogg like fight.”

I kicked at his legs, my boot connecting with his shin, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled me closer, his huge frame towering over me as he ripped the knife from my hand and tossed it aside.

“No more fight,” he growled.

Before I could react, he hoisted me off the ground like I weighed nothing. My feet kicked helplessly as he carried me deeper into the woods, the haze swallowing us whole.

“Mogg find you,” he said, his voice almost gleeful.

I struggled, my fists pounding against his chest, but it was like trying to punch through a brick wall. His strength was monstrous, and every attempt to free myself only seemed to amuse him.

Finally, he stopped in a small clearing, his glowing eyes scanning the trees. He moved quickly, grabbing ropes from a bag slung over his shoulder and tying them around my wrists.

“Mogg make you stay,” he grunted, his hands working with surprising precision as he secured the ropes to two nearby trees.

I screamed and thrashed, but it was no use. He stretched my arms wide apart, pulling the ropes taut until I was on the tips of my toes, my body straining against the bindings.

“There,” he said, stepping back to admire his work. “Now you don’t run.”

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