Page 36 of Alpha Unchained
He doesn’t hesitate. Neither do I.
Waylon shifts mid-stride, the mist coiling around him like a beast summoned by rage. His bones crack, limbs warp, fur bursts through skin as thunder echoes low through the trees. Hecomes out massive—thicker, heavier, power in every line of his hulking form. He lets out a snarl that shakes pine needles from the trees.
I don’t bother matching him for size. I’ll never win that way. He fights like a battering ram. I fight like a blade.
We collide in a thunderclap of fur and teeth. The force of it sends us both tumbling down the slope, a mess of snapping jaws, ripping claws, and grunts muffled by blood. He clamps down on my flank, and fire lances through my side. I twist, driving my hind legs into his belly, kicking free.
I’m up first, lunging, but he’s faster than I remember—he meets me midair, jaws locked with mine, muscles surging. We roll again. He slams me against a tree, and the crack of bark and bone rattles my skull.
He comes for my throat. I drop and spin beneath him, claws raking his underbelly, then leap, teeth sinking into his shoulder. His roar is deafening.
We break apart, panting, blood matting our fur.
Above us, the fight still rages. I catch flashes—wolves dragging mercs into the underbrush, snarls and shouts echoing across the slope. Smoke from a detonated grenade stings my eyes. Somewhere, someone screams, and then silence swallows it whole.
Waylon growls, circling me. One eye is nearly swollen shut, blood dripping from his muzzle. He lifts his head in defiance as though he believes he will win. He won’t. I made the mistake of letting him go once; I won’t make it again. This ends here and now. I lunge again.
This time I feint left, then pivot under his strike, using his bulk against him. My teeth lock on the tender line of his neck, just below the jaw, and I drive forward. He bucks hard, raking claws down my side, but I don’t let go.
I hold.
For Hudson. For Kate. For Elena. For our child.
With a guttural snarl, I rip sideways. Sinew tears. Blood sprays.
Waylon stumbles, gurgles, then falls hard to his side.
I don’t wait.
I go for the throat.
One final bite. Deep. Permanent.
His body jerks once—twice—and then goes still.
I stand over him, chest heaving, blood dripping from my muzzle, ears ringing from the silence that follows.
Around us, the fighting slows. The mercenaries have seen what happened. Some flee into the dark; others drop their weapons, raising their hands. Wolves herd them together, snarling low. The air hangs heavy with the stink of smoke, blood, and fear.
Hudson limps toward me, battered and bloodied but upright. He gives a sharp nod, then turns to the rest of the pack.
"It’s done," he says.
But it’s not peace.
Not yet.
I lift my head and howl—long, low, full of everything we’ve lost and everything we’ve reclaimed. A call to the Hollow. To the mountain. To whatever ancient thing still watches from the trees.
Waylon is dead.
The Hollow belongs to its people again.
And this time, it will not be taken easily.
CHAPTER 16
ELENA
