Page 3 of Samuel
I couldn’t run anymore. I could barely even stand.
The pain in my leg was making it harder to focus, but I couldn’t afford to give in to the fear. Not yet.
The bushes at the edge of the clearing rustled, and the first rogue werewolf emerged.
Its eyes gleamed in the dim light, glowing a sickly yellow, its body twisted and malformed from the loss of its human side.
The smell hit me first—rancid, feral, like rotting meat.
I tightened my grip on the knife, though I knew it wouldn’t be enough.
Rogue shifters were far stronger than any normal beast, their sheer brutality unmatched by anything human.
The second rogue appeared a few moments later, its maw hanging open in a grotesque snarl, dripping saliva as it circled around me, waiting for the right moment to strike.
My heart pounded so hard it felt like it would explode.
This was it.
The first rogue lunged.
I barely had time to react. I slashed out with the knife, catching it across the snout, but it wasn’t enough to stop it.
The force of its attack knocked me off my feet, and I hit the ground hard, the air driven from my lungs.
Pain shot through my side, and for a moment, I couldn’t move.
The rogue was on top of me in an instant, its jaws snapping inches from my face.
I shoved the knife into its throat, the blade sinking deep into muscle and flesh, but it barely flinched.
Blood spurted onto my hands as I twisted the blade, trying to get it to back off.
But it wasn’t enough. The second rogue charged, its eyes gleaming with vicious intent.
I rolled to the side, pulling the knife free from the first beast just as the second one’s claws swiped where my head had been.
I scrambled to my feet, my leg screaming in protest as I forced myself to stay upright. My vision blurred with the effort.
Sweat soaked through my shirt, sticking the black camo fabric to my skin.
My breath came in harsh, uneven gasps, but I wasn’t dead yet. And as long as I wasn’t dead, I’d fight.
With a snarl, the first rogue charged again. This time, I thought I was ready, but I barely dodged the creature’s attack.
Blood dripped from my fingers, my last knife lost somewhere on the forest ground. My breaths came in shallow, painful gasps.
I fought to stay on my feet, but I knew I was already on borrowed time.
“Screw this,” I muttered, though my voice was barely more than a ragged whisper.
My vision swam as I looked toward the tunnel—the only slim chance of survival.
But then my gaze shifted to the two rogue shifters, circling me like predators sizing up their next meal.
Their glowing yellow eyes seemed to gleam with excitement, and I swore I could almost hear their thoughts: Dinner is served.
I winced as one of them lunged at me. It was fast, too fast for me to dodge in time.
