Page 67 of Our Little Monster
“What do you want with her?” Thorne growled.
“She killed my brother when she was on her little murder spree, and now it’s time for justice to be paid.” He landed on all fours, his body shifting fully back into the massive beast from before.
Thorne stepped protectively in front of me, his breaths heaving and labored. His wounds leaked crimson on the forest floor, but he stood strong.
“You’re not going to touch her,” he seethed, and the Werewolf’s head cocked with a snarl.
“Very well, then you’ve chosen your death,” he sneered before he attacked.
Thorne shoved me back with his inhuman strength. He wasn’t trying to hurt me; he was trying to separate me from this fight.
But I refused to leave him. The Werewolf tackled him to the ground. Thorne was weak—too weak. Any Vampire should be able to get out of his hold.
I rushed forward as I heard Thorne roar out in pain; the wolf had clamped his jaws between his neck and shoulder, ripping it to shreds.
“No!” I screamed in anguish.
I seized the opportunity, lunging forward with all my strength. The dagger met resistance as it pierced the Werewolf's back again, and again and again.
A howl of pain reverberated through the trees as he released Thorne. Blood oozed and sizzled from the dog’s wounds.
The Werewolf recoiled, but I refused to relent.
I pressed the advantage, slashing and stabbing with the silver dagger, each strike driven by desperation, determination, and…
Fear…
Fear of losing.
Not fear of losing my life.
Fear of losing his.
Thorne…
The Werewolf’s movements had stilled, but I had kept slashing, kept stabbing. I was sure I had hit his heart multiple times, but I couldn’t stop until I heard Thorne's voice.
“Serina… it’s okay,” he murmured weakly, still underneath the beast that lay dead on top of him.
“Thorne,” I rasped, tasting the salty tears that I knew were streaking down my blood-splattered face as I used all my strength to shove the wolf off of him.
I quickly cupped his cheeks, looking over his body. His wounds were awful and wouldn’t stop bleeding.
Shaking my head, a sob burst from my lips. “Fuck, Thorne, why aren’t you healing? What do I do? What do I do?” I cried, trying to get the bleeding to stop.
“I’ll live, Serina, I just… I just need to feed. Help me get back to the house; I’m sure there’s blood in the fridge,” he said, his breathing coming out in heavy pants, sounding wet from his own blood.
He tried to stand with my help, but we only made it three steps before he leaned up against a tree and slid down its trunk.
“Fuck, Thorne, get up,” I whined, trying to throw his arms over my shoulders and lift him with no luck.
“Listen to me.” His voice was a raspy whisper; he sounded like he was fading, and it was tearing me apart. “Go back to the house and get Nox. He’ll bring me something.”
Howls echoed through the trees in the distance, and panic consumed me as I looked over my shoulder, glancing at the dead Werewolf crumpled in a heap. But now his fur and claws had receded, and he was nothing but the body of a man lying in a pool of his own blood.
“They travel in packs. I can’t just leave you here; they’ll kill you,” I argued, and he closed his eyes, his head lolling back against the tree.
“I’ll be alright,” he whispered, so low I could barely hear him now.
