Page 46 of Destined Predator
No, there was no space for anything likeregretandsorrow. There was just him, the strength and cunning inside him, and whatever lay around him. That was his pack, as usual, but which at the moment was under attack and that he had to protect. Casey recognized the leanest jackal, one of the first two to exit the barn, as the alpha who’d tried to kill him yesterday. Alpha by default—the cur didn’t have what it took, and Casey showed him that, sending a series of quick, highyipsas instructions to his family to stay back, because he was going to take the fight to the enemy. He didn’t need to look around to know they’d listen. When he gave an order, they trusted it. That’s what pack meant.
The two opposing factions, coywolf and jackal shifters, grouped into half-circles, each behind its leader, instinct and tribal memory making them form a ring, to create an arena to fight in. Once upon a time, this would have been a tight, closed circle, with any attempt to break through it and flee the challenge an imminent bloodbath punishable by death. Now, the two packs didn’t spread out far enough to touch each other, which Casey was grateful for. These mutts looked ill, diseased. The smell hit next—rot and copper. Sick animals always stank of fear, even when they thought they didn’t.
Not wasting time with a howl, as challenge, when the humans had already issued it and laid down the rules, Casey stalked to the jackal and circled him, marking him out from the rest, baring his fangs and keeping his body low. Coywolves were stronger and more powerful, and Casey always made sure he honed his skills and reflexes, improved his speed. Pack runs weren’t just bonding exercises but much-needed scenting, hunting and trapping practice.
Casey backed off, making the mutt, who was as stupid as Casey had surmised, slink toward him—which was when Caseylaunched himself at the enemy, slicing into his hip with extended claws as he attacked his flank. Him drawing first blood had his pack barking their approval, and the jackals swaying from side to side, hissing and bristling in anger.
Casey made sure to keep the alpha in his sights as they prowled around the ring, tracking and assessing each other, taking their opponent’s measure. When the jackal flew at Casey, he was ready and jerked to one side, so the dog swept by him. It should have missed him by inches, but it twisted in midair, spasming, almost, bending impossibly in half, and raking one of its claws down Casey’s side.Fucker!He ignored the small pain. The sting only fueled him. He’d had worse from barbed wire and broken glass. This wasn’t stopping him. He wouldn’t give those baying dogs the satisfaction of even registering the hit.
At least he’d learned how the other animal moved, what it could do. He’d never fought one of its kind, but it made sense that they’d compensate for their slighter build and lesser strength in some way. Casey feinted, wanting to draw Old Yeller out, to force him into a misstep that would let Casey sink his teeth into its throat, to weaken him and take him out that way, but the dog was sly and cautious, keeping himself protected.
Now.Casey went for his throat, and the jackal ducked to the side at the last second, so all Casey did was score his claws along the mutt’s neck and shoulder. It drew a lot of blood though, and the jackal shaking its head and trying to get a paw to its wound gave Casey the chance to leap onto its back in a gray and black blur. Before the jackal could even start to stomp the ground and throw him off, Casey sank his teeth deep into the ruff on the back of its neck.Goddam, the creature’s mangy fur made him gag, and ripping into its flesh and tasting its blood made his stomach roil. But what he wanted most was to end this quickly. He tore into the meat of his throat and the jackal jerked his head to the side, sending out an arc of blood. For a heartbeat everythingwent still—just the sound of his own rough breathing and the slap of blood on dirt—then the noise crashed back in.
“No, get off me— Help!”
The cry sounded in his mind, and he didn’t know if the female voice was Anne or Lacey. None of the other jackals had moved, so why was he seeing an image of his sister at the mercy of four of the beasts, them pinning her down and attacking her in the worst, most bestial way—mounting her? Supposing more of the dogs has sneaked up somehow, Casey raised his head, searching frantically among the horde for the bastards attacking his sister.
There weren’t any. It took Casey a split second to remember that jackals were not just cunning, desperate predators who fought to survive no matter what, but evil tricksters, with some mind-control ability, and to see that the semi-circle of his family was right there. In that split second of distraction that its trick had bought, the dog had twisted and writhed, throwing Casey off…and going for his jugular.
A contortion of his own just stopped the jackal sinking its teeth into Casey’s vein, its teeth ripping into less vulnerable skin instead. Searing pain from the injury mixed with fury at the beast’s deception made Casey see red—literally, a film descending over his eyes. The urge to kill. He pulled free and limped off a few paces, then hunched into himself, protecting his body, making him a defensive ball and not an attacking alpha.
With a snarl the jackal lunged for him, its body leaving the ground—and Casey, stretching, powerful, brought it down by slamming his hard skull headfirst into it with the force of a battering ram. It cried out, whining and whimpering, until Casey grabbed the scruff of its neck between his teeth and swung its head into the side of the barn. The snap suggested he’d broken its neck. Uncaring, he dropped the jackal’s body to the ground.
The fight became a free for all from one second to the next, one huge struggling, snarling, snapping, mass of fur, claws andfangs. The melee filled the space in front of the farm buildings, cannoning off walls and ricocheting off any vehicles parked there, making the humans scramble away. Animals’ ragged breaths turned into gasps then whines of distress and howls of pain.
The jackals were savage and cunning, while the coywolves were in better health and stronger, which made them equally formidable fighters, and meant the battle drew out.
Two jackal shifters lunged for Casey and, his heartbeat pounding louder than a drum in his ears, he swiped, raked, bit, ripped and tore into limbs, flanks, muzzles and throats, his frenzied blood lust driving him. He thrust himself between Lacey and a battle-scarred male trying to size the back of her neck in its jaws, wanting to tear the miserable dog limb from limb.
He was looking up, assessing the state of play, when he saw the two human scum, Aldan and Vince, checking their shotguns and squinting into the battle, then conferring. He had no trouble understanding they were planning to fire into the mass, but what made Casey’s heart stop was Rhett preparing to confront them.
Standing to one side with Jack, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth, Rhett had difficulty tracking Casey’s movements in the tussle. Was it easier for Jack, with Ben? They’d been mates for longer—could they communicate telepathically, even in the heat of battle, amid all the blood and gore? The most he could do was try not to vomit.
Aldan and Vince moving pulled his attention to them.
“Yeah, fuck this. Ain’t never gonna end.” Vince spat on the ground.
“Best we end it.” With that, Aldan hefted his shotgun.
Holy fucking God.Those bastards, as soulless as any of the jackal shifters, were preparing to fire into the animals!
“Hey!” Rhett yelled as loud as he could. “We’re witnesses—gonna shoot us too?” He elbowed Jack, indicating him…and readying him.
“First,” corrected Aldan, leveling his shotgun across the space at them, which was when Rhett pulled out his Glock from his small-of-the-back holster and fired at Aldan, just as Jack drew his gun and shot at Vince—both of them quicker than their ex-employees. Rhett’s shots hit Aldan in the arm and shoulder, dropping him to the ground in a second, and Jack’s hit Vince—
“In theballs? You shot him in theballs?” Rhett turned from the sight of Vince doubled over and screaming. “We said the shoulders!” He raced around the perimeter of the fighting animals to grab the men’s shotguns, frisking the pair for handguns or knives at the same time.
“Hey, you live on a ranch—I lived in New York City,” Jack retorted, helping Rhett.
“Should think you’d be using a gun more then.” Rhett whipped out cable ties.
Jack took them. “ThisI can do.”
“I…don’t wanna know.” Rhett straightened.
The jackals had slowed and were bunching together, confused. Maybe they understood their leader wouldn’t be granting them a gift of land, and in fact had been about to dispatch them. “It’s over,” Rhett called. “You hate the coywolves and us, but tough. We won. Get them back in the barn?”
He made shooing motions with his hands, and the Akers nipping at the jackals’ heels got them moving into the building, toting their injured and dead with them. One lean, surly jackal snarled at Rhett and swiped with a paw as it passed him. Instantly Casey was on it like a savage, growling and shaking it, drawing blood, ripping its flesh.
