Page 118 of The Wolfing Hour
Or rather, wanted to scream. Before the cry reached the backs of my teeth, my demon side was on it. She strangled the sound back into me and flooded my body with numbness, leaving my brain awake. As blood poured from my sides, the witch worked to stem the flow. She pulled in the dust kicked up by the wolf and absorbed it, using the power to staunch the blood without a charm.
“Rrreowww!” Fennel flew out of the bush claws first, and went for Nameless’s mouth, ripping away the fleshy part of his cheek before prying open the wolf’s jaw with his front paws. He hacked and slashed while the wolf howled then landed at my feet, front paws soaked, and spat out the wolf’s tongue.
It had taken Fennel seconds to disable a fully shifted wolf.
We really should have taken him with us this morning, my demon side said.
Blood streamed down the wolf's muzzle. The sounds he made surpassed shrieks or howls—they were expressions of agony so visceral and intense I’d never heard anything like them.
Guess he didn’t have a demon side to hold back his pain.
I shoved the distracted, screeching wolf with everything I had—magic flowing through me, the demon holding me steady—and he slammed into the asphalt.
Cecil darted past Floyd and headed straight to Nameless clutching a flat hex bag like the one he’d put on my ankle earlier. He slapped it on the warbling wolf’s head and took off like a shot.
Somehow, I didn’t think he was worried about the wolf’s pain.
“Run,” I yelled.
Fennel and I bolted back to the room. Rory’s wolf—a smaller replica of her brother’s Mexican wolf—was two doors down, teeth ripping into Krane’s throat. At that distance, she was as safe as we’d be in the room.
We leapt over the threshold.
Boom!
The wet slap of blood and bone on asphalt had Fennel and me peering outside.
Nameless's head was gone, the hex bag spell confining the blood and gore to a small radius around his neck. Cecil had created an explosive hex with an ultra-contained blast zone. The gnome was a genius.
Rory’s wolf made a triumphant sound. Krane’s severed head was in her mouth.
“Don’t think your boys are going to heal from those injuries, Floyd,” I said, my voice threaded with witch and demon and whatever it was that made up the me that existed without them.
“Enough!” Floyd shifted to hybrid, his shoulders bursting the seams of his striped polo shirt. It had already been a size toosmall, which had made both his biceps and belly look twice their actual size.
I looked from Rory to him. She was strong, but there was no way she could win a battle against him. He was massive and cruel, and so afraid of losing that he’d terrorized his own children. She didn’t stand a chance.
His methods are brutal, yes, but the worst part is that he doesn’t actually need them to win. He likes the brutality.
“Drop it,” Floyd ordered Aurora, flooding his voice with his wolf.
Her mouth opened, and the head thunked onto the cement.
“Come.”
“You don’t have to obey him, Rory.”
Her wolf whimpered, lowered its belly to the ground, and shook. Her paws dug into the cement, claws breaking, as she inched in Floyd’s direction. She wasn’t trembling in fear—she was shaking with the effort of disobeying a direct command from her alpha leader.
Both of Floyd’s kids were powerhouses of determination. My someday sister-in-law’s heart was broken, but her will was not.
I wanted to step between them, to protect her, and if he moved to strike, I would. But there could be no half measures. Floyd was strong, and he’d tear me apart with pleasure. I couldn’t fight him—I was healing, but my injuries were severe, and even at full strength, I was no match for an alpha wolf.
I’d have one shot, and I couldn’t hesitate.
Hurry, Ronan.
He was coming. He had to be.
