Page 120 of The Wolfing Hour
Floyd’s fat hand shot out. He’d telegraphed his move, but he was fast as hell, which meant I took the hit on my ear instead of my jaw, and it cleaned my clock.
Demonic apathy spread through me, numbing the pain of what I was certain was a cracked skull. Gods, was I grateful for my demon side tonight.
Never thought I’d be saying that, but here we were.
“I’m going to enjoy killing you.” Spittle flew from his lips, dotting the front of my shirt. “When I’m done, I’ll chop you up and leave parts of you all over this town for your lover. Every time he finds a finger or a toe, he’ll remember what happens to people who fuck with Alpha Pallás.”
Chapter
Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Whoosh!
Mardi Gras-colored flames encapsulated Floyd’s black SUV—purple, green, and gold flames scorching the paint, melting the tires, and cracking the windows.
“What the hell?” Floyd made as if to approach the car, but as horrible as the wolf was, he hadn’t stayed alive this long by jumping the gun. He rounded on me, instead. “You lying bitch, your gnomeisaround here. Where’s he hiding?”
“Cecil is notmygnome,” I said, somewhat dizzily, since my head was still whirring from his punch. “He’s my partner. Which is to say, he’s his own person who hates you with full autonomy.”
BOOM!
“Come out here, you little fae bastard,” Floyd shrieked.
Behind him, explosions went off in phases preceded by sound effects that reminded me of a superhero comic book.The tires first, then what looked like the suspension or shocks, maybe. I didn’t know much about cars, but the things supposed to keep it from sagging were no longer functioning.
BOOM!
The engine?—
BOOM!
—and finally the body, which crumpled in on itself, the paint melting into a sticky mess of purple, green, and gold.
I was never chastising Cecil for blowing up the dumpster again. In fact, I was going to buy him his own.
Smoke billowed through the lot. Had I been able to feel irritation, I might’ve coughed. Fennel, who’d likely been helping Cecil plant his hex patches, bombs, whatever, streaked across the lot in my direction. I held up a hand, warning him back. Floyd wasn’t Nameless. He wouldn’t go down from a clawed-out tongue, and he was spitting mad at my partners and me.
Floyd let out a howl that popped my ears then stuck out his chest. Fur carpeted the flesh I could see, and his muscles pumped up to twice their size. Sharp teeth protruded from jaws too large for a human face. He was still on two legs, but only just.
“Godsdamn it,where’s that fucking gnome?” he roared.
Rory howled—hers plaintive rather than pissed—and pushed her trembling limbs off the ground until she was standing on all fours. Saliva dripped down her jaws.
Floyd whipped around, gaze lasering in on her.
A garbled chorus of howls sounded in the distance.
Something was coming.
Floyd spun around, his wolf bursting out of him. It was an undeniable truth that Ronan had gotten at least some of his strength from the man. Thank the gods that was where Floyd’s influence on his life had ended.
Rory howled again, her song heartbreaking, her voice cracking at the end.
More of the garbled howls rang out in the night, and a group of wolves emerged from the fog-like smoke boiling out of the destroyed SUV.
Eight wolves.
