Page 97 of Fated to Monsters

And without him, I’m not certain any of us will make it out of here alive.

There’s no way Bo will leave her, not when he’s more afraid to lose her than death itself.

It’s a feeling both of us share, along with the phoenix who, hopefully, remains concealed in the darkness of the building near us.

This war is far from over and Wren gave him specific orders to not come out until then.

He knows better than to risk his, and her life, by exposing and putting himself in danger. Wren would easily become more distracted than she already is and potentially falter at the wrong moment in the same manner she had that fateful day at the warehouse.

Our mate bond flickered to life, causing us both to waver. I hadn’t realized that’s what had happened, but later, Wren confirmed she felt it, too, and that’s why she was overcome by the demons that almost brought her to her death.

Love is often more disruptive than the visceral urge to stay alive.

"What's the plan?" Bo yells over his shoulder at our small group.

“Where’s Pippa?” Wren calls out. “We should stick together.”

We’ve been fighting these battles on our own, it couldn’t hurt to try a group effort if we want to make it out of this alive. Individually, we’ve held our own, but our defenses are weakening, and there’s no telling how much time we have left.

“This way,” I tell them.

Gritting my teeth, I plead with my hound to return, to blast through the device clamped around my neck, and end this war once and for all. With him, I'm confident our chances of survival would greatly increase, but without him, I’m not so certain.

I slam my fist into a hunter and latch onto his shoulders, steadying him and giving Bo the chance to drive a knife straight through his chest. Discarding his lifeless body on the ground, I continue on my path toward Pippa, who is battling two hunters by herself.

If the hunters didn’t continue to spawn out of nowhere, victory would have already been ours, but it seems Parla has a never-ending supply of men at her disposal.

“Are you okay?” Wren shouts overtop the chaos to Pippa.

Pippa wipes at her brow, her chest heaving. “Yeah. You?” Her gaze trails to Wren’s blood-soaked body, no doubt wondering what is hers and what’s her victims.

Not very convincingly, Wren nods. “We need to find and eliminate Parla, otherwise they’re going to just keep coming.”

“I say we take out the witch,” Bo suggests before ripping the throat out of a hunter that charged him.

“No,” Wren protests. “She’ll only find another and then another. We have to kill her. That’s the only way this stops.”

From all directions, hunters appear, knives and swords locked in their grasps, blank stares on their faces.

Our small but mighty group tightens, all our backs facing each other in a kill circle. Collectively, we rotate and wait for our attackers to close in.

I glance over my shoulder at Wren, who despite being severely injured, is powering through. My heart aches at not being able to heal her, to save her from this nightmare, to win this war for her, and take her back to Arthlia where she will remain safe.

A large part of me wants to shove the device that Tremont had given us into Wren’s hand and force her to return to safety, but she would never forgive me. Her being mad sounds better than losing her forever, though.

My thoughts return to battle, my body reacting automatically to the men that charge at us. I punch, I kick, I drag my nails across throats and rip them out. I kill without hesitation, my only desire is to eliminate anyone who stands in the way between Wren and what she came here to do.

But the numbers continue to grow. One hunter turns into two. Then three. Four. Ten.

I end a life and more come—this battle endless, and the damage we inflict on them not seeming to make a dent at all.

Wren gets farther away from me, but I keep a watchful eye on her every chance I get between my own kills. She can handle herself, but with the injuries she's sustained and the fatigue hitting her harder than ever, I need to be aware of when she's hit the threshold of what she can no longer take. I want to give her the freedom and space to continue in battle, but I refuse to let her become yet another casualty in this war.

A stout hunter lands a blow across my face, snapping me back to reality.

He drives a blade forward and I jump sideways, barely evading the blade. It slices through the outer flesh of my stomach but doesn’t penetrate any deeper.

The wendigo that has caused so much turmoil lurches forward and grips my attacker's head, ripping it clean off the attached body, and tosses it carelessly to the ground.

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