Page 21 of A Warrior's Fate

Soli—

Wrong. Completely wrong.

But she didn’t have time to ponder how implausible it was. She was looking her death in the eye.

Isla rolled behind the tree at her side to cover her through her shift, the painful repetitions of transformation after transformation within minutes proving their worth as she gripped her wolf in seconds. She pushed away the nagging pain of the beast’s first attack. She had to. The moment she came down on all fours, daggers pierced the bark just above her head, inches away from ending her life.

The hit rocketed up the rickety husk, raining a cascade of dead branches. Isla jumped away from them and careened around the timber to meet the beast on the opposite side.

And then she squared herself off against her opponent.

Oh, Goddess…

Even with the larger build of her shifted form, the bak was still, at least, twice her size.

Massive. Dumb as shit.

Isla had to hope that fact still rang true.

Keep it in front of you.

She crouched low to the ground with a snarl, brandishing her own canines and poising herself to strike with the slightest motion.

The bak would move first. She knew it.

She knew it.

It had to.

With another ear-shattering roar, the beast hurdled forward.

Isla lurched out of the way, paws sliding in the mud as she twisted to sink her teeth into the nearly impenetrable flesh of its leg. With an acrid taste flooding her mouth, she bit harder and pulled. A gash was left in the wake of her attack. The piece stolen from the horror of a being fell from her maw as blood, black as night, oozed from its injury. The beast reared with a howl.

She shouldn’t have celebrated the minor victory.

The creature whipped around, swinging its arm. A yip escaped Isla’s mouth at the heavy contact, and a searing pain ricocheted through her spine when she became reacquainted with the tree. Now experiencing its third knock, it came down with a loud crack and a crash. Another close call as it narrowly missed crushing her leg.

She had to think fast.

Hours of training had gone into this moment—days, months, years—all to get this done quickly and efficiently. The longer she fought, the more injuries she sustained, and the more difficult it would become to maintain her greatest asset and defense. In a battle of endurance, the hulking monster would win.

Go for the legs.

She had to undercut it.

Seeing an opportunity and devising a, what could be shoddy, plan, she bounded to the opposite side of the tree and dipped. She hoped her dirtied fur did enough to mask her within the crusted brown entanglements. The monster released a breath through its snout, its eyes darting as it sought her form.

A little closer.

The beast took a few steps forward, slashing its claws over the branches, just missing Isla with yet another hit. She had to move now.

With a silent prayer, Isla vaulted herself out of the thickets and slammed her body into the bak’s lower half. As it teetered off-balance, its howl almost a wail, she launched herself at its upper half. They went down with a thud that shook the earth around them.

As she forced her paws into its meaty upper arms, keeping its claws as much at bay as she could, it thrashed. Neck lurching, teeth gnashing; it was rabid. It wanted her face. It wanted her death.

She yelped as it landed a hit, cutting deep into her hind leg. The warmth of blood trickled into her fur, staining the dirty yellow a deep crimson. But she pushed beyond the pain.

It won’t stop fighting until you’re dead…

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