Page 24 of Midlife Animal Rescuer Wolf

“Harold...” Bryon breathed a sigh. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

His best friend—former best friend—gave a laugh that was almost inhuman. “Sorry? What, so we should all just turn around and walk home, forget that there’s a monster in our midst? We’re here to rid this town of you. And if there are any others like you... well, they’ve got something similar coming.”

“You’re not thinking straight.”

“Maybe I wasn’t thinking straight when I agreed to befriend you,” Harold said, “but I sure as hell am now.”

He swung his bat so suddenly, Bryon almost didn’t see it coming. The bat moved through the air in a wide arc and would have shattered his cheekbone if he hadn’t lunged backward.

“Harold!” Bryon stared, wide-eyed, at the man. “What are you—?”

Before he could complete his question, Harold struck again. This time, Bryon ducked low, the bat swinging above his head. Before Harold could strike a third time, he kicked the man’s feet out from under him, knocking him to the floor.

There was a cry from outside, and a few men rushed into the house, weapons at the ready. Bryon recognized them immediately. These were men he’d seen on an almost daily basis for the past eight years, men he’d shared beers and conversation with at bars and parties. And they were here to kill him.

His crime? Not being human.

The first man rushed at him with a yell, but Bryon simply stepped aside, sticking out his foot. The man tripped and hit the floor next to Harold, clutching his nose. Bryon turned to face the other men, just in time for a shape to fill his vision. Pain exploded in his face, and he went down, hard.

“You’re not getting out of here alive, Sanders,” said a deep voice. “Me and the rest of the boys here, we’re going to make sure of that.”

“Ed.” He knew the owner of the voice to be the bartender. Sure enough, when he opened his eyes, a squat man with bushy eyebrows stood over him, fists clenched. “Ed, you don’t have—”

“Harold told us everything, you know.” The bartender had a look of disgust on his face. Next to him, Harold and the other man Bryon had tripped were picking themselves up off the floor, the latter nursing a broken nose. “What he saw. Whatever you are, Sanders, it ain’t human.”

Bryon pulled himself to his feet. His face still throbbing with pain, he faced the men before him. More of them had come into the house, all bearing expressions of anger or revulsion as they regarded him. His pulse raced. There were definitely too many of them to defend himself from at once.

Was this the end of the line for him? His gaze drifted to Harold, and his heart thudded almost painfully in his chest. Killed by his best friend. The irony of that almost brought a smile to his lips.

Almost.

“I never meant you any harm, Harold,” he said. “I never meant any of you harm. I’ve been nothing but a friend to you all.”

A dangerous smirk tugged at the man’s lips. “Unfortunately, that makes only one of us. We mean you plenty of harm.”

He stepped closer, raising his baseball bat again.

And Bryon swung into action.

He moved seconds before he even realized he was moving, kicking Harold in the chest. The man staggered backward, knocking into several other men and nearly toppling them like bowling pins. There was a collective cry as Ed and a few others lunged forward.

Bryon was quicker to react this time. He spun, dodging their attacks, and began to shift, fur brown spreading across his skin, teeth and claws extending. Within seconds, his inner wolf had clawed its way out, leaving his clothes shredded on the floor. He rose on all fours, his body coursing with energy, his senses heightened.

He could smell the fear in the men standing before him.

He snarled, glowering at them, and took a step forward.

“Jesus Christ!” one of them yelled, stumbling back and almost landing on his rump. “What in the—”

“Get back!” another man cried. “What the hell just happened!”

“I told you!” Harold pointed, his eyes comically wide with triumph. “I told you he was a monster! Get him!”

Nothing happened. Harold looked around at the other men. They all stared from him to Bryon, none of them looking too eager to attack.

Bryon saw his chance then. While the men stood staring in shock and trepidation, he turned and bounded from the living room, tearing out of the house into the night. He stuck to the shadows as he powered down the street, avoiding the glare of streetlamps and vehicle headlights. Even after he rounded the corner, he could hear Harold’s scream of rage.

He continued running. He needed to get as far away from this town as he possibly could.