Page 120 of Gunnar

They all stare.

Then Gunnar shifts.

One second he’s there⁠—

the next he’s not.

A massive grizzly surges up in his place, rearing, roaring, then crashing down on all fours.

Jaws still open wide, fangs gleaming. And⁠—

He comes down on the Russian before anyone can react. Jaws clamp down on his throat. The scream cuts off as Gunnar wrenches him to the ground. Warm blood sprays across my arm. The man’s grip on me breaks.

He drops.

Gunfire erupts to my right.

I drop, swing the gun up, and fire again. The recoil slams through my arm. The man turning toward Gunnar folds, stumbling back.

To my left, Torin shifts mid-charge—fur tearing through skin as he barrels into another man. They hit the ground hard, and Torin tears into him before he can recover.

Then stillness.

The remaining men stare—at the blood, at the bodies, at the bears.

One of them swears.

“Go!”

They move all at once.

One grabs the wounded man, dragging him through the dirt. Another dives for the driver’s side, yanking the door open.

The third backs away, gun raised, eyes locked on Gunnar.

No one’s looking at me anymore.

The driver throws himself inside. Doors slam.

The engine turns—once, twice—then catches.

The car lurches, wheels spinning, then grips and tears down the track, engine screaming as it disappears into the dark.

23

Alexandria

The second they’re gone, Gunnar and Torin shift back, fur burning away as their bodies snap upright.

Gunnar drops to his knees beside Orson and rolls him onto his back, one hand already searching for the wound.

Orson’s eyes are open but unfocused, his mouth moving without sound as blood spreads fast beneath him.

“Stay with me,” Gunnar says.

Torin is down on his other side at once. “Where is it?”

“Side—low.” Gunnar’s hand slips under Orson’s ribs, coming away slick. “Here.”