Page 45 of Bad Blood Wolf

No!

The last vestige of Brody’s mind called the monster back, tried to stuff him back in his prison where he belonged.

His enemies scattered.

“Holy shit.” “What the hell is that?” “Get the fuck out of here.” “Run!”

They scrambled away in all directions, running and not looking back. All except the crazy one, the one who didn’t belong. He had a knife out, and he was circling, ready to attack.

The monster lunged.

It hit before the crazy one could respond, gashing the knife arm and sending the weapon skittering away across the gravel.

Kill!

No!

Brody’s body was still quivering and bulging, moving frantically between the wolf, the monster, and the man.

As his enemy scrambled to his feet, lunging for his weapon, Brody turned and made for the woods in a stumbling, shambling four-footed run.

He ran on instinct, heading for the place that had already started to feel like home. His progress was erratic, uneven, full of fits and starts as his body refused to obey him, refused to settle into one form. It kept shifting and bubbling, making him lurch and stumble.

But he kept moving, refused to give up, because that was what he did.

He felt it the moment he crossed the territory line. A bluish tinge in the air, a tingle of magic on his skin. The forest was aware of him. Its keeper was aware of him.

In some odd way, he felt like it welcomed him in.

Flynn and Tank found him stumbling through the woods over half a mile from the house.

“Fuck,” Flynn murmured. The thing in front of him didn’t look like any kind of a wolf. It didn’t look like anything he’d seen before, except maybe Tristan when he was stuck between wolf and man.

Its misshapen muzzle formed a growl, but its eyes were glazed, exhausted, unseeing.

Flynn shook his head. “Shoot it, Tank.”

Tank raised his gun and fired, and the monster was finally put to rest.