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I suppress the shudder of revulsion as his stench wafts closer.
“So you’re fine with ending three innocent lives that don’t belong to you?”
It draws closer, kicking up fluffy snow in its wake. “Your foolishness is not my doing.”
It’s only a meter away, and I close the distance. “Then I’d say that makes you the very thing you’re trying to cull. If you can’t see that taking four lives, three of which are guileless, is wrong, then you’re the greediest of all. You should be culled.”
Willa, please. Just be here with me. Don’t taunt it. Just stay with me.
I frown at Drago’s voice in my head. I’d do anything to be by his side as he takes his last breaths. But I’d much rather keep that from happening.
The Wendigo contemplates my words.
“You are a clever little wolf, aren’t you?”
I look him right in his missing eye. “I’m hardly little anymore.”
“Perhaps,” it wheezes out before rushing me.
I have just enough time to throw my hands up and deflect his skeletal palm from wrapping around my throat.
He comes at me with the opposite hand, and I unleash a mighty roar in his face. Louder than any of its shrieks, it blows the creature back several paces before I rock back and plant my furred and clawed fist dead in the middle of its face.
I don’t know what I expect.
No. That’s a lie.
I know exactly what I wanted to happen. I expected my fist to connect with it and for it to burst into flames or shatter into bone shards or something because of the power of love or some such bullshit.
But it doesn’t.
“You can’t punch your way out of this one, little wolf,” it says with a horrid grin that turns its face into a brutalized caricature of the expression.
It grabs my wrist and throws me away. I’m sailing through the air for an impossible amount of time. So long that when I finally land and get my legs under me, I can hardly scent it on the wind.
I waste precious minutes trying to pick up the trail again, but once I find it, I’m off like the wind to my mate.
I don’t feel the snow on my paws as I run upright through the trails. I don’t feel the wind in my fur or the call of my mates in my head.
I know I should, but I’m too focused on getting to Drago.
I won’t lose him.
I can’t.
It’s a mantra I repeat over and over until I see that awful creature hunched over my mate again, tearing bits of Drago’s flesh off the bone.
“Get away from him!”
I run to him, smashing the Wendigo out of my way to hold my mate in my arms.
“Drago, please…”
His eyes are fixed on the sky, mouth slack.
No.
This can’t be happening.
