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One of the witches feints as if she is about to lunge for him, testing to see how he’ll react. He bares his fangs, his lip lifting as he snarls. It would be an act of suicide, going up against a wolf like him.
But I feel his fear beneath the pained aggression. My wolf hears his, and there’s no question. He is wounded, weakened by blood loss, and is about to be killed.
Or he was until I got here.
With a piercing howl, I fly at them, seeing nothing but those witches and the wolf they’re about to kill. Only one of them notices, turning barely in time to catch sight of me before I leap at her. She has no time to react—besides, what could she do against me?
My claws slash away like a hot knife through butter, tearing her face and throat to ribbons while she screams. If she was holding a dagger, she’s dropped it in favor of trying in vain to cover her mangled face. It’s no use, not when I’m gripped by bloodlust and rage and the very satisfying feeling of payback with every slash. Every time my claws scrape bone.
By the time I’m finished, she’s on her knees, screaming, clutching what used to be her face but is now no more than strips of hanging flesh. I sense the black wolf’s approval, and it pushes me on, urging more, more, slice them all to shreds.
Her partner hardly has time to register what’s happening before I’m on her as well, my teeth finding her throat like they were made to do it, like a magnet finding steel. The satisfaction of sinking them into her flesh is a drug, sheer pleasure washing over me when her blood fills my mouth. I shudder at the coppery tang and allow the thick fluid to run down my throat as her life force drains from her while mine only strengthens.
It’s with regret that I release her, but the shower of blood that results is gratifying, too. I did that. It wasn’t even hard.
She falls onto her back, and I stand over her, watching her pitiful attempts at covering the wound. Blood pours through her fingers, no matter how she tries to apply pressure. She’s wasting her time. Should’ve known better than to think a pack of wolves would be easily defeated, with or without magic. We defend what’s ours.
Only she isn’t staring up at the sky as she takes her final breaths. No, she’s staring at me, looking me straight in the eye, her lips moving. No matter how she fights, the only thing to fall from them is more blood.
But she won’t give up. She’s trying to tell me something. I’ve never been so sure of anything. She’s trying to speak to me, and whatever it is, it’s crucial. Or else she wouldn’t be trying so hard.
Even though I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not, I shift into my human form so I can speak to her. “What?” I snap, now crouching at her side. “What do you want? What are you trying to say?”
But it’s too late. She’s already gone, that same look of surprised confusion on her face. Her hand falls from her throat and slaps against the ground once the last of her life leaves her forever.
What was she trying to say? What could she possibly say to me?
Why did she look at me like she knew me? Or am I imagining it? That’s possible. Tonight has been… a lot. I think I’d be forgiven for letting my imagination run free.
A sharp cry snaps me out of it. “Dad!”
I spin around to find Wilde falling to his knees, with Forrest on the other side of the wounded wolf—I now know is their father—their alpha. I didn’t recognize him. I was too busy protecting him to realize who I was protecting.
Gone are the arrogant, snide bastards who’ve been so unkind to me. I can almost feel sorry for them as they check him over, concern etched all over their faces and the looks they keep exchanging while firing one question after another.
He’ll be fine. Just wounded, too badly hurt to get away from the witches but not so badly he won’t heal. I got here just in time.
He looks over the heads of the sons kneeling before him, and our eyes meet. He nods only once. I nod back. That’s as much gratitude as I’ll receive, but I’m not asking for it, either.
It’s enough to know two more witches have perished, thanks to me. The fact that I happened to save an alpha’s life at the same time is only a bonus.
The adrenaline’s starting to wear off. I’m starting to come to my senses, and I look down at myself in mixed surprise and disgust. Here I am, covered in blood from head to toe, shot through with exhaustion, my muscles weakened from exertion. Everything I did back there feels like it was done by somebody else, not by me.
