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“Grubbs!” she snaps. “Don’t be an ass. Heal yourself. Now!”
I sigh miserably, then focus my power on the bleeding wounds, broken ribs, and ruptured inner organs. It would be for the best if I perished, but I can’t give up on life. I’m not that much of a hero.
“What happened?” Timas asks.
“Didn’t you hear?” I wheeze, working on my chest and upper stomach.
“The sound faded out,” Timas says. “It was like someone turning down the volume on a television set.”
“It was the same for us,” Meera says.
So Juni didn’t want the others to hear her prediction, in case they decided to kill me for the good of mankind. I consider telling them. I’m pretty sure one of them — maybe all three — would put a bullet through my head if they knew of the threat I pose. But that would be another form of suicide, so I hold my tongue and shake my head.
“Just more of the same rubbish,” I grumble. “She said she was sparing me for her master, that Lord Loss wanted to kill me himself.”
“Strange,” Timas notes. “She was happy to let the werewolves slaughter you.”
“I guess she knew I’d survive. It was all a setup. She never meant for me to die, only the rest of you, so that she could relish my pain.”
Timas makes a skeptical humming noise, but says no more. I continue
healing myself, Meera watching closely to make sure I don’t miss anything. The power’s fading fast, but I’ve dealt with most of the life-threatening injuries. I’ll live.
The werewolves — there are five in the room with us — are sniffing the floor by one of the walls. They’re growling. I bark at them to be quiet. Listening carefully, I hear scrabbling sounds. Someone’s crawling away in a hurry.
“The maps you studied earlier,” I say to Timas, rising painfully but standing steady on my feet once I’m up. “Did they show any tunnels or crawlways running off this room?”
“No,” Timas says, edging up beside the werewolves.
“Then they weren’t as complete as you thought,” I sniff.
“You’re right,” he says, tapping the wall. “There’s a hidden panel. I’m sure I can find the opening mechanism if you give me a few —”
I snap at the werewolves. The largest smashes a fist into the metal panel. Again. A third time. It crumples under his fourth blow, snapping loose at the upper and left edges. The werewolf gets a few fingers into the gap and wrenches off the panel, revealing a small passage.
The werewolf who removed the panel darts into the crawlway, but stops at a command from me. Shuffling forward, I stoop and stare into the gloominess. I can’t see the person scuttling away from us, but I can smell him. It’s a familiar, cultured scent. I smile viciously.
“After me,” I say softly, then lower myself to my hands and knees. I edge forward, moving faster than the man ahead of me, steadily catching up, making heavy snarling noises, letting him know I’m coming, savoring the intoxicating smell of his mounting fear.
The crawlway opens out into a large room at the rear of the compound. There are several boats stacked at the sides, but all the hulls have been shattered, holes punched through the shells, making them as seaworthy as sieves. I figure Juni wanted to give her soldiers an extra incentive to stand and fight. She made sure nobody shipped out early.
Antoine Horwitzer is struggling with one of the useless boats, hauling it towards an open section at the far side of the room. I can smell and hear the sea, the crash of the waves, the cries of the gulls. Antoine is sobbing, his jacket tossed to one side, shirt ripped, pants dirty. He must know he can’t get anywhere in the boat, but desperation drives him on.
As the others emerge behind me, I raise a hand, holding them in check. Antoine doesn’t know we’re here. He’s totally focused, head bent, straining painfully, using muscles he probably hasn’t tested in years. I’m amused by the sight of him dragging the wreck of a boat towards the edge. For a while I forget about Juni Swan and her terrible prophecy, and just enjoy the show.
Finally, when he has about a yard to go, I cough softly.
He freezes. Moans. Gives the boat an especially strong tug. Doesn’t look up.
“Antoine,” I laugh, stepping towards him.
He looks back, gauging how much farther he has to go. His arms relax and his shoulders slump when he realizes he can’t make it. He turns his desolate gaze on me and his eyes widen as he takes in my monstrous form, my blood-soaked body and limbs, my fangs and wolfen face.
“What happened to you?” he gasps.
“Teenage angst,” I chuckle. I whistle at the werewolves and they spread out. Meera, Timas, and Prae are directly behind me.
Antoine shrieks when he spots the werewolves. Turns and races for the edge, to leap into the sea below. Drawing from the faint traces of magic in the air, I halt him, exerting an invisible hold over the fallen executive. He struggles wildly, then sees that it’s hopeless. Giving up, he faces me.
