It is bigger than the others. Its fur is not gray, but a deep, shadowy-black. Its eyes are not green. They are blue. A cold, burning, intelligent blue.
The Alpha.
It steps forward, and the other Worg—the one Threk hit with the body—scrambles to its feet and slopes away, yelping.
It is just Threk and the Alpha.
Threk ignores his bleeding leg. He straightens to his full, ten-foot height. He is covered in new, steaming blood. His red eyes lock with the Alpha's blue ones.
This is not a slaughter. This is a duel.
The Alpha charges.
It is impossibly fast. It is not a lunge; it is a blur. Its claws seem to glow with the same blue light as its eyes.
Threk roars and meets the charge.
The impact is the sound of thunder. They slam together, a chaotic vortex of black fur and gray-green hide.
Jaws snap. Claws tear.
The Alpha is fast. It slashes Threk across the chest. The glowing claws tear through his hide, right over the star-scar.
Threk roars in agony and fury.
He grabs it. He gets his hands on it. He pins its shoulders. The Alpha snaps at his throat, its fangs scraping against his tusks.
And then Threk does something.
He roars, a sound of triumph. He opens his own massive jaws.
He bites down on the Alpha's neck.
It is primal. It is monstrous. It is absolute.
The sound of snapping vertebrae is louder than the wind.
The blue light in the Alpha's eyes explodes and then fades to nothing.
Threk holds it for a second, his body shuddering with effort. Then he throws the Alpha's limp, broken body to the snow.
The last Worg whimpers, a high, terrified sound, and runs. It disappears over the ridge.
Silence.
Just the whine of the wind.
The stench of blood and musk is overwhelming. The pristine white snow is a ruined, red canvas of gore.
Threk stands in the middle of it. He is a mountain of death. He is panting, steam jetting from his nostrils. He is covered in blood—his, and theirs.
He turns to me.
His red eyes are blazing. But the red haze... it is not the mindless, elf-magic rage. It is a warrior's rage. It is sane.
He sniffs the air. A deep, rumbling inhale.
"I... I'm safe," I whisper, my knife dropping from my numb hand.
