I nocked another arrow, hands steady despite the chaos erupting around us. Silver tip gleamed in moonlight as I tracked a rogue that was circling toward Dad's position, waiting for the perfect shot that would drop it before those claws could find human flesh.
The string sang as I released, and the arrow took the creature through the eye, punching through bone to find the brain beneath. It dropped mid-stride, momentum carrying its corpse into the ground.
But there were always more. Too many more.
That's when Calder noticed me.
His massive head turned in my direction, pale eyes finding mine across the chaos of the battlefield. For a moment that felt like eternity, we stared at each other, predator and prey locked in recognition that transcended species.
Then his lips pulled back in what might have been a grin if wolves could manage the expression.
“The weakness,” he said, voice carrying across the clearing with surgical precision.
Before I could react, before anyone could warn me, he was moving. Not toward Evan, who was struggling to rise from where he'd been thrown. Toward me, with all the focused attention of something that had identified the perfect target.
I barely had time to raise my bow. Calder's swipe tore through the wood like it was made of paper, splintering my weapon into pieces that scattered across bloody ground. But his claws didn't stop there, arcing toward my throat with lethal intent.
Training kicked in, muscle memory born of weeks spent learning to fight creatures that could kill me with a thought. I dropped into a crouch, letting momentum carry me backward as those razor-sharp talons whistled through the air where my head had been a split second before.
My hand found the silver knife Dad had insisted I carry, blade singing as it cleared its sheath. Not much of a weapon against something Calder's size, but it was what I had.
Calder's second swipe came faster than thought, claws raking across my chest as I twisted away from the worst of the impact. Fire raced along my ribs, but the cuts were shallow, more warning than serious damage.
He was playing with me. Testing me. Seeing what the human could do when cornered.
I rolled sideways as his massive paw slammed down where I'd been lying, silver blade flashing as I opened a line across his foreleg. Blood welled from the cut, black in the moonlight, and Calder's amusement shifted into something hungrier.
“Better,” he rumbled, circling with predatory patience. “But not good enough.”
His next attack came from three directions at once, or at least that's how it felt. Claws from the left, jaws snapping from above, his massive body shifting to cut off my escape routes. I moved like Dad had taught me, like Gideon's drills had hammered into my bones.
The knife found flesh twice more, shallow cuts that did nothing but announce my presence. But each successful strike bought me precious seconds, space to breathe and think and pray that help was coming.
Calder's patience ran out all at once.
He lunged with everything he had, massive form blotting out the moon as he launched himself through the air. I threw myself sideways, but his claws caught my shoulder, spinning me around and sending me tumbling across the ground.
I rolled to my feet, silver blade still clutched in hands that shook with adrenaline and blood loss. My left arm hung useless at my side, and warmth spread down my back from wounds I couldn't see but definitely felt.
“You move well for prey,” Calder said, stalking closer with the confidence of something that knew the hunt was nearly over. “But prey is still prey, no matter how it dances.”
My fingers found an arrow that had scattered when my bow broke, silver tip still sharp enough to punch through supernatural hide. Not ideal for close combat, but desperation made you creative about weapon selection.
Calder's next charge was all overwhelming force, no finesse, designed to end this game before it went on any longer. I metit by dropping flat and rolling between his legs, arrow driving upward into the soft flesh of his belly.
He howled, more surprise than pain, spinning faster than anything his size should have been able to manage. His hind paw caught me in the ribs, lifting me off the ground and hurling me across the clearing like a broken doll.
I hit one of the standing stones hard enough to crack ribs, vision graying at the edges as pain exploded through my chest. Blood filled my mouth, copper and salt and the taste of mortality drawing closer.
But I was still breathing. Still moving. Still holding the knife that had become my lifeline in a world gone mad.
Calder approached with deliberate slowness now, savoring the moment before the kill. “You should have stayed in the city, little photographer. Should have kept taking pictures of things that couldn't fight back.”
“Fuck you,” I spat, struggling to my feet despite ribs that grated against each other with every breath. “And fuck your philosophy about strength and weakness.”
His laugh was rich and dark, the sound of something that had learned to find humor in pain. “Such spirit. Your mother had that same defiance right before I tore her throat out.”
Rage exploded behind my ribs, hot and bright and cleaner than anything I'd ever felt. The knife in my hand seemed to grow heavier, more solid, like fury was giving it weight and purpose.
