"I don't want the Trust!" I scream, pushing him back against the rock. "I want you!"
"Then earn me!" he snaps. "Survive!"
A howl cuts through the night. It is close. Too close. The pack has found the scent.Aroooooooo.It is a terrifying, primal sound that triggers every prey instinct in my DNA.
I look at Alaric. He is weak. He can't stand. If the dogs get here, he is helpless. I look at the entrance of the cave. It’s narrow.Choke point.
I stand up. I check the SIG. Twelve rounds. "I'm not running," I say calmly.
"Elodie—"
"I'm the Landlord," I say, my voice trembling but hard. "This is my land. These are my trees. And nobody hunts in my woods without my permission."
I walk to the mouth of the cave. I take off the leather jacket. I throw it back to Alaric. "Keep warm," I say. I stand in the freezing air, wearing only the thin shirt and the breeches. I need to be light. I need to be fast.
"Elodie, please," Alaric begs. It is the first time I have ever heard him beg. "Don't do this."
I turn to him. I smile. It feels like the wolf smile he taught me. "Watch me."
I turn back to the dark forest. I can hear them now. Crashing through the brush. The panting is louder. I see movement. Shadows detaching from shadows. Low to the ground. Fast. Yellow eyes reflecting the moonlight.
One. Two. Three. Three dogs. And behind them, the heavy tread of boots. The handlers.
I raise the gun. I assume the stance.Knees bent. Elbows unlocked.Breathe in.Breathe out.
The lead dog—a massive, dark brindle beast—bursts into the clearing below the ridge. It sees me. It doesn't bark. It snarls. It launches itself up the slope.
"Come on," I whisper, my finger tightening on the trigger. "Come and get it."
The silence between the notes is gone.
CHAPTER 19
THE PACK
POV: Elodie Fray
Location:The Limestone Cavern Entrance
Track:Seven Nation Army– Skáld (Viking/Dark Folk Cover)
Sensory:The hot spray of arterial blood, the deafening echo of gunfire in a confined space, the smell of wet fur and cordite.
Mood:Primal Rage & Survival.
The first dog hits the slope like a black missile.
It doesn't bark. Barking is a warning, and these beasts aren't here to warn; they are here to terminate. It is a Belgian Malinois, lean and muscular, its brindle coat blending perfectly with the shadows of the forest floor. The only things visible are the flash of yellow eyes and the wet, white gleam of teeth bared in a silent snarl.
Time warps. Alaric told me about this.The silence between the notes.But this isn't silence. It’s a roar. The blood rushing in my ears sounds like a waterfall. My heart isn't beating; it’s vibrating, a hummingbird trapped in a ribcage of bone.
I am standing in the mouth of the cave, shivering in my thin shirt, the SIG Sauer raised in a two-handed grip. The metal bites into my palm. The dog is twenty feet away. Fifteen. Ten.
It launches. It leaves the ground, a horrifying arc of muscle and teeth aimed directly at my throat.
Don't think. Rhythm.One. Two.
I press the trigger.CRACK.
