She doesn’t move. Fear has locked her in place as her father fights for his life, not three feet away. Nicklas lands a solid punch to the creature’s throat, but it barely reacts, slamming him against the ground with enough force to crack wood. I’m still too far. Too fucking far.
“Amelia! Move!” I push harder, legs burning with effort.
The wolf zombie pins Nicklas down, jaws unhinging like a snake’s while his hands scramble for purchase on the creature’s face, trying to keep it away.
“Dad!” Amelia runs to him, knife clutched in both hands.
No. Don’t?—
The wolf zombie’s teeth sink into Nicklas’s cheek with a wet crunch as Amelia drives the knife down, blade catching the creature between its shoulder blades.
Not deep enough. Not the brain.
It howls like the fucking animal it resembles and swivels toward her, jaw still working, strips of flesh hanging from its blackened teeth.
“Run!” I roar, forcing my legs faster.
She spins, rushing back toward the cabin door, but it’s faster. Its jaw clamps around her calf with a sickening crack. She screams, high and thin, collapsing face-first onto the porch.
I run the last few feet, machete already swinging. The blade connects with the base of its skull, striking the brain. The creature’s jaw goes slack, releasing Amelia’s mangled leg as it drops.
Dead.
Amelia scrambles, hands clutching her twisted leg, face contorted with pain, and her breath shallow. Blood seeps between her fingers, darkening the floorboards beneath her.
I kick the corpse away, dropping to one knee beside her. The bite goes deep, all the way to the bone. Too much blood. “Stay with me.”
“I—” She stares past me, eyes fixed where her father lies. “Dad?”
I follow her gaze.
Nicklas is still alive, somehow. “Pl—” His mouth works, trying to form words through the gurgling of his own blood. One hand reaches toward us, fingers twitching.
I know what he’s asking. He’s dead already, just hasn’t stopped moving yet. And the pain is written across every line of his face.
This man blackmailed my family. Arranged to sell his daughter like property. Hit her—And now he’s asking for my fucking mercy?
“Julien.” Amelia’s voice cracks. “Please. He’s suffering.”
Yeah. He is.
Blood pools around his head, spreading in a dark halo.
Part of me wants to walk away. Let him experience even a fraction of the pain he inflicted over the years. Fair, right? An eye for an eye. A lifetime of bruises for a few minutes of agony.
I move toward him, machete heavy in my hand.
His eyes track the movement. Recognition flares in them, followed by something that might be gratitude or might just be desperation. Hard to tell when someone’s drowning in their own blood.
“I’m sorry.” The words bubble from his ruined throat. “Dak—I?—”
“Don’t.” I kneel beside him, keeping the blade out of his line of sight. “You don’t get to do this now. The deathbed confession thing.”
He coughs, red spray flecking his lips. “Please.”
“You were a shit father.” My voice stays flat. Clinical. “But you’re about to find out what mercy actually looks like.”
I dive the machete under his chin. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before I angle it up. It’s over in less than a heartbeat. I wipe the blade on his shirt before returning to Amelia. She’s managed to drag herself further into the cabin, leaving a streak of blood behind her. The wound on her calf is deep, savage.
