“Come on,” I murmured, just loud enough for him and the wolves nearest me to hear. “You wanted center stage, didn’t you?”
My fingers went down and found the leather strap of my knife snug against my thigh. The familiar hilt met my palm, solid, just as it had felt the day my parents had put it in my hand way back on the Isle of Skye.
I drew it in one smooth motion.
He lunged.
I dove sideways, feeling the rush of air and the heat of his body pass where my chest had been a heartbeat before. He spun, faster than should have been possible for a creature that size.
Ashcroft lunged again, this time catching the edge of my dress.
Cloth tore with a sick ripping sound, dragging me off balance. I went down hard on one knee, palms skidding on polished wood, the sting of it barely cutting through the roar in my ears.
He reared over me, a massive wall of fur and teeth and heat, breath hot and sour with the metallic stench of blood.
For a heartbeat, all I could see was his jaws opening.
I rolled.
His paw slammed down where my chest had been, claws scraping a furrow through the floor, splinters flying. I came up in a crouch, heart pounding, dress hanging in tatters around my legs.
Ashcroft spun toward me, lips peeling back. His hackles stood in a jagged ridge down his spine, muscles bunching under his coat. The gas had him completely now. Whatever human calculation had been left was long gone now.
He came at me in a low, fast rush.
Behind me, I heard bones shift.
The sound of it was deeply familiar. My pack was shifting. In seconds, five wolves ringed us. They didn’t pile onto Ashcroft. They didn’t lunge for his throat. They formed a moving wall between him and the civilians, snapping atanyone who got too close, snarling at panicked guards who thought firing into the mess was a good idea.
“Hold! Do not shoot anyone!” I shouted, the words cracking out of my throat.
They listened. My pack and the guards.
Ashcroft’s charge hit the space where I’d been a heartbeat before. I stepped sideways, light on my feet despite the shredded dress, and slashed out. The knife bit into his shoulder as he barreled past me, causing hot blood to spray across my hand, thick and shockingly bright against the steel.
He roared, stumbling, momentum carrying him into a toppled table. Wood shattered under his weight, food, drinks, glasses, and dishes clattering and smashing around him.
I spun to face him again, chest heaving.
“Come on,” I muttered, knife steady. “You owe me more than that.”
He surged up and forward, head low, eyes burning. One paw lashed out, fast. Claws raked across my forearm as I brought the knife up too slowly to fully block. Pain flared white-hot, but I gritted my teeth and pushed right through it. I tasted blood in my mouth and realized I’d bitten my own tongue.
Ashcroft lunged again. I ducked, spun, felt his fur brush my shoulder as he went over me. As he landed, I was ready and drove the knife up in a hard, tight thrust.
Steel met flesh just behind his front leg, the point punching between ribs, angling toward his heart.
The impact jolted up my arm. Warmth flooded my hand as the blade sank deep.
He screamed.
It wasn’t a wolf sound or a human one. It was something torn between both, a horrible warbling keening that made the hair on my arms stand up. His body convulsed, muscles seizing around the steel. For a second, he tried to power through it, claws scrabbling against the floor, paws slipping in his own blood.
I held on, pushed in harder.
“Stay down,” I snarled, teeth gritted, twisting the knife.
His legs buckled.
