There were still too many.
A feral burst through a gap near the east side, snapping at a civilian’s leg. An older man with gray hair went down with a scream. His shot went wild, sparking off the concrete wall. Two more ferals surged toward the opening, drawn by the sudden blood.
Bishop’s black wolf with the white blaze darted in, cutting across the gap and driving his shoulder into the first feral’s ribs. The creature yelped and stumbled, but the second one caught Bishop’s flank with a swipe that tore fur and skin. Bishop snarled and snapped at the feral’s leg, and it let go.
Griff was still out front, crashing into anything that got too close, but even he was starting to slow. His brindled coat was slick with blood and there were dark patches matted along his chest and shoulders. He shifted back to human long enough to yank a feral off a wounded Watch soldier with his bare hands, then shifted again as another lunged for his throat.
Nox flickered in and out of the light, never where you expected him to be. One moment he was at my right shoulder, blade flashing. The next he was gone, a shadow slipping behind the feral line to cut at one after the other.
Eamon stayed behind the line tending to the wounded. He had Clara on one side, Rowe’s body on the ground in front of her, and Seamus still bleeding on the other. His hands moved constantly, trying to keep people from joining the dead scattered all over the ground.
Then a feral slipped through and came fast and low, teeth bared, gunning straight for Eamon’s throat.
I saw it a half-second too late.
Eamon saw it too.
He simply raised his arm and braced for impact like a man who had decided his life was worth spending if it bought someone else a chance.
My body moved on instinct. I sprinted, knife already up.
I slammed into the feral’s side and drove my blade under its jaw. The knife caught, stuck for a heartbeat, and I had to wrench it free with both hands. Blood sprayed across my sleeves, hot and dark in the moonlight. The feral sagged and collapsed at my feet.
Eamon stared at me, chest heaving, then exhaled. “You’re not supposed to be doing that.”
I gave him a look. “You’re not supposed to die either.”
His mouth twitched, but there was no time for anything else.
A cluster of ferals surged through a weak spot at the north corner, bodies pushing, teeth snapping, and suddenly there were three of them inside our perimeter, among the humans.
Someone screamed. Someone else fired too close. A bullet whistled past my ear and burrowed into the dirt.
One of the other Watch soldiers ran forward with an axe. She swung hard, cracking the feral across the shoulder. It yelped and lunged at her anyway, jaws snapping shut on her forearm.
She screamed, but she didn’t drop the axe. Instead, she tried to keep fighting with her other hand.
The feral jerked its head violently, and I heard the sound of bone and sinew giving way. The woman screamed and crumpled, axe slipping from her grip, blood pouring down her sleeve in thick, shocking streams. The feral lunged and clamped his teeth around her neck, shaking its head violently before it ran off to join another fight. She lay on the ground, eyes wide, mouth opening as if she wanted to say something, but only a wet, broken breath came out.
Eamon rushed toward her, hands already reaching, but one look at her face and he stopped.
His shoulders sagged just slightly.
Then he knelt anyway, because he was Eamon, and pressed two fingers to her neck even when he already knew.
“She’s gone,” he said quietly.
The fight raged on after that.
Every time one feral went down, two more surged to replace it.
My arms were slick with blood. My knife felt heavy. My lungs burned. My heart hammered in my throat.
Bishop took another hit.
A feral’s claws raked across his shoulder in wolf form, tearing through fur. Bishop snapped back with a vicious bite, but he staggered when he landed, and for the first time I saw his eyes go slightly unfocused, as if he’d taken more damage than he wanted anyone to know.
“Bishop!” I shouted.
