He cries harder.
I slide the knife under his jaw, lifting his head by the throat. Then I drag the blade across.
Blood splatters in a wide arc, soaking into the cracks of the concrete. His body jerks a few times before it finally stills. I always wait a few seconds. Long enough for the last bit of life to drain out. Only then do I rise, wiping the blade clean on his shirt. My breath steadies behind the mask.
The air suddenly smells like copper. I look down at my hands to see that they’re barely shaking. That should scare me. But it doesn’t.
I step back into the alley, letting the door fall shut behind me. The cold darkness welcomes me, and Alexei’s men linger there in their black masks. I don’t take mine off. It feels too right for what I’ve just done. As fucked up as it is, this face feels more like me than the one I was born with.
Emma would hate that thought. She would hate me if she knew what I really was.
Their heads turn toward me in perfect unison, like predators circling the weakest animal in the pack. One whistles.
“Look at him. Alexei’s pet wolf tasting blood.”
Another laughs. “Wolf? Not yet. He’s like a dog. Sit, Graves.Heel.”
My jaw tightens under the mask. Something snaps inside me. It’s white-hot, yet colder than rage. I step into the closest guy’s space. He doesn’t move.
Mistake, bitch.
I swing. My fist cracks into his jaw, pain bursting across my knuckles.
He stumbles back, grabbing his face. “What the f—”
He doesn’t finish. Two others lunge at me. One catches me in the ribs with a gloved fist. The other drives an elbow into my stomach. Pain flares, but I welcome it like a goddamn runner’s high.
I hit one across the cheek, but he slams me into the brick wall. Breath bursts from my lungs. The first guy recovers, grabs my hood, and yanks me close, his masked face inches from mine.
“Alexei’s dog has teeth, huh?”
He punches me once. Twice. A third time into my ribs. Hot pain detonates under my skin. Another shove. A fist to my side. A knee into my thigh that sends my muscles seizing.
I’m outnumbered. It doesn’t matter.
I swing again, catching one in the throat. He staggers, choking. “Fuck—get himdown!”
Someone slams me onto the wet pavement. My shoulder hits hard, stars exploding across my vision. Boots strike my sides—three sharp, controlled kicks. Punishment, not meant to truly injure me.
I laugh. And through the mask, it doesn’t sound human. They freeze for half a second, seemingly unnerved by the sound.
Is it the mask or is it me?
I twist, grabbing an ankle. Someone yells, stumbling. I roll, ribs shrieking, get halfway up—but they’re on me again. A punch to the kidney. Another to the ribs. Pain blinds me.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I finally go still.
They step back, panting. The first one I punched wipes blood from his mouth. “Should’ve stayed down, Graves. You havenoidea what you’re up against.”
I push myself upright slowly, every breath hurting. I stare them down through the black slashes of the mask. None step closer now. Not after watching me go feral. I’ll fight until they knock me unconscious.
Part of me wants that.
Part of me wants to never wake up.
