Or maybe it just likes the way I smell.
Think I’d prefer the former.
Either way, it’s chasing me across the meadow, away from Regina, away from my pack.
Good. That’s good.
I’m not prey, but I know the game. Distract, lead the predator away from the group.
I already feel myself tiring. The wounds I’ve accumulated, both from the magic and this thing’s claws, are slowing me down. The werewolf doesn’t seem affected by its injuries at all. Its left ear is hanging by a strip of skin where I nearly tore it off, and it hasn’t even flinched.
This thing doesn’t feel pain or fear. Doesn’t feel anything except hunger. Almost like a zombie that’s animated by something wrong and forbidden.
It’s going to kill me.
The thought arrives with strange clarity, like watching storm clouds roll in from a distance. I’m going to die here, in this meadow, torn apart by the same monster that scarred my mate.
And all I can think about is the dream.
That fucking dream I’ve had three times now, the one I haven’t told anyone about. The one whereI’mthe werewolf. Not shifted and in control of my beast, but lost to it entirely. Where I corner Regina in some dark place, and she looks at me with those green eyes full of terror, and I?—
I always wake up before the end.
But I know.
I know what dream-me was about to do.
Is this how it happens? Is this the universe’s fucked-up way of making that nightmare real?
The werewolf lunges. I dodge left, but not fast enough. Its claws catch my side, opening four new lines of pure fire across my ribs. I stumble, almost go down, force myself to keep moving.
Can’t stop.
If I stop, it’ll go back to Regina.
Through our bond, I feel her. Fighting still, somehow, even with her magic stuttering and her hands shaking. They’re winning, but not fast enough.
She’s trying to get to me.
Like hell I’m going to let that happen. If this thing is going to kill me, I’m at least going to take it with me.
Regina,I think, not sure if she can hear me when it’s taking all my energy and focus just to dodge the monster’s hungry jaws.I’m sorry.
Sorry for not realizing what that fucking dream meant sooner, but I think I have an idea now. I may not be a witch, or a psychic, but clearly, the dream was a warning.
A warning and a choice.
Even if I make it out of this fight alive, I’m going to become the very thing she’s terrified of. The thing that kills her.
Fate has an ugly sense of humor.
And Fate can go fuck herself.
The werewolf circles, and I see my opening. It’s not much, just a slight hesitation as it plants its feet, a half-second of vulnerability before it attacks again.
But it’s enough.
I’m not going to survive this. I know that now. But maybe if I sink my teeth into its throat and don’t let go no matter what?—
