Page 40 of Curse of the Wolf
Shouts on the screen made me wish I’d thought to ask the owner to turn off the movie. It would be hard to deliver an ultimatum over the noise.
Duncan let me head down the aisle toward the men, lingering to remove the rest of his clothing. He had to assume the thugs would reject my offer to leave peaceably. After all I’d endured from them, I didn’t even want to make the offer, but the comic books I’d read to my sons in their youth ensured that was proper superhero etiquette.
“I heard you thugs didn’t pay for that popcorn,” I said loudly when the movie quieted.
As they turned around—yes, the thief from the security-camera footage was with them—the screen went dark. Harold had been emboldened by our arrival.
“Look who’s butting into our lives again,” one thug said.
“You’ve been butting into my life for weeks, asshole. Where’s my sword?” I glared at the one from the camera. “And the wolf bracelet you helped steal?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, bitch. You get out or…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to my side.
Duncan padded up on all fours, the hackles of his salt-and-pepper fur up. He growled at the men.
“Youget out. Or don’t, but know that I’ve decided to help clean up this town.” I winced at the cheesy Western-movie delivery, but oh well.
One man reached into his jacket. My instincts warned me that more than one thug was armed, and did I detect a hint of magic? Silver bullets in a gun?
“If you dumbasses don’t leave Shoreline,” I said, “I’ll make sure you’re buried here. You can’t stay unless you shape up and become good citizens. Instead of bullying others out of what they’ve worked hard for, you can leave offerings for the charities in town. Money, or good coffee or dark chocolate.”
That was what charities needed, wasn’t it?
With my own magic flowing through my veins and the change approaching, it was possible my words weren’t that logical. I didn’t care. I welcomed the power heating my blood for I had no doubt that this would turn into a battle.
“You bring the hand thing?” one man whispered to another as several stood.
“It’s in my saddlebag. Just pound them the old-fashioned way.”
“That hasn’t worked yet.” The first speaker glanced toward an exit door.
The man who’d been reaching into his jacket pulled out a handgun. He aimed it toward my head, but I was already dropping to all fours.
Duncan surged over the seats, springing at the gunman. I tried to tear off the rest of my clothing before the wolf took over, but I didn’t manage to get everything. It was just as well. There wasn’t time.
As the shooter fired, Duncan leaping into his chest and bearing him down between the seats, another guy ran into the aisle toward me. He tried to kick me, but I’d finished changing, and the instincts of the wolf took over.
I caught his leg with my jaws, biting down. At the same time, I yanked backward, pulling him off his feet. One of his pack mates jumped out, trying to knock me away from the fallen human. I bit him too, fangs sinking through his leather jacket and into his side.
Snarls and cries of pain came from my ally’s fight. Another gunshot fired, but Duncan had knocked the weapon aside so the bullet went wide. He clamped down on the gun—and the owner’s hand. Bone crunched, and metal crumpled. The man screamed. My ally let him go but only so he could spin to deal with another enemy.
Rapid thuds of boots on concrete sounded as one of the men ran toward the exit door.
Still battling the two foes in the aisle with me, I was tempted to let that one go, but he glanced back, and I glimpsed his face. It was familiar, more so than those of the others, and held significance to my human self. I couldn’t remember why, but I trusted my feelings and leaped over a row of seats. I rushed toward the side door, determined to keep that man from escaping.
When I entered the aisle ahead of him, he spotted me and flailed his arms to halt himself. After he caught his balance, he slid a hand into his jacket. To pull out a firearm?
I leaped, aware of the danger, and smashed into his chest at the same time as he drew out the weapon. He pitched backward, his knuckles cracking against the wall. The firearm flew free. I stood on his chest, fangs inches from his face, and snarled to let him know I could end his life. But I had to convey something else to him, didn’t I? What was it the human part of me desired?
“Radomir has it,” the man blurted, wincing when a drop of my saliva landed on his cheek.
He jerked his arms up and tried to push me off, but I sank all of my weight onto him.
“He paid me for it. It’s up north.”
I snarled.
“Near Maple Falls,” he blurted. “They’ve got a place up there. Some kind of laboratory. It’s where they’re keeping all the stuff they pay to have stolen. I don’t?—”
