This is taking too long.My breath is ragged, coming in short, sharp pants.
It won't be much longer,Fenris assures me.
Power shimmers around him. He grows, stretching until his back brushes the chandelier above. Another waste of his energy, but I can already feel him ignoring my opinion.
Stand clear.
I leap aside. No time to argue over his choices in battle.
His skull hits the chandelier and it crashes to the floor, crushing a wolf beneath it. Darkness swallows a quarter of the room.
The wolves hesitate, and that opening is all we need.
Fenris sweeps a massive paw, catching at least eight wolves. They crash into pillars, tables, walls—clearing a path.
I lunge through the opening. Two wolves react fast—one gets a claw across my flank. The other I tear apart mid-leap.
I scan the room. Bodies litter the floor, but too many still stand. Still fight. Still block my path to Grace.
A gray wolf lunges from behind a broken table. I sidestep. My teeth tear through his flank—no scream, no cry—just silence.
Even dying, they make no sound.
Blood drips from my muzzle. My legs ache. My side burns. But I feel nothing.
Only purpose.
A wolf leaps from behind—raking claws down my back. I whirl, bite down on its spine. One sharp twist—it drops.
Another charges.
I spear through it like a blade, jaw clamping around its head. Bone crunches. Still, no scream.
A flicker of movement to my left. I twist—too late. A wolf slams into me, teeth locking on my ribs. I feel them crack.
Fenris is already there.
He crushes the wolf beneath a single forepaw.
And then, as if every one of them were little more than a marionette, they crumple to the floor. All at once, twitching and groaning, as if they've returned to their senses.
Chapter twenty
Caine: Unnatural Silence (II)
CAINE
Bodies lie scattered around us, some moving, most still.
Fenris, sensing my intention, shrinks himself down to a less imposing size—though still massive by any normal wolf standard. The blue glow around him dims to a gentle aura as he pants, surveying our carnage with grim satisfaction.
I let my shift reverse, bones cracking back into human form. Shifting when wounded is never recommended, as it can makeeverything worse. Pain radiates through my body as wounds reshape themselves. My vision clears from wolf to human.
A Fiddleback nearby twitches, trying to crawl away. I stride toward it, naked and bloodied but unconcerned with such trivial matters. My foot connects with its ribs—not hard enough to break, just enough to turn it over.
"Shift." The word carries only a whisper of my dominance, but it's enough.
The wolf's body contorts, bones reshaping at an agonizingly slow pace. This time, the transformation happens as it should—not the unnatural speed from before. Paws elongate into fingers. Fur recedes into skin. Muzzle shortens to a human face.
