Finn’s wolf snapped his teeth, his adrenaline thumping through his veins and making his blood roar. He made a full circle around the house, slipping out of the corn when the stalks began to burn. Heat wafted up, smoke stinging his nose, and making his eyes water. Each slip of husk on husk, each snap of a dry stem beneath his paws, echoed in his ears. The crackle and pop of the fire helped cover his movements somewhat. But his nerves were on edge, amplifying everything. He might as well wear a fucking cowbell or light-up collar.
A scent reached him, faint, buried beneath the smoke. It teased him, a flare of recognition, then nothing but singed corn and scorched earth.
He put his nose down, jogging away from the flaming crops. A new scent. Blood. He froze, his chest heavy and thick. Mal’s blood.
He hesitated, then stepped forward, staring through the corn at the neatly mowed lawn. There was one tree with sprawling branches and a spare canopy of dry, withered leaves. And hanging from one thick limb was Mal. The wolf hung upside down, his throat torn open. Blood dripping. A rhythmic tap… His blood forming a puddle, soaking the ground.
No. This was Cyrus’s fate. Cyrus. Not Mal. His throat tightened, needing to howl, needing to call out. Mal. Goddammit Mal.
Finn ran forward, blood roaring in his veins and vision gone red.
The Others were on him then. A swarm of teeth and fur and claws. They tried to stop him, to get in his way, but they didn’t last long. A bite to the neck was fastest. But crunching through the nose worked. It was surprisingly easy to break a back. And slit the skin of a belly.
He never slowed.
Not until Mal was down, laying on the blood-soaked ground at his feet. He nudged him, sniffing Mal’s limp body.
“He’s not going to make it.” Cyrus’s voice reached him. “It seems you have a problem protecting your pack, Mr. Dean.”
Finn spun, choking on bile and hate.
Cyrus stood on the porch, leaning against the pillar. His pale gaze locked with his. “While I have lost no one,” he taunted, tempting the wolf. “You’ve lost…two? Or three? Considering she was carrying your pup.”
Finn paced back and forth, a low growl resonating in his throat.
“Now my farm,” Cyrus said. “It’s a total loss.” His eyes narrowed. “Have you come here to kill me, Finn? For vengeance? Or are you planning on torturing me first? Nothing you do will ease the pain. Nothing.” He smiled.
Finn heard Dante howl in the distance. He was on his own, he had to keep it together.
His wolf would not be calmed. His vision was bright red, his ears seeking the wet slosh of Cyrus’s accelerated heart rate. He wanted to stop that sound, wanted to rip the beating organ from his chest and devour it. He growled, pacing back and forth.
“So angry,” Cyrus said, watching. “Out of control. How unlike you, Finn.” Cyrus’s gaze wandered beyond him, a slight crease forming behind his brows as he took in the carnage.
“Let me fight him,” Thomas stepped forward, breathing heavy.
“You think you can best him, Thomas? Fight him,” Cyrus said. “I’m not stopping you.”
Finn shook his head and regarded Thomas. The boy wouldn’t stand a chance. Don’t.
Thomas smiled. “Scared, playboy?”
Finn shook his head again, his wolf snapping in anticipation. Don’t. He glanced at Cyrus, saw the fascination in his pale eyes, and gritted his teeth. He wanted them to fight, wanted to watch. And it sickened Finn.
But Thomas was turning.
And Finn’s wolf—his thirst for the kill—took
over. He waited for Thomas to finish. And once Thomas’s wolf was done, Finn smelled his fear. He was smaller. So were the others he’d fought. They’d been small, weaker, and slower.
He circled Thomas, ignoring the snap and growl of the wolves waiting for their turn. They respected the challenge, but for how long?
Thomas stepped forward. Finn bit into his foreleg, pulling it out from under him and flipping the wolf over. But Finn let go and stepped back, letting Thomas rise. Thomas growled, planting his forelegs and posturing, even as he shifted his weight from his wounded leg.
Finn snorted, shaking his head.
Thomas charged, eyes wild and mouth open. But Finn side-stepped, his jaws latching on to Thomas’s throat, snapping hard, before flinging him up and over. Thomas’s body slammed into the ground with all his force, the sickening crunch of bone signaling Finn’s victory.
Thomas lay, each breath a strangled groan.