Cruz's Salvation

“So be it.” Cruz rushed forward, and grabbed onto Milo’s paw. The werewolf bit down on his wrist, but Cruz ignored the sting of the bite and threw him against the wall.

Milo yelped as he smacked against the window of the cabin, shattering the glass to the floor. Cruz heard bones break, ribs, he suspected. But the werewolf lurched back to his feet, snarling. Milo’s breathing had become more labored, shorter breaths and the strain of his body making it obvious.

“Yield,” Cruz shouted. Vampires and Werewolves held hostility toward each other, but he had no problem with any of them. Destroying Milo was the last thing he wanted to do. He might have fought in the war, killed many mortals. Now, he lived in peace and didn’t enjoy the thought of taking a life.

Milo growled before he pounced forward. Decision made. Milo gave Cruz no alternative. If he chose death, Cruz would find salvation in it. Protect Kiara at all costs. Furniture in his living room went soaring through the air as Cruz fought back with every skill he’d learned over the years, not only as a vampire, but as a mortal fighting alongside his fellow soldiers.

Grabbing a paw again, Cruz needed to disable Milo if he wanted to end the fight. Right now, snapping his neck remained impossible. The powerful werewolf held too much strength, would squirm out of his hold. Cruz could handle the bites, but only so much of his blood could spill before he weakened. Grasping Milo’s paw with both hands, ignoring the deep bite to his forearm, he broke Milo’s leg with a steady snap.

Milo howled, dropping to the ground. Cruz jumped up, and licked the wound along his arms to heal the two puncture wounds caused by Milo’s bite. Once sealed, he lunged at Milo again, but his broken leg didn’t hinder him.

He lurched forward, limping, but nonetheless flew toward him, pummeling his wolf form into Cruz and sending them soaring back over the coffee table, turning it up on the side.

Cruz attempted to gain the upper hand, squeezing around Milo’s chest to crush him, but Milo had moves of his own and snuck his head around, biting down on Cruz’s neck. He groaned as sharp incisors slashed into his skin, and Cruz felt his warm blood pour down his skin.

Not a good position. Cruz tried to squirm out, get away from his hold, but Milo held him still, growling. Cruz punched out, using all his force to slam hard hits against the werewolf’s head, yet the move did him no good.

Milo’s teeth sank in deeper, wrapping around his jugular, a moment away from ripping out his neck. Cruz needed to get away, and needed to do so now. His only question, how?

Rage burned to the surface. If he died here, so would Kiara. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Kiara gave him strength; his love for her mattered more than his own wellbeing. He needed to win here, not to save his own life, but to save hers.

With a roar, he latched onto Milo’s neck, aware the werewolf ripped into his neck, inch by inch moving deeper into his skin, only moments away from forcing Cruz to meet his demise. Pushing past the pain, Cruz squeezed with every ounce of strength he received from the thoughts of Kiara and, with a crack, Milo’s neck snapped. A thud, followed by silence, ended the battle and withdrew Milo as a threat to Kiara.

Cruz groaned, not needing to release a deep breath, but did so anyway to expel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. His neck burned and he only waited a few short moments before he felt his healing take place. The amount of blood lessened as it coagulated and his skin sealed, closing up the wounds Milo had caused. Just as Cruz reeled in the loss of pain, accepted the restored health and reprieve that had come upon him, a scent filled the air.

Wolf.

Before Cruz had a chance to respond, a hand wrapped around his throat and he found himself up against the wall. His legs dangled down an inch from the ground as he stared into the face of someone he didn’t expect to find here and one he couldn’t kill. No matter how much the situation might declare him to.

Silence sounded around Kiara. Panic gripped her. For a good ten minutes, crashing of breaking furniture, vicious growls, howls of pain, and even Cruz groaning in agony a few times. What happened? Who died? She held no doubt someone had.

Her body ached from when Cruz had thrown her against the room, but she understood his move. It protected her. She wouldn’t fault him for looking out for her. Pushing up off the floor, she held onto the bed and her body shook, trembled in fear for what awaited her in the living room. If Cruz had died, not only would he be gone, but she’d be dead too. She’d signed her death warrant the moment she’d fallen in love with him. What she’d done was unforgivable in the wolf pack.

Kiara forced herself to keep moving. Put one foot in front of the other until she met the hallway. Her breath caught in her lungs as her mind played with images of the worst kind.

At the end of the hallway, the silence ceased as a deep groan, followed by a growl, replaced it. Kiara’s heart skipped a beat and she stopped dead. She listened hard, waiting to hear another sound for her to clarify what happened. When nothing came, Kiara ordered her feet to walk and entered the living room.

The sight was too hard for her to process. She scanned the surroundings a few times over. All of the furniture had been crumbled to pieces; blood splattered the walls. Kiara gulped. The most ghastly sight she’d ever seen. She blinked, focusing herself to find Cruz. Her gaze searched the floor, and a wolf’s paw caught her attention. She stepped further into the room, needing to be sure, and just behind the table on his side, Milo lay dead.

“Cruz!” Kiara screamed.

Before she had the chance to look up, and with sense returning to her mind, a scent drifted through. One she recognized. Just as her awareness filtered in, her father’s stern voice sounded around her. “Go and hide, Kiara. It’s not safe for you.”

Startled, she spun around to see that her father had Cruz by the neck up against the wall. The horror of the situation doubled. “Let him go, Father.”

Adric’s head snapped toward her, confusion held in the dark depths of his eyes. “And just why would I do that, Kiara?” Suspicion flashed across his face while he examined her.

Kiara tried to tell him, tried to find the words to make him understand, but she failed, and miserably so. Instead of saying a word, she stood there, mouth parted, and she could only imagine her eyes held guilt.

Adric’s eyes widened, he paled, and understanding smacked onto his expression. “You haven’t? Please tell me, Kiara, you haven’t done what my mind is leading me to believe?”

Seeing the traitorous look on his face made guilt clench her stomach. A wave of disappointment made her unable to hold his gaze. She glanced to the floor and heard Cruz tumble to the ground as her father released him.

Kiara wanted to run to him, to ensure Cruz hadn’t been injured, but she saw him rise to his feet and relief flooded her. She dared to look to him, needed his strength to guide her here with her father. What would happen now? How could her father forgive her?

Cruz didn’t look at her, his focus held on her father. Not threatening in any way, more just like her father’s face—utterly confused. Milo had been an entirely different situation. She’d not mourn his death. It meant she and Cruz still lived. They couldn’t erase her father from the situation. He’d become knee deep in their problem, all her secrets exposed, and she had no i

dea how to resolve her situation to form a good outcome.