Thirteen (Otherworld 13)

"Savannah?" Elena said, "stay out of this. Please."

"Good advice, little witch," Malcolm said as he recovered. "The necks of pretty girls break like twigs. Did you know that?"

He would know. Elena had heard that mutts weren't the only prey Malcolm Danvers hunted. No better than a man-killer, they'd said. Yet the Pack never kicked him out. In fact, they'd almost elected him Alpha. That was one of the many injustices that still dogged the Pack thirty years after Jeremy took over. Mutts had long memories.

Malcolm turned toward her. "Do you really think you can kill me?"

"I'm going to try," she said.

He smiled. "Better wolves than you have given it their best and gone to a shallow grave. You're very valuable to someone I care about. I don't want to hurt you."

"Then sit down in that chair and we'll see if your neck snaps like a twig."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it, "You've let this Alpha business go to your head, my dear. It's a sham, you know. Clayton will be Alpha. You're just the pretty fool who thinks she's a big bad wolf."

"Then it should be easy to take me down."

His smile turned into an ugly scowl. "I won't kill you, she-bitch. I wouldn't do that to Clayton. But it seems he's neglected to teach you to respect your betters."

"Oh, I respect my betters. But a Y chromosome doesn't automatically place you in that category."

"No? Well, maybe I'll show you what it does mean. Teach you the lesson my boy failed to impart."

Two years ago, that threat would have brought back memories of her hellish years as a foster child, and it would have done exactly what he wanted--it would have scared her. But she'd faced down those demons in Alaska and now she heard his words, looked in his eyes and felt nothing but cold rage.

"Go ahead and try," she said.

He charged. Elena stepped aside at the last moment, grabbed him by the back of the shirt and yanked him off his feet. He broke from her grip, and hit her with a blow to the chin that sent her reeling. She blocked his next punch, then landed one of her own.

Earlier, she'd thought of the aches and bruises she'd feel tomorrow from the fight with the guards. But after a few rounds with Malcolm, they started making an early appearance--a shoulder throbbing when she threw a punch, a leg muscle screaming when she kicked, a blow that didn't have the power it should, a dodge that wasn't quite fast enough.

Having superstrength was a lot more useful against a human opponent. It didn't matter how hard Elena worked out, biology dictated that she'd never develop the upper-body strength to compete with a physically fit male werewolf. Instead, she had to rely on speed and experience. Today neither seemed to be enough.

As Elena fought, she kept reminding herself that Malcolm had to be at least eighty. But he didn't look like he was eighty, and he sure as hell didn't fight like he was eighty, and she had no idea how that could be possible, but it was.

When she sparred with Clay, he held back a little. Even with his bad arm, he was still an experienced werewolf in his prime. If he gave it his all, she couldn't beat him. Her brain insisted that Malcolm was an old man and she was Alpha-elect, damn it--she should be able to beat him. But she couldn't. It was like fighting Clay full out . . . after she'd gone two days without sleep and fought off a battalion of trained Cabal guards.

Soon Malcolm was landing more blows than she was. Even with Savannah discreetly casting knockbacks to push him off balance, Elena was barely holding her own. Then a solid blow to the jaw sent her down. Before she could scramble up, Malcolm was straddling her, pinning her on her back. Savannah started forward, but Elena lifted her fingers, telling her to wait. She looked up at Malcolm, widened her eyes, and poured in every ounce of that old fear she could dredge up.

He smiled. His hand moved to her side, then slid up toward her breast as he bent over. "Is this what you wanted, my dear? I think it--"

She head-butted his jaw, catching his tongue between his teeth. As he snarled, she yanked one arm free and smashed it into his nose. Blood spurted. Elena shoved him off and sprang to her feet. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Savannah rushing in. Elena waved her back, but the move caught Malcolm's attention and with one last rage-filled glance at her, he charged Savannah. Elena sprang at him just as the door flew open.

Clay came in, muttering, "Easy to find you two. Savannah left the damned door ajar--"

He stopped. So did Malcolm. Elena was already in flight and hit him square in the back. She pinned him this time, face down on the floor.

Then Elena looked up and saw Clay's face. Saw the shock on it. Utter, stomach-dropping shock. She'd wanted to spare him this. If she couldn't spare him, at least she wanted to warn him. But it was too late. It took only a split second for that shock to harden, his eyes going colder than she'd ever seen them. And in another split second, that look vanished, too.

Clay strolled over to them. "Well, if I ever had to see you again, Malcolm, I suppose this is the way I'd choose." He crouched. "Taken down by a woman, huh? Probably rather just let everyone go on thinking you were already dead."

Malcolm bucked and snarled, but Elena had him pinned by the shoulders. She moved her knee up his spine and pushed down. As he hissed, she grabbed a handful of his hair and ground his broken nose against the hardwood.

"You better call off your bitch," Malcolm said, his breathing ragged with pain. "She already threatened to snap my neck."

Clay rested on his haunches and looked at Elena. "Did you say that, darling?"

"I did. Of course, I was hoping to do it before you realized he was alive. But now's a good time, too."