Wolf Island (The Demonata 8)

I frown at such a ludicrous question, then remember that she doesn’t have the same sharp senses I do. “They know,” I tell her. “They’re waiting for us.”

“Our forces will be cut down,” she says quietly, studying the werewolves. “It will be a massacre.”

“Many will die,” I agree, “but not all. We’ll overwhelm them.”

“But at such a cost…,” Prae sighs. “Is it worth it? Maybe we should just take the boats and get out of here.”

“They’d call in fresh troops,” Meera says. “They’d fire on the werewolves from the air and wipe them out — they couldn’t afford to leave them alive now that we know about Wolf Island. At least this way the beasts have a fair chance.”

“I hate this,” Prae mutters. “It was never meant to end in a bloodbath. I wanted to save lives, not be responsible for wholesale slaughter.”

“Then you shouldn’t have become a Lamb,” Meera says.

Before Prae can respond, Timas whistles softly. “No more time for bickering. The gates of hell are about to open for business.”

He presses a button. Panels slide apart. Werewolves howl and surge forward. A mass of guns discharge at the same time and the air turns red with blood.

THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME

DOZENS are slaughtered within seconds, torn to ragged, fleshy shreds by the frenzied fire of Juni Swan’s soldiers. But the stench of blood only drives the rest of us wilder. We push on without pause, leaping over the jerking bodies of the dead and dying, ignoring the peril, the bullets, the fallen. Not a single beast turns and runs.

I’m among the pack, unable to restrain myself, risking all just to be one of the first to claim a human heart. It’s crazy. I should hold back and let them do my dirty work. But for a few mad moments I lose control. I press forward with the others, howling and bellowing, as much of a target as any other werewolf.

Then we’re on the terrified soldiers, hacking at them, tearing guns from their hands, chowing down on their sweet, soft flesh and oh-so-chewable bones. Human screams are added to the cacophony of gunfire and howls. The line disintegrates beneath us. I’m past it before I know what’s happening, staring at an empty corridor. I have to stop, swivel, and dive back into the fray to claim my victims and be part of the barbaric, bloody feast.

I don’t know how much time passes. It could be seconds or minutes. All I’m aware of is the killing and feasting. My world becomes an endless pool of thick, salty blood, springy flesh, brittle bones, juicy inner organs. I butcher heartlessly, wolfishly. I don’t know how many. Bodies are tossed around and pulled apart like chicken wings at a party.

When the bloodlust finally passes — when I’ve had my fill — my senses return. I spit out a mouthful of soggy flesh. I’m drenched in blood, my ears and head ringing with noise. I stare at my red, twisted hands and wait to feel disgust and shame. But nothing hits me. I’m neither appalled nor shocked. In this new form I have no delusions. I’m a killer. Whether a killer of demons, werewolves, or humans… no matter. I’ve butchered with magic in the Demonata universe. Now I’ve murdered with my hands and teeth here. I feel no more for the people I’ve slaughtered than the demons I fried. To a beast like me, there’s no real difference.

I look around for Meera, Timas, and Prae. I find them standing in a doorway, transfixed, faces pale, eyes awash with horror. Even the usually unflappable Timas Brauss looks disturbed. I sneer at their expressions, wipe a hand across my lips, then lick them clean.

“Sorry I didn’t offer you anything to eat,” I chuckle hoarsely.

“Grubbs… you… this…” Meera can’t find words to express what she feels.

“I did what I had to,” I grunt. “It was a fair fight.”

“But you enjoyed it!” Meera gasps. “You laughed as you killed. The way you drank…”

“I was thirsty,” I shrug.

Before Meera can say anything else, I call my private retinue of advanced werewolves to my side. Not all of the chosen come — some are dead. But most assemble, grinning ghoulishly, blood dripping from their chins.

“Let’s go and find Juni,” I tell them, and over the mounds of dead bodies we climb.

Not all of the soldiers perished at the perimeter. Some dropped back when they realized their cause was lost. They’re fleeing through the compound, pursued by ravenous werewolves. I don’t know where they think they can hide. It’s over. They’ll be tracked down and slit from groin to skull. Running only adds sport to the slaughter.

It’s hard not to give in to temptation and hunt with the pack. Juni’s just one person (or whatever the hell it is that she’s become). There are so many others to chase and murder. I have to focus to keep my feral nature in check. I tell myself Juni will be worth it, that the joy of killing her will be greater than a dozen human deaths. But I’m not convinced. I think I might be happier if I surrendered to my desires and ran wild. I’d like to butcher freely while the butchering’s good.

I’m aware of Meera, Timas, and Prae arming themselves, picking guns from the corpses. I don’t bother with weapons. I relied on magic and my wits before. Now I have something even better — claws and fangs.

Some of the werewolves sniff longingly at the humans, but the members of my personal guard warn them off with soft growls. Give it a few days and they might not be so obedient. But there’s plenty for all to eat now, so they’re willing to let these three snack-boxes on legs pass unmolested.

We press farther into the building. The stench of Juni’s sickly sweet sweat fills my nostrils. I hope she’s sweating with fear, that she’s trapped, nowhere to run, dreading our confrontation. If she’s not afraid now, I’ll show her fear before I kill her. I don’t want her to die without knowing what it’s like to tremble in the clutches of one more twisted and vicious than yourself.

As I’m closing on her location, I feel a sweep of something like air gushing through the compound. It’s warm and tingling. It seeps into my pores, filling me with power.

Magic.