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I’m almost in a full-out run down the alley next to the hotel when a trio of guys comes stumbling into the alleyway from the opposite end.
Humans. Thank Gaia.
I can handle myself against some humans just fine.
I sigh and chide myself for getting spooked so easily. That doesn’t mean I don’t monitor the men as I continue down the way. Just because humans don’t come equipped with claws and fangs doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous.
Especially drunk men traveling in a pack.
I keep my guard up as the trio comes closer, stumbling and roughhousing as they go, their boisterous laughter traveling down the alleyway to me.
The one in the middle is staring. He looks me up and down, then leans over to whisper something to his friend. Then, both of them are leering.
It won’t turn out in their favor if they try anything.
“Aw, look,” the third one says, pointing as we pass each other. “A puppy.”
“Whoa, dude. That thing is huge.”
I turn around as the creepy tingle of eyes on my back returns and I’m faced with not a puppy like the first guy said, but two hulking wolves sauntering closer.
Their tongues loll out of their mouths as they flash their wicked sharp teeth and remind me that vampires aren’t the only things with fangs in these streets.
These werewolves are easily three times the size of any regular wolf in the wild, and exponentially more vicious.
Everything in me screams to high-tail it as far and as fast as my feet can take me—except I’m super-glued to the sidewalk. I can’t move, even as two more werewolves follow behind the oversized beasts, both on two legs and shirtless.
The human men stand between me and the threatening wall of muscle and wolves—frozen by the situation, the same as me.
Who could blame them?
Long globs of drool hang from their open mouths as two wolves approach. As a coordinated unit, they rush the drunken trio of friends, catching their prey with the ease of practiced hunters.
The screams of horror are cut short when powerful jaws snap shut around fragile throats. Sick gurgling sounds bounce off the brick walls of the alleyway as two drunken tourists take their last breaths.
The violence snaps me out of my haze.
I launch into motion, racing down the alley in search of an escape. I don’t intend to end up as a wolf snack tonight.
My pulse pounds in my ears but doesn’t drown out the clomping of steps gaining on me.
A heavy weight slams into me from behind.
The impact sends me off-balance and knocks me to the side. Rough brick eats the flesh of my palms and elbows as I try to avoid smacking my face.
Not that a broken nose will matter—I’m about to be devoured by werewolves.
They’ve got me now.
Except… when I scramble to my feet… it wasn’t a werewolf pouncing on me… it was the last drunken tourist. The one who didn’t get his innards spread onto the concrete pushed me out of the way in his frantic haste to escape.
Or maybe he hoped the wolves eating me would give him time to get away.
Rude.
The guy rushes past me so fast one of his sandals flings into the air behind him. He doesn’t pause or slow at all. He shoots a panicked glance over his shoulder, maybe to see if the wolves are coming after him, maybe to see if his plan worked and they’re chowing down on me.
It’s a fatal mistake.
