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The venom in the bite burns like a motherfucker, immediately attacking my system and making me queasy.
I’m in trouble for sure, but I’ll be damned if I won’t take this asshole down with me.
With one hand gripping the wolf’s scruff, I pound a fist into its ribs. The wolf’s jaws gnash into me, refusing to let go even as his bones break against my knuckles.
“Get off me, you mangy fucking flea bag.” I match the wolf’s growl with one of my own, struggling to get out from under his weight while I still have enough strength to fight.
Finn is battling a snarling wolf of his own with a second one closing in. Where in the nine circles of hell did all these wolves come from?
Whatever. Looks like I’m on my own here.
The wolf clamps down harder, dragging me by muscle and sinew as it pulls me along the rough ground. A smear of blood leaves an alarming trail, but I’m not about to concede.
Beyond its bulk of fur, one bastard still in human form hauls the unconscious woman off the ground and over his shoulder. He’s ready to make off into the night with her.
I don’t fucking think so.
Why is she so important to them? Doesn’t matter. If I’m going down, they’re not going to get what they came for. Rolling to the side, I swing my foot in a wild kick and connect.
The crunch of bone means I’ve hit the mark and crushed one of the wolf’s ribs. It howls, and I do it again, snapping another rib and bringing the beast to the ground with a wheezing whimper.
Gripping its slobbering fangs, I yank its teeth free from my arm and roll to my feet. The world is spinning like I’ve polished off a keg of mead by myself. Holding out a hand to catch my balance, my steps falter, and I drop to one knee on the warm asphalt.
Shit. Not good.
I glance up as the asshole with the woman flung over his shoulder rounds the corner and disappears. The cowardly wolf who bit me slinks after them, his movements hindered by the shattered ribs.
That brings me a bit of satisfaction.
My instinct is to tear off after them and finish the fight, but my body isn’t cooperating. It won’t respond to me. Probably something to do with the werewolf venom currently racing towards my heart to kill me.
Figures.
At least I met my fate while fighting—a warrior’s death.
As if the universe hears my resignation, a shadow falls over me, and a werewolf bends, mouth open, panting hot air onto my face.
“Ugh, seriously. Your breath smells like moldy hot dog water and baked bean farts.”
With no function of my limbs, I wait for the inevitable.
Then, suddenly, the wolf’s red eyes go blank and his body collapses in a heap on the ground beside me. My lagging mind takes a moment to put two and two together, even with Fintan standing over its lifeless form.
Thank Odin.
I was bluffing. I’m not ready to see Valhalla yet.
“Stay with me, Rune.” I hear his voice, but can barely open my eyes. Off in the distance, Finn shouts for Leo. He sounds like he’s getting far away even as I feel him leaning over me. “Cover our backs. I need to get Rune to a healer.”
A healer? That’s a good idea. A fantastic idea.
Everything feels like fire. Like when I was stupid enough to test my weakness and stuck my hand into the rays of the sun.
That brief experiment seared me down to the bone.
The inferno is spreading, intensifying, and I want it to stop. Now. The creeping fuzziness of unconsciousness inches closer, promising only peacefulness if I give in.
“Ye’ll be fine, brother. Everything is fine.”
