Page 122 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

Disgust rolled through me, cold and heavy.

I kept my voice flat. “You’re not going to do shit.”

He yanked the hunting knife from his belt and lunged. I twisted sideways, the blade cutting empty air where my ribs had been a heartbeat earlier. Without slowing, he slashed again, wider, harder, forcing me back while I tracked the set of his shoulders, the shift of his hips, the placement of every step.

He mistook retreat for fear.

"You should've stayed dead," he spat.

The next strike overextended him just enough. I slipped inside the arc, caught his wrist with both hands, and twisted hard, wrenching the arm into a brutal lock that hyperextended his elbow with a sickening jerk. The knife clattered to the ground as he screamed.

Before he could recover I drove my thumb straight into his eye.

Wet heat burst across my hand and he howled, the sound raw and furious. I followed with an elbow to the side of his head, hard enough to stagger him, but wolf healing and pure adrenaline kept him on his feet. He came at me almost immediately. His fist clipped my jaw and white exploded across my vision. A kick followed right after. I ducked under it and bark exploded from the tree where his boot connected instead.

I drove my fist into his groin with everything I had.

John folded with a strangled gasp, the air punched clean out of him. My cat surged hard beneath my skin and claws ripped through my fingertips as I buried them deep in his thigh. He roared and swung a backhand that caught me full across the face.

Blood flooded my nose as we staggered apart, both of us breathing hard.

One eye was ruined and blood poured down his face and leg, yet recognition still cut across his features.

“You killed Colt and Richard.”

I spat a mouthful of blood onto the dirt. “Someone had to.”

Rage twisted his face. “You fucking bitch!”

He charged again, abandoning what little technique he still had. I sidestepped and drove my knee hard into his ribs. Something cracked under the impact, but he barely slowed. His claws raked across my side a second later, slicing straight through fabric and skin. Pain flared hot and sharp.

Then his hand locked around my throat and he slammed me into a tree hard enough that my vision blurred. Air vanished. His fingers tightened, crushing my windpipe while every instinct screamed at me to claw uselessly at his wrist.

Panic got people killed. Brian had drilled that into me until it became instinct.

So I attacked instead. My claws plunged into the side of John’s neck and ripped downward. He roared and hurled me away. I hit the ground hard, rolled twice, and came up coughing violently as air tore back into my burning lungs.

Blood streamed down his chest, soaking the front of his shirt, but not fast enough. I had missed the major arteries. Pity.

He was already coming again.

My shoulder throbbed. The gash in my side wouldn’t stop bleeding. Vision blurred around the edges.

My cat surged hard under my skin. This time I let her.

The shift tore through me without mercy. Clothes shredded. Bones cracked and realigned. I dropped to four paws and shook out my coat. My cougar screamed and launched.

She hit him square in the chest and drove him into the dirt. Mid-fall he shifted, one moment a bleeding man, the next a massive grey-black wolf nearly twice her size. He twisted violently beneath her and sank his teeth into her hind leg. She yowled and raked across his muzzle, claws tearing through soft flesh. The wolf released her with a sharp yelp and sprang back.

For one tense heartbeat they circled.

After that, the fight became pure instinct. Fur. Teeth. Blood on the ground.

The wolf was bigger, heavier, built to overpower. But cougars were built to kill.

He slammed into her side and sent her sprawling. His next lunge went straight for her throat. She twisted at the last second and his teeth sank into her shoulder instead. Pain ripped through her in a hot, blinding wave.

With a furious yowl, she drove her claws deep into his throat.