Dad bellows out a warning but leaps at the same time, Grayson’s arms opening wide to grab his opponent midair. Or accepting the end.
They both fall when Dad’s hit takes Grayson to the ground. The floor vibrates with the impact before Grayson rolls and lands on top of Dad.
My father kicks up.
His back claws shred through Grayson’s stomach hard enough to open the skin like a split piñata.
It’s terror like I’ve never known. An ache. A calling.
An inevitability.
The scream is inside my head but it’s everywhere.
Grayson howls in pain and lurches to his side before pinning burning coal-red eyes on Dad.
I push toward them, dragging myself on my stomach.
Dad snaps, makes contact. Severs tendons.
Grayson shoves Dad aside and angles on his arm to rise but the lines in his stomach flap open. Blood and gore rush from the wounds.
Dad lifts his hackles higher and his keen gaze marks every point of weakness.
Not Grayson.
Ignoring the pain, I push up to a crouch, my leg shaking and pooling blood. I’m exhausted. There has to be an end to this. To the curse and the violence and the loss.
I have to have a chance to save him. It will be one of the first good things I’ve ever done, for me.
For him.
Losing him isn’t an option.
Dad snaps again then tenses, hunched and ready. Grayson is unsteady on his feet.
So I jump between them. Eyes open.
An ache spreads from my heart through to the tips of my fingers. A droning howl in my head blocks out the rest of the room and the fighting. My insides go fluid, then tense, hot and coiled and warping in unnatural ways before I hit the ground again.
The pain is gone. So are the whispers, and the silence stretches so vast it hurts.
I try to spread my arms to block Dad from making contact with Grayson, but there are no arms to spread.
Nothing but silken white fur thickening with the passing seconds.
Then the first splatters of pain, the cuts in my face and my jaw cracking and lengthening with a growl. My eyesightsharpens, sense of smell keen enough to churn my stomach at the reek of decay and spoiling blood.
But I lock my eyes on my father and step closer, claws lengthening, digging into the wooden floor and leaving holes. Evidence.
My wolf seats herself firmly in my head and in my chest and we move together as one, taller than Dad. Larger than Grayson.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in Dad’s eyes, the enormous white wolf.
An alpha.
Grayson moans behind me and a dull thud spreads like ripples in a pond when he collapses.
This ends now.