Chapter 7 #2
Inside, I notice two majestic and powerful wolves—one with a golden coat, the other a stark and arresting shade of pure white—and I recognize them as Alphas Aaliyah and Carmine.
They’re fighting on our side and helping our people escape.
But even with the home-court advantage, these invaders have managed to ransack the packhouse: The party decorations are destroyed, wildflowers strewn across the floor, blood splatter and torn shimmery fabric glitter grotesquely in the light.
Marcel lies motionless, his father on top of him, heaving sobs.
This has to end.
Not wasting any more time, I close my eyes and reach out through the Lunar Plane. I take all the hurt and anger, the fear and panic I feel, the devastation, and I send it out, amplified tenfold, through the strands of our connection and into the hearts of our attackers.
Their howls rise like sirens, echoing through the room as they fall back, clawing at their own faces, trying to make it stop.
The gray wolf is the only one who can resist it, but not completely.
He staggers backward, shaking his head and growling furiously.
The wolves who had all but buried Jericho fall away writhing in an agonizing circle around him.
Jasper stands panting, he glances at me while keeping a watchful eye on his opponent.
I send out all the hate and anger I’m feeling at this moment, continuing to channel all my negative feelings, all my apprehension and judgment, into these wolves.
In my periphery I know that Elite Pack wolves are watching me, their own opponents whimpering, shaking, rendered powerless.
And for a second I’m worried about what they’ll all think, seeing me like this.
Will they thank me later, or will they be scared?
The gray wolf, still staggering but, beyond all reason, still standing, turns his attention on me, barks, and snaps his jaws. Jasper comes to stand a couple of feet in front of me, putting himself between me and the gray wolf.
The gray wolf glances around, surveying his numbers, turning to look over his shoulder, where the wolves who attacked Jericho have been reduced to quivering messes. But then he sees what I too am just now noticing.
Jericho isn’t moving.
He’s lying on his back, Melissa and Jodie kneeling beside him, both their faces streaked with tears.
Oh no . . . Oh no oh no oh no oh no.
I lose concentration, breaking the link from my mind to the invaders’, and slowly they come back to themselves.
The gray wolf turns back to me, a dark, satisfied smirk tearing across his face. This is what they wanted. This is what they came for. To take out Alpha Jericho.
Jasper howls and it’s the most earthshaking, heartbreaking sound I’ve ever heard. But before he can attack, the gray wolf has barked, sending an order to his troops, and they’re off.
He plus the six wolves who took down Jericho come charging at us and it’s all Jasper can do to protect me.
The wolves collect their comrades as they go, disappearing through the doors of the packhouse, not hurting anyone anymore.
They dart between Elite Pack wolves, making for the fire exit. They’ve gotten what they came for.
But Jasper isn’t finished.
He barks and chases after them. I run to the doors of the balcony just in time to see the invaders disappearing, with Jasper hot on their tails.
“Jasper, wait!” I cry via mind-link, but he ignores me, instead sprinting faster to the exit.
There’s no other choice—I can’t let Jasper go after them alone and I won’t keep up in human form—so I bite down, tense every muscle in my body, and shift.
The transformation happens quickly. Suddenly the world is a mess of bioluminescent trails and clouds.
But I don’t need blood-wolf abilities to be able to sense Jasper. Without thinking I go after him.
The event space at the packhouse is full of tears and confused expressions as I hurry through the remaining crowds, recovering and trying to make sense of what’s just transpired.
Muzzle down, I collide with the fire exit, bursting through the door to a cement stairwell.
Thousands of steps leading to street level.
The sounds of wolves huffing and clawing at the cement rise from some distance below.
Behind me, the door swings open and Katie, her petite but fierce blond wolf, along with Todd and Simon, their wolves ginger and dark brown, respectively, arrives. Katie nods in my direction as if to say We’re coming with you. And just like that we’re off.
At breakneck speed we descend the stairs, bursting through a large metal door once we reach street level and out into an alley.
Dumpsters are lined up on the opposite wall, oil-stained water trickles into a drain, and to my left, where Jasper’s and the invaders’ scent trails linger, is a busy New York street.
Without thinking, we follow, erupting from the alley onto the sidewalk.
A quick glance ahead and I spot the wolves careening down Thirty-Fourth Street, leaping from the roofs of cabs, darting through traffic, knocking pedestrians over on the sidewalk.
Squinting and straining, I try to spot Jasper and just catch a glimpse of his midnight coat darting behind a truck.
We follow. Unable to keep pace on the busy sidewalk, we veer away from the shocked and panicked onlookers, not caring that we’re exposing ourselves to humans, and sprint through traffic.
All around me people are staring and pointing, pulling their phones out to hit record.
Lights whizz by, headlights, shop fronts, and traffic signals.
I mount a yellow taxi as I lose sight of Jasper and see the pack of invaders turning right.
With a signal to Katie and her mates I lead us in the same direction.
We veer down Sixth Avenue, the Empire State Building at our backs as we head downtown.
My superspeed kicks in and I put a gap between Katie and myself, trying to catch up with Jasper.
But I also know we don’t stand much of a chance against the twenty-something wolves up ahead.
So I try to put myself somewhere between Jasper and the others, hoping to catch up, but also wanting Katie to know which direction to head in.
A feat that becomes increasingly difficult as we weave our way through Manhattan, zigzagging right then left, grazing Union Sq and the outskirts of the East Village.
On both sides of us the city’s high-rises loom, seemingly in motion as we plough onward.
Farther and farther, we race downtown, making up time on the invaders, until we come to the ramp leading onto the Brooklyn Bridge.
Jasper darts onto the bridge’s raised walkway, high above the traffic crawling below.
Sightseers jump out of the way in terror.
I snap my jaws in his direction, leading the others.
But up ahead the invaders are slowing down.
They’ve split up, leaping onto the steel crossbeams that jut out from the walkway, seemingly unfazed by the packed roadway beneath them. Jasper has almost reached them.
But he can’t face them alone.
I speed up, pressing into the ground with my back legs and pushing myself forward.
“Jasper!” I call as I make up ground. He’s almost at the point in the walkway where the invaders have jumped up onto the beams and where they look like they’re .
. . jumping off the bridge. From here I can’t see if they’re plummeting to their deaths in the East River. All I know is I need to catch up.
“Stay back,” Jasper says, his voice a pleasant surprise as it arrives in my head. “I’ve got this.”
All but the gray wolf have now disappeared over the side of the bridge.
He stands above Jasper on the raised beam as traffic creeps by beneath him.
His lips are a vibrating snarl. Then he does something I’ve never seen a wolf do before: He starts to shift back to human, the change beginning from the top of his head, but instead of taking full effect, the shift stops at his shoulders, revealing just his human face.
It’s a terrifying and unnerving image. The body of a wolf, with the head of a man, his lips still stretched by the sadistic grin he wore earlier.
He regards us with a malevolent sort of excitement, then he says, “Walter sends his regards.”
Jasper growls and leaps, but before he can reach the gray wolf, that dick has shifted fully once more, diving over the side of the bridge. I join Jasper on the beams, traversing them easily to reach the edge, where we’re just able to see the small dot of white as the gray wolf enters the water.
“Did he make it?” I ask, but Jasper doesn’t respond. We wait, staring down at the water, looking to see if this was some sort of suicide mission, but when he resurfaces the gray wolf is alive.
He swims at an angle, letting the current move him south but angling his body to the east toward Brooklyn.
“Look,” I say, following his trajectory. “The rest of them made it as well.”
Across the East River, a small pack of wolves is staggering up the banks, crawling onto the grass at Brooklyn Bridge Park, then darting away until they’re out of sight. We watch until the gray wolf has done the same.
Beside me, Jasper growls, the sensation rippling through me.