Chapter 17
Losing Control
Romero
The gray wolf leaps onto a closed dumpster, then push several trash cans toward me. I turn my body to block the first wave. The cans slam into the wall, tumble to the ground, then crash again in a metallic chorus.
It isn’t just one. He kicks another can. Then another. Again and again, I spring sideways, dodging as the clanging echoes down the alley and seeps into the club, loud enough to wake anyone inside.
“Coward,” I spit.
I launch myself onto the dumpster in a high leap. When we close the distance again, I lunge for his calf, teeth bared. He sees it coming and slips away at the last second.
After a few exchanges, I start to read him. This bastard avoids my strikes instead of blocking them. Just like I thought. He’d rather dodge than commit.
So I feint.
I lunge left. He shifts right, exactly as expected. My right claw snaps out and rakes across his shoulder, halting him cold. He howls as blood spills from the gash, dark and thick.
I bite his arm and drop my weight, pulling him off the dumpster. He crashes hard into the ground. His arm gives beneath my grip, muscle tearing under my claws. I’m about to sink my fangs into his shoulder when he bucks violently and forces me back.
The gray wolf rolls and drives a brutal kick into my stomach. I stagger, but the dumpster blocks my retreat. He takes the opening and lands a butthead, right into my gut.
“Ugh. Damn it,” I groan.
My body is wrecked from the day’s exhaustion, but quitting isn’t an option. Not now. Not for Brianna.
Slowly, we haul ourselves upright. Our breathing is ragged. Blood and saliva drip from our mouths. Neither of us even considers stopping.
“Walk away,” he growls. “You keep this up, you’ll end up dead.”
“Take your own advice,” I snarl. “Go crawl back to your pack.”
“Son of a bitch.”
He lunges again. This time, I stop holding back. We leap together, colliding midair, grappling for control. Claws tear. Fangs snap. We wrestle for dominance, bodies slamming and twisting in a brutal tangle.
The noise must finally draw attention. The back door flies open, and Mr. Moris steps out, followed by several staff members. They freeze when they see us, fully shifted, locked in combat.
“Get the rifle from my office,” Mr. Moris barks.
One of the cooks bolts back inside. Could they even stop this?
That split second of distraction costs me. The gray wolf smashes a heavy blow into my jaw. My head snaps back and slams into the wall. Pain explodes through my skull. I slide down, struggling to focus as my vision swims.
“Romero, this is bad. We’re burning out,” Johan warns.
“Then let me go down fighting,” I snap back.
The staff stands frozen, terror etched across their faces. Then something changes. A heavier aura crashes into the alley, suffocating and immense. Thunder rumbles louder, drawn toward that overwhelming presence.
Mr. Moris stumbles backward, barely able to stand under the pressure. We feel it too. Even so, the gray wolf jams his paws against my throat, lifting his clawed hand toward my face.
He grins, fangs long and stained with blood. His eyes are swollen, his mouth torn, but he knows he’s winning. He’s about to finish it.
Instead, he screams.
“My back! Damn it!”
His eyes go wide. His body jerks as if burned from the inside. He isn’t leaping away. He’s thrown by something unseen. A violent force rushes past me.
He crashes hard and scrambles to turn. Lightning flashes, illuminating a massive creature standing behind him, nearly six foot three, broad and towering. No, that’s not a werewolf.
The Lycan roars, baring fangs larger than any I’ve ever seen. Its eyes glow a fierce yellow, moon-bright. Thick black fur ripples across its body, dense and brutal.
This thing isn’t just a wild wolf. It looks like a wolf forcing itself into a human shape, wild and savage beyond reason.
In the next heartbeat, it lunges. One massive hand clamps around my rival’s neck. With a single motion, it hurls him into the wall.
My opponent growls as blood spills down his face. He tries to fight back, but the creature is faster. A crushing punch. Another. A brutal blow to the stomach. Then a kick that pins his head against the wall.
He goes limp and collapses.
I swallow hard, staring up at the towering figure. My body refuses to move. I can only sit there, frozen, wondering if I’m next.
And yet, something doesn’t add up. Its scent hits me then. Vanilla. Jasmine.
“Who… who are you?” I whisper.
The creature growls again, lower this time, edged with frustration instead of rage. It steps back, each footfall heavy.
I try to push myself up, bracing on my feet. Behind me, metal clicks. A rifle being cocked.
Mr. Moris.
“No. Stop!” I shout.
He hesitates. Just for a second, but that’s all it takes.
The Lycan leaps onto the neighboring building. Hands and feet grip window ledges as it scales upward in a blur of motion. It lands on a neon sign, sending a hanging lamp crashing down, then springs onto the rooftop and disappears into the night.
Rain begins to fall, cool against my cheeks, as my body shifts back into human form. I turn to Mr. Moris. He lowers the rifle slowly as his jaw drops.
“Who was that?” I ask, my voice hollow, still trying to understand.