the recoil. As it backlashed through me, I fired the handgun at the wolf-bitch, the shots overlapping, but a blurred form dropped from the pool table and was gone. I’d missed her entirely. Closer, the charging wolf yelped, barely heard over the concussive report. Hit in the chest. He flipped back in midair. Dead. The mostly human shape behind him curled in on himself, keening, his magics disrupted by the pattern of silver shot that peppered him as it spread out.
Beast-fast, I fired the M4 twice more, taking down two wolves.
Fired again at a leaping wolf, freshly changed. This one was bigger, stretched out in midair. He took the shell full face. His jaw, teeth, and brains exploded backward. Silver burst into flame in his blood. He fell in a heap at my feet. The others seemed to sense they faced a more deadly opponent than they had expected, and one hit the lights. The place went black except for light through the windows. I crouched into a shadow, knowing their wolf eyes were better in the dark than my human ones, even if I drew on Beast’s vision.
The semiautomatic barked in my hand, hitting and missing as I methodically emptied the magazine at wolves, counting rounds as I fired. The wolves were freaking fast, streaking close and swerving, and I missed most of the time, in the dark. I fired the last two shotgun shells at two wolves silhouetted in the doorways like guards, hoping the silver fléchettes would slow them down. There wasn’t time to reload the M4. I set the shotgun at my feet. Digging one-handed in a pocket. My fingers touched a replacement magazine for the nine mil as I fired the last rounds in the H&K. Three wolves leaped at me. Knocked me to my butt. Claws digging at me even through the armored leather. The magazine slipped away, into the deeps of the pocket. Huge teeth and fangs ripped. Tearing at me through the leather armor. Flinching at the taste of silver rivets and studs. Snarling. Growling.
I rolled and got the magazine out, snapped it into the sidearm, the sound lost beneath concussive deafness. I grabbed for the six-shot from my ankle holster. A wolf came out of the dark. Snapped at my face and I dodged. Fired. Teeth snapped on my ear. The pain was distant, my blood hot on my skin. I got the backup gun free. My brain having trouble with the different firing sequences between pistol and semiautomatic. Muscle memory finally won, and I fired with both hands. But I had a feeling I’d missed almost every shot since the lights went out.
Fangs ripped at my hand. Fingers went numb. The H&K clicked, empty again. I dropped the sidearm. Pulled a vamp-killer. Fired the last two shots with the pistol. Pulled and emptied the two shots in the derringer. I was down to blades. I was a goner. The wolves were too fast, too many. My hands were slick with blood, some of it mine. I stabbed upward, cutting into the belly of a red wolf with amber eyes. Sliced the ham-string of another. Both fell away.
A monstrous wolf landed on me. Knocked out my breath in a grunt I couldn’t hear over my damaged eardrums. Fire Truck. Had to be. His jaws snapped down. At my throat. And met the silver collar. He yelped in surprise, teeth caught in the chain-mail mesh. Jumped back. Ripping the protective necklace from my neck, the rings and the busted clasp caught on one of his canine teeth.
I sliced across the face of a shaggy wolf with Roul’s blue eyes. He danced back out of blade length. And then farther. The movement of the wolves halted, all of them looking up.
I panted, trying to catch my breath. Hurting. And became aware that I wasn’t alone. A slender form landed beside me, silhouetted in the window, poised on the balls of his feet as if he’d dropped from the black ceiling. Another opponent. Crap .
In an eyeblink, I took him in. He stood bent-kneed, two blades drawn, silvered swords, one long, one shorter, but not Japanese in style. Spanish, maybe. He was dressed all in black, top to toe. Lots of silver. More than I
Beast-fast, I fired the M4 twice more, taking down two wolves.
Fired again at a leaping wolf, freshly changed. This one was bigger, stretched out in midair. He took the shell full face. His jaw, teeth, and brains exploded backward. Silver burst into flame in his blood. He fell in a heap at my feet. The others seemed to sense they faced a more deadly opponent than they had expected, and one hit the lights. The place went black except for light through the windows. I crouched into a shadow, knowing their wolf eyes were better in the dark than my human ones, even if I drew on Beast’s vision.
The semiautomatic barked in my hand, hitting and missing as I methodically emptied the magazine at wolves, counting rounds as I fired. The wolves were freaking fast, streaking close and swerving, and I missed most of the time, in the dark. I fired the last two shotgun shells at two wolves silhouetted in the doorways like guards, hoping the silver fléchettes would slow them down. There wasn’t time to reload the M4. I set the shotgun at my feet. Digging one-handed in a pocket. My fingers touched a replacement magazine for the nine mil as I fired the last rounds in the H&K. Three wolves leaped at me. Knocked me to my butt. Claws digging at me even through the armored leather. The magazine slipped away, into the deeps of the pocket. Huge teeth and fangs ripped. Tearing at me through the leather armor. Flinching at the taste of silver rivets and studs. Snarling. Growling.
I rolled and got the magazine out, snapped it into the sidearm, the sound lost beneath concussive deafness. I grabbed for the six-shot from my ankle holster. A wolf came out of the dark. Snapped at my face and I dodged. Fired. Teeth snapped on my ear. The pain was distant, my blood hot on my skin. I got the backup gun free. My brain having trouble with the different firing sequences between pistol and semiautomatic. Muscle memory finally won, and I fired with both hands. But I had a feeling I’d missed almost every shot since the lights went out.
Fangs ripped at my hand. Fingers went numb. The H&K clicked, empty again. I dropped the sidearm. Pulled a vamp-killer. Fired the last two shots with the pistol. Pulled and emptied the two shots in the derringer. I was down to blades. I was a goner. The wolves were too fast, too many. My hands were slick with blood, some of it mine. I stabbed upward, cutting into the belly of a red wolf with amber eyes. Sliced the ham-string of another. Both fell away.
A monstrous wolf landed on me. Knocked out my breath in a grunt I couldn’t hear over my damaged eardrums. Fire Truck. Had to be. His jaws snapped down. At my throat. And met the silver collar. He yelped in surprise, teeth caught in the chain-mail mesh. Jumped back. Ripping the protective necklace from my neck, the rings and the busted clasp caught on one of his canine teeth.
I sliced across the face of a shaggy wolf with Roul’s blue eyes. He danced back out of blade length. And then farther. The movement of the wolves halted, all of them looking up.
I panted, trying to catch my breath. Hurting. And became aware that I wasn’t alone. A slender form landed beside me, silhouetted in the window, poised on the balls of his feet as if he’d dropped from the black ceiling. Another opponent. Crap .
In an eyeblink, I took him in. He stood bent-kneed, two blades drawn, silvered swords, one long, one shorter, but not Japanese in style. Spanish, maybe. He was dressed all in black, top to toe. Lots of silver. More than I
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