“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled.
“These are my only clothes,” he said. “If I shift while wearing them, they’ll be destroyed. And I’ll have to walk around naked.”
“I don’t see the downside.”
He barked a laugh as he yanked off his boots.
The scorpion apparently didn’t like the idea of a werewolf striptease and scurried toward us, wielding that stinger like a cat-o’-nine-tails. It was going for Drake, so I ran forward and slammed one of its pincers with my Bastet statue. The beast made a horrible, trains-braking-on-metal-track noise and reared back.
I ran toward the other side of the room, and it followed, still screeching and skittering, and now aiming those claws at me.
“Are you insane?” yelled Drake.
“Clearly,” I yelled back. “Hurry up, wolf boy!” I whirled around, which the scorpion didn’t expect, and bashed the other pincer.
It screamed in that same horrible metallic way, moving back just a little, and then its stinger sailed toward me. I scurried backward as fast as I could, but I tripped on one of the broken stones and went down hard on my backside. My lungs felt like they’d collapsed and pain shot up my spine. My gaze was riveted on the stinger, on the sharp, ugly death headed straight for me.
A fierce, aggressive howl cut through the room, and the ferocity of the sound impressed even the scorpion, especially since a huge black werewolf landed on its back and began tearing at its head. I knew a few awful facts about scorpions because I’d had to deal with them on dig sites. Several pairs of eyes were located on the head, and that was the only spot on its armored body vulnerable to real damage.
Even though my body ached from its violent fall, I managed to scramble to my feet. I picked up my handy-dandy statue and backed up, trying to figure out how I could help Drake.
The scorpion was thrashing back and forth, trying to use the violent movements to knock Drake off its back. It was also coming at him with its pincers, but not quite reaching him.
Drake was definitely going for the eyes, and being rather successful. I had an iron stomach—archaeology wasn’t for sissies—yet witnessing a werewolf viciously take out a scorpion’s eyeballs was . . . well, gross . . . times one thousand. Blech!
Blinding the damned thing didn’t seem to be slowing it down, though. It got more pissed off, and more desperate, and more erratic.
I didn’t know what to do. I felt helpless as hell.
The scorpion’s belly was plated, just like the rest of it. But as it moved, I could see the ribbons of scales reveal soft pierceable flesh. If I could get under there, time it right, and use every ounce of strength I had, I could potentially puncture something vital and kill this thing before it killed us.
Drake yelped as one of the pincers made contact, forcing him away from the head. He slid down the back, growling and barking.
The scorpion was listing like a drunken sailor, but still had a lot of killing energy. I was sure the blindness and the blood loss was making it less than effective in its efforts, but certainly not less dangerous.
Drake returned to his position and continued the gruesome work of blinding the scorpion. The pincer made another swipe at Drake, and barely missed.
I couldn’t wait a second longer.
I ran between the legs, under the massive, swaying body.
It didn’t notice.
Sweat poured off me, and fear rolled around in my stomach like icy marbles. I swiped away the hair clinging to my forehead and watched the undulation of the scorpion’s belly scales. There was no rhyme or reason to the monster’s movements, so it was difficult to gauge the right moment.
Then I heard Drake’s yipping cry of pain.
I jumped, lifting the statue up like it was the pointiest sword in the world, and—hit a fucking scale. The impact shot down my arms, agony lancing me.
Argh!
My hands were slick, but I held on to the statue.
I heard a terrible cry, a cry that pierced my heart, and watched as Drake plummeted off the scorpion’s back. I watched his magnificent wolf body land with a terrible thud.
He didn’t move.
Shit. The idea that Drake was hurt . . . or something so much worse . . . sharpened my focus. The scorpion was adjusting its position, and to my mind, trying to find Drake to finish him off. Or maybe it had remembered it had a second adversary and wanted to get me next.
“The hell,” I muttered. I waited for the scales to retract, and when I saw those strips of black armor push apart, I jumped with everything I had left and pushed the statue up as hard as I could.
This time it pierced the flesh, so much so that the three-fourths of the obsidian Bastet was lodged inside the scorpion.
I was shaking, sweating, cursing.