What caught my eye, though, just beyond that, was that on the tiny hillside on the other side of the road stood the disgusting slime ball in that shiny black suit that had lead the attacking pack last night in my apartment. He’d threatened to take me then, to have a sorcerer of his own and to use my magic. The point of it all, this pack’s attacks on the Royals all over the globe last night, remained unclear, other than for the petty battle to be alpha, not over a mere pack, but over all the wolves in the world, and to change how they shifted, to make it magical and painless.
What I had gathered then came back to me in sweeps of thoughts. This pack of real werewolves were either jealous or resentful, probably both, being bound to their curse to shift, seemingly painfully, while the royal werewolves shifted effortlessly with magic. They planned to use me to make their shifts magical, as well. I couldn’t know my fate in their hands, but it couldn’t be good. Besides, once they got from me what they wanted, I’d probably be as good as dead. They only wanted to use the pain of my Lex against me. They’d toyed with him till near dead, then let him live.
Fear grew like a noose around my throat as the man in the suit, the ring leader of the true wolves, the bad pack for lack of a better name, caught my eye, and looked directly at me. I grimaced in return. His whole rich, sleek look consisted of a shiny black suit and crisp white dress shirt, apparently a uniform for this guy, and it didn’t compute with his far from matching tousle of unruly brown curls, which now moved about in the gentle breeze of the day. All tan, with his bronze skin catching the sunlight, I’d have had to admit him to be cute if the circumstances had been different. Instead, especially now with the man I loved in grave danger due to him, and the pain in my leg and head growing unbearable, he stood a cowardly devil on that hill, instructing his pack to fight his battles for him.
That pack really outnumbered the three left from my vehicles, at least three to one. Similar to last night when at first they’d ganged up on Lex in my apartment, here, today, a dozen or more of them toyed with my three wolf protectors, all that appeared to be left. The numbers set unevenly, they basically took turns jumping on their victims. Watching Lex be bit by one, body slammed by another, and then tossed to the ground by yet another one, my heart ached in my chest, a sound I could hear throbbing in my ears. Still, it couldn’t drown out the moans of pain Lex let out as he got back up each time, and dodged and took all the blows, keeping his body between me and them.
Somehow knowing which of the three he was, by instinct, or some other recognition, I watched him battle on. Back up on all fours, his stance shaky as he turned around, and I noticed a gouge in one leg. He didn’t even give in to a limp, though. His snarl wrinkled up his snout, and exposed dripping teeth, with long fangs of his own.
Bold, daring, or maybe foolishly brash, he lunged at one of the four around him at the moment. When his teeth sank into the other wolf’s meaty neck, Lex’s head shook back and forth like a dog with a bone. While this would snap the neck of smaller prey, the other wolf only shook him off, and with a leap of his own, took Lex to the ground. I heard his yip of pain, as he wiggled and got back up.
At this point, another of the four wolves came at Lex’s throat, but a wild shake of his head only let the teeth of the other wolf graze his hide. Still, red lines formed on the fur as blood seeped out of the wounds, slight or not.
Lex backed up, appearing to shake off the latest injury, but he backed into another wolf. This one jumped up with two paws on his back, making his legs bend, but he turned and fought back. To my eyes, this still looked like two dogs playing, the way they leaped, went at each other’s necks, and so on, but I knew better, and the wounds on him, more fur red than any other color, told the real tale.
Every muscle in my body held tense, my own pain ebbing and flowing, both physical and emotional as I saw them play with my wolf until he could barely stand. And yet, he kept getting back up, fighting till his death, despite the odds, to save me. My bottom lip trembled, my first sign beyond the increasing burn in my lungs that I was crying. Not quietly sobbing anymore, but full-on hysterical sobbing, the kind that made your body fight for the air your hysterics deprived it of.
Tears stung my eyes, clearing the dust that had dried them, making the gory images, the brutal battle, even more vivid, horrendously clear. Trying to move again, my leg failed me. Unable to even wiggle the toes on my left leg, looking away briefly from the fight to look down, I saw that it was definitely broken, as if the pain hadn’t been enough of an indication. The constant throb of it took to the burning sting of a sharp blade when I so much as moved any part of me now.