How to Run with a Naked Werewol(45)

Flinching away when he tried to adjust my coat, I stared up at him incredulously. He had finally lost his mind. He thought we were going to go back to where we were when I left? It was insane. Any friends we'd had together had no doubt stopped believing we were a couple years ago. And there was nothing I could say that would get his job back. I doubted I could get my job back at the hospital, given my abrupt exit. I shook my head, and the motion upset my equilibrium. "No," I whispered.

He punched me right on the bridge of my nose, where the cartilage connects to the brow. I sank to my knees, seeing stars. "What did you say?" he demanded, standing over me.

"No," I said again, my voice a little louder but shakier. "No! No! NO! NO! NO!" I screamed so loudly that it echoed down the street and off the trees. Glenn viciously kicked me in the ribs, cutting off the werewolf-summoning noise into a squelched cry.

"I see we're going to need a little refresher, honey. I'm your husband. I'm in charge." He delivered another kick to my rib cage. I flopped onto my side, my face buried in snow. The tiny shards of ice burned the scrapes on my skin. I rolled faceup, my coat tangled under my body, and I felt a metal cylinder bump against my leg.

The baton. I'd forgotten that Caleb had sewn a special pocket in the recesses of my coat to store the baton as a just-in-case measure. I thought it had been overkill when Caleb insisted I keep it in my pocket even after we returned to the valley. Who was going to try to hurt me on the twenty-yard walk from the clinic to our house? But now I thought it was just-enough-kill.

As Glenn grumbled to himself about my "fat ungrateful ass," I slid the hand of my uninjured arm into my pocket. My fingers curled around the baton just as Glenn's foot connected with my ribs. The impact knocked me back, spinning me over and over, while the breath fled from my lungs. The baton was still clutched in my hand as I landed in the snow, a heavy weight in numbed fingers.                       
       
           



       

"When I say stop, you stop." He grunted, kicking me in the stomach this time.

This was never going to stop.

Unable to scream for help, I lay there, cataloguing my injuries-dislocated shoulder, broken nose, fractured ribs-and I knew he would just keep coming after me until I was dead. Part of me wanted to give in, to let him just take me. It seemed so much easier than this constant struggle, the nagging fear. I was so cold and tired; down to my soul, I was exhausted. If I got into the car with him now, at least it would be over. He wouldn't have the chance to hurt anybody else.

"When I say get off of your lazy, spoiled ass and get moving, you say, ‘Yes, Glenn,' and go where I tell you." Glenn put the weight of his boot on my damaged shoulder. I made a hoarse mewling sound, one that I swore I heard echoed in a canine yelp in the distance. I rolled onto my injured side, trying to protect it. And he laughed. He was enjoying himself, the big man, the little brat who never got enough of my attention. Well, he certainly had my full attention now. My pain and fear were fun for him. And if someone was that good at hiding that he was that sick, it was not my fault that he'd fooled me. He did this, not me. He was the one who manipulated and controlled and caused pain, not me. He was the asshole, not me.

I was not the problem.

I slung the weight of the baton outward with my good arm, thrilling at the metallic singing sound. Sitting up and fighting against the sick, dizzy sensation that came with it, I brought the baton down with all my strength just above his knee. A deeply satisfying crunch echoed about the street, and Glenn howled. I kicked up, catching him square in the crotch with the heel of my boot.

"I always was a slow learner," I huffed, struggling to my feet. "So is this what it feels like, Glenn?" I slurred, standing over him as he whined and keened over his knee. I cradled my injured shoulder. "Did it make you feel good to stand like this, over me, while I rolled around on the floor like a dog? Answer me!" I yelled, kicking at him, catching him in the stomach.

He moaned and tried to struggle to his knees, but I brought the baton down on his back, knocking him to the ground.

"What you did to me, that's your problem, your damage. You're going to have to live with it, because I'm sick of carrying it around with me. You're never going to touch me again. This is over," I told him, turning toward the community center.

"But you're my wife." He whimpered. "You're mine."

"Not anymore." I walked away, dragging the baton behind me in the snow. My injured arm felt heavy, disconnected, as I stumbled forward. Wiping at the blood running from my mouth, I winced at the split in my lip. Just a few more steps. Just a few more steps, and I'd be back in the hall. I'd find Caleb. I'd be OK.

I staggered forward as I was suddenly knocked to the ground. Rough hands in my hair yanked me to my feet. "You think you could just do that to me?" he demanded, twisting the hair at the nape of my neck and pulling me back against him. I yelped at the sharp stabs of pain throbbing from several different locations. He wrapped his hand around my throat and squeezed, slowly pressing the breath out of my body. "Did you think I would let you get away with it?"

My feet scrabbled uselessly against the crust of snow. The edges of my vision started to turn gray. I swung my baton at his legs, but Glenn used his free hand to swat it out of my hand before snagging my hair again. I fought against the urge to pass out, like swimming against a tidal wave. If I passed out, he would drag me away and do God knew what with me. If I was awake, I could regain control of the situation. Maybe.

Probably not.

A low, loud growl reverberated through the cold air, piercing my chest. Glenn's grip on my throat slackened, allowing my feet to reach the ground. I gulped huge breaths, even as he tightened his grip on my hair.

My vision cleared, allowing me to make out a dozen huge dark shapes as they separated from the shadows, edging their way into a shaft of moonlight. Right at the front of the pack, a big gray male curled his lip over his canines, letting them shine, sharp and silver in the light. If I were Glenn, I would be pissing my pants right now.

"What is this?" Glenn hissed, jerking at my hair, making me yelp. This drew a particularly vicious growl from the gray wolf.

"Did I mention that my new boyfriend's family . . . well, they're pretty special," I said, laughing softly to myself.

The Caleb wolf inched forward, the hair on his back raised, fangs bared. A small black female, Maggie, was at his side. Her stance was calmer but no less menacing. Besides Glenn and me, no humans were on the street. The pack handled pack business.

"Shut up!" Glenn backed away, dragging me with him. I dug my heels into the snow, doing anything I could to make this more difficult for him. I heard the same familiar low growls behind us. And I slowly realized there was a circle of wolves, tightening around me and my crazy ex-husband. They all had their heads lowered, lips curled back. Stalking. The street echoed with raspy growls. Although sick with the pain of my injuries, in the midst of this confrontation, I was as relaxed as a spa bunny after a two-hour massage. I knew I had nothing to fear. I nearly giggled at the absurdity of it.

"Hey, Glenn." I couldn't resist mocking. "Remember when I said we should get a dog, and you ‘forbade' me to get one because you didn't want my attentions divided? Sort of ironic, huh?" I giggled, hysteria taking over fully now.

"I said shut up, or I'll snap your damn neck, Tina."

"Oh, do whatever you want to me," I scoffed, spitting a healthy amount of blood into the snow. "You won't even make it to your car. They've got your scent now, Glenn. They'll run you down and leave nothing but scattered bones. You came into the woods, in the dark, thinking you were the biggest, meanest thing to walk here, because you can terrorize a woman half your size. Let me tell you something. You're an amateur. You're nothing. Forget dragons. Here there be giant, pissed-off wolves. And they are not happy with you."

Glenn shook me so hard I was sure I heard my teeth rattle. "Shut up!"

CLANG.

Glenn released his hold on my neck. I sank to my knees, the impact buffered by the snow. I looked back to see Glenn crumpled, facedown, in the street. Mo stood behind him with a fire extinguisher raised over her head.

Glenn moaned, turning onto his back and glaring up at her. "You bitch."

"Not really an insult around these parts, asshole," Mo told him. "You thought Tina was alone? She's not alone here." When he tried to stumble to his feet, she brought the canister down again, just hard enough to daze him. I heard a pleased whickering sound from a large black wolf near Maggie. "Normally, they wouldn't let a human get involved in messy business like this. But they needed someone to speak for the pack, because, well, their jaws are aching to close around your throat right now, and they're otherwise incapable of speech. But she's ours now. And if you come near her again-"

Mo stopped as Glenn leaped to his feet and lunged for her, stumbling on slick ice and unsteady legs. The wolves' growls rose to a fever pitch as she raised the fire extinguisher over her head.