When they reached Lennon Street, Sandy had Michael turn onto Cleric Street and pull over in front of the first doorway. Michael glanced at the damp, dark street. This wasn't how he had imagined the neighborhood Sandy lived in, but he wasn't the type to turn up his nose. He got out of the car to open her door, squinting to see where he was stepping on the uneven sidewalk.
"It was a very pleasant evening," he told her. "Thank you for the company."
"We could continue the evening at my place," she murmured.
He shook his head. "Thank you for the invitation, but I have to decline."
Sandy's lips curved into a smile. "I don't think so," she said—and punched him in the back of the head.
Michael staggered back, stunned. "What…?" Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement to his left. He had just enough time to raise his arm to shield his face from the wolf's attack. The force of the leap sent him crashing to the ground.
His head hit the pavement and his vision blurred, but the pain in his arm snapped him back into focus. He pushed with his legs, managed to shove the wolf to the side, and sprang backward. Quickly, he began stripping off his clothes. The wolf rolled and was on its feet again in an instant, growling. Then, with another leap, it lunged at him.
Michael dodged to the side and shifted into a wolf. He landed on all fours and launched himself at his attacker. As an alpha, he had considerable strength and managed to roll the other wolf onto its back, sinking his fangs into its throat. He tasted the metallic tang of blood and felt the wolf go limp beneath him.
Then a heavy weight crashed down on his back, and sharp fangs tore into his front left leg.
With a powerful leap, Michael slammed his back against the wall, stunning his assailant. He heard ribs crack on impact. But another wolf, hidden in the shadows, seized the opportunity and struck his exposed belly. Michael felt claws slash across his chest, and blood began to pour, soaking his fur. With a snarl, he attacked the new opponent, and the two of them rolled across the ground, snapping and growling, each trying to overpower the other.
Sandy, who had transformed, tried to bite him from behind, but they rolled into her, and she backed off, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Michael finally managed to kill the wolf, and—panting—he turned to face the two remaining. The female backed away behind the remaining male, who stood several paces off.
His breath came in ragged gasps. Michael bared his fangs and let out a low, guttural growl. He could feel his blood dripping onto the asphalt, his strength ebbing with it—but if he showed any weakness now, they would kill him.
The standoff didn't last long. The remaining male retreated into the darkness, and Sandy, after one last glance, followed him.
Michael waited a few minutes before moving toward the car—but his legs gave out before he could reach it.
---
The sound of a vehicle brought him back to reality. He heard footsteps approaching, but he didn't have the strength to see who it was. Heavy boots drew near, then someone gave him a shove in the back.
"It's a big dog—and it's dead. We'd better call sanitation or its stench will fill the whole street!" a man's voice said. Then the footsteps receded, a car door slammed, and the van drove off.
----
Michael didn't know how long he lay there in a state of semi-consciousness. Despite his fur, he felt cold, and he was aware that he would soon bleed out if he didn't act. The rapid healing his kind enjoyed was being suppressed by the venom in the claws that had wounded him. The injuries wouldn't heal on their own—he needed traditional medical treatment.
He closed his eyes and tried to focus. The transformation was agonizing: every joint, every wound, every bruise screamed with pain, nearly making him pass out again. He fought to stay conscious. In human form, someone might help him—though being taken to a hospital came with its own set of risks. He would deal with those later. For now, his priority was to get out of there before the wolves returned with reinforcements.
He looked for his phone, which must have been flung away during the transformation, and spotted it at the corner of Lennon Street. Slowly, he began to crawl toward it, what seemed like an endless distance, pausing now and then to catch his breath. He hadn't yet reached it when he heard the rumble of an engine approaching from his left. A motorcycle stopped not far away, and footsteps came closer. When he saw a human face appear above him, he croaked out: "Help me."
---
From his late 19th-century townhouse, Nereus stared out the window into the dark night of Oldgrove. His black hair hung to his shoulders, and his eyes were equally black—so dark it was impossible to distinguish the iris. He wore black pants and a black turtleneck. His face was clean-shaven, but four long scars stood out on his left cheek.
When there was a knock at the door, he turned. "Enter!" His voice was low and powerful.
A man and a woman entered. Both dropped to their knees in submission. The man clutched his side in pain; the woman's long red hair was tangled and disheveled.
"You failed." It was a statement, not a question.
The two didn't reply.
"Where are Kevin and Ron?"
"He killed them, my lord," the man answered, without lifting his gaze from the floor.
"And you fled," Nereus said, his voice laced with contempt.
"We wounded him."
"But you didn't capture him."
They didn't dare respond.
Nereus looked at them, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing in fury. A single werewolf—granted, of noble blood—had killed two of his own and driven off the others.
The man shifted slightly, and Nereus's attention snapped back to them. "Go," he said.
They didn't wait to be told twice. Silently, they got up and slipped out of the room.
Nereus sat in the armchair behind his desk. It hadn't been easy to bring order to a pack made up of strays, but he had managed—and now the pack continued to grow, thanks in part to the recruitment campaign he was conducting among humans. But his army was still far from ready to face a real battle.
When he had learned that Michael Barclay was in town, he'd hoped to use him to hold his mother and her pack in check. That plan had failed. He would have to handle the matter personally, he thought. But it was too late now to undo the damage. By now, the younger Barclay had probably informed his alpha mother, who would unleash her wolves on Oldgrove.
He had accelerated the timeline. Nereus smiled. In the end, he wasn't entirely displeased. He had never liked waiting.