Rory’s mouth bobbed open and closed. “You’re saying I’m weak?” Nostrils flaring, he took an aggressive step forward. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d be on dialysis—”
“This again? Honest to God?”
“That infection almost killed me!”
“Yeah, almost. Right now, I’m wishing it had, because then it wouldn’t have come to this. Now, I’m done listening to your shit.” Zander shifted just as his brother clawed off his clothes and then did the same.
The identical wolves circled each other, ears flattened. The only difference between them was the scar on the face of Zander’s wolf.
The scarred wolf pounced. The other lunged. And they clashed, clawing and growling.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ezra cocked back his fist to hit Yvonne once more, but he froze at the sound of vicious growling just outside the house.
Gwen tensed, hope blitzing through her. There was so much noise out there, so many growls, roars, and screeches, that it sounded like a zoo gone crazy, but those growls . . . they were close. Very, very close. And Gwen would bet money that one of the wolves was Zander. She could feel his rage and determination, could feel that he was near.
She allowed a little smile to surface as Ezra looked at her. “I told you he’d come for me,” she reminded him.
Nelson grunted in her ear and dug the gun harder into her temple. She barely held back a wince. The bastard’s arm was like a thick rope around her chest, pinning her arms at her sides, and she felt like she couldn’t get enough air.
Even with the gun pointed at her head, Gwen had fought him at first. But that had only made them laugh and hurt Yvonne more, so Gwen had quieted. She’d clamped her mouth shut to contain the pointless pleas for them to leave the woman alone. Now, Gwen remained perfectly still. But her muscles were tight, ready to spring at the slightest opportunity.
“We need to end this now,” insisted Nelson.
Ezra didn’t seem concerned. “That sounds like two wolves fighting to me. It’s probably Rory tearing his brother to pieces . . . unless her mate’s fighting one of his pack mates, of course, which is quite possible. Those animals know no loyalty.”
Gwen bared her teeth. “He’s an animal? You’re the civilized one?” She flicked a meaningful look at a beaten Yvonne, who’d curled up into a protective ball—her nose was broken, her face was swollen and bruised, and there were scratches on her face from Ezra’s ring. She no doubt had at least one broken rib and a dozen bruises beneath her clothes. Emotionally, Gwen had felt every slap, kick, punch, and whack of Brandt’s crutch.
“You think that makes you strong?” Fists shaking, Gwen curled her upper lip. “You’re a pussy, just like your son. Ah, Brandt doesn’t like being called that either. It’s only the truth.”
“I’m telling you, Ezra, we need to get this over with!” asserted Nelson.
Brandt’s fists clenched. “Aidan said it would hurt her most to see Yvonne hurt.”
“Then your job is done, because Yvonne is out of it,” Nelson pointed out. “Now, Ezra, just kill her now!”
The lights flickered again. Doors slammed all over the house. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
At Brandt’s panicked expression, Ezra assured him in a shaky voice, “It’s just the wind coming through the windows.”
“I can smell burning,” said Nelson. “Can’t you smell burning?”
“No,” said Ezra, but he could. And so could Gwen, just as she could feel the chill in the air. Her muscles went taut, and the hairs on her nape rose.
Brandt jerked. “Shit, I just saw something move in the shadows.”
Moira sighed. “You’re being ridiculous.” But she looked just as freaked.
“I did! I saw something! And it’s not windy out there, so how can the doors be slamming shut?”
Nelson suddenly jumped and whirled, scrubbing at his neck with the hand holding his gun. “Something just breathed on me.”
Taking advantage of his loosened hold, Gwen jammed her elbow into his gut and snapped back her head to connect with his nose. As he cried out in pain, she dived for her Glock. At the same time, Yvonne reared up and stabbed Ezra in the thigh with a thick shard of glass.
Gwen grinned in satisfaction as her hand wrapped around the butt of her Glock. She rolled onto her back, shot Nelson in the chest, and then aimed it at Brandt . . . who was about to slam his crutch over Yvonne’s head. But then the painting on the floor whipped through the air and hit him hard, sending him toppling over the banister with a loud cry.
A screeching Moira grabbed Nelson’s gun and fired blindly over and over. Unused to shooting, her body shook with the impact, and her shots went wide. Except for one.
Pain blazed across Gwen’s temple. “Motherfucker.” She aimed her Glock at Moira’s head, but Ezra’s body knocked Gwen to the ground before she could squeeze the trigger.
For the second time that day, her gun went skidding along the floor. As Ezra straddled her, she heard gunfire and then Moira screech, and she distantly wondered if Yvonne had shot her. But Gwen’s attention was on Ezra as she scratched at his face and fought him like a wildcat. His hand fisted her hair, and he rammed her head on the floor. Once. Twice. Three times. He reached up, grabbed a heavy ornament from the round antique table, and smashed it right over her head.
Without mercy, the wolf stabbed his claws deep into his sibling’s flank. He liked hearing his opponent’s yelp of pain. Liked seeing that pain in his eyes. In retaliation, his opponent bit hard into the wolf’s wounded ear.
The fight was fast and fierce. The wolf was brutal in his attack. Fury was in every vicious bite, every sharp lunge, every merciless swipe of his claws.
The wolf had fought his sibling before, but never like this. Never with the intent to kill. His sibling had not fought with honor then, and he did not do it now. Instead, he bit and clawed at the injuries the wolf had sustained in the battle with the trespassers. Fur already matted from blood, mud, and dirty water was now soaked with yet more blood.
The wolf’s chest heaved, breaths sawing in and out of him. Every heave made the deep rake wounds on his sides burn. The wolf was tired from battle, and the blood loss was beginning to slow him down. But the wolf would not submit. Would not be pinned down. He fought harder.
His sibling’s snarls and yelps filled his ears. The scent of their combined blood and rage filled his nostrils. There was something else he could scent: fear. It wafted from his opponent, inciting the wolf.
With a savage growl, his opponent tore a strip out of the wolf’s badly injured side. Agony blazed through the wolf. Made his knees buckle. But he pounced at his sibling again.
A bullet fired inside the house. The wolf’s heart jumped, and he froze. His sibling took advantage and lunged. Tried to wrap his paws around the wolf’s neck. But the wolf fought him off and swiped at his head. His claws raked over his opponent’s muzzle. Blood sprayed on the ground. The wolf bared his teeth in a feral smile as his sibling bounced back with a yowl.
Flattening his ears, his sibling sprang at him. They collided furiously. Brutally slashed and bit at each other. Teeth and claws tore through the wolf’s skin and scraped bone. Pain rippled through him, but he pushed it aside as more gunshots rang through the air.
His mate was in pain. He needed to reach her.
With a newfound strength, the wolf wrestled his sibling onto his back, pinned him flat, and clamped his jaws around his throat. He sank his teeth down hard. Panicking, his opponent swiped at his bleeding sides, struggling. But the wolf used his rear paw to tear open his opponent’s stomach and then clamped his jaws tighter around his throat.