The clearing erupts.
Axel and Atticus move with me, not behind and not ahead, but alongside, warriors flooding in around us as steel and fangs and magic collide in a blur of sound and motion. Vampires scatter and regroup, moving too fast and too smooth, but my wolf does not hesitate, she meets them head on with a ferocity that feels ancient and uncontainable.
I rake through pale flesh, feel bone crack under my weight, hear snarls and screams cut short as the warriors press the advantage, and the red moon overhead feels closer now, brighter, like it is watching approvingly. Heat pours off me in waves, and wherever I strike vampires stumble back, startled and furious, their confidence cracking as they realise something fundamental has gone wrong.
“She’s not controllable,” someone shouts,
