Tangled

<79 Ava: Fighting Back

79 Ava: Fighting Back

Todd’s wolf form prowls closer, his hackles bristling with menace. His eyes burn with a feral hunger that sends tremors through me. Anticipation hums in the

air between us.

The tree trunk is rough against my back as I use it for support, forcing my body to its feet. The cool weight of the pocketknife in my hand keeps me centered.

I will not cower.

The mysterious energy from before, that primal force filling my veins, is gone. It’s a fleeting whisper of the past, eluding my grasp no matter how desperately I

search for it.

All I have is my training and the small knife I’d stolen from home.

I flip open the blade with a flick of my thumb, the soft click lost amidst the snarls and growls of the ongoing battle around us. At least, I hope it’s lost. I know wolf hearing is keen, but I don’t know its limitations.

Todd’s lips peel back in a vicious snarl, revealing

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79 Ava: Fighting Back

yellowed canines. It figures that even his wolf’s teeth

would need some work. His breath had always smelled

like those tuna sandwiches he eats.

He lunges, a blur of ruddy fur and gnashing jaws.

Instinct has me diving to the side, scrabbling for purchase on the uneven ground. He whirls to face me as I roll to my knees, gripping the knife tightly as I swipe at his muzzle. The blade catches a superficial level of skin and fur, drawing a thin line of crimson that only seems to enrage him further.

the side, my heart pounding in frantic rhythm. The rush of blood overcomes all sound in

my

Nausea churns in

the knife again, the blade slicing through fur and flesh. A guttural yelp tears from

with all the force of a large adult

whooshes from my lungs as I hit the ground,

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Fighting Back

explode across my vision before it fades, just

on my shoulders with crushing force. His hot breath washes over me in

muzzle inches from

like miniature daggers digging into my

unyielding.

manage to free one arm and lash out blindly, my nails raking across his

don’t hit my mark,

rears back with a snort, giving

the side, scrambling for the knife as

to access chapters of novels early and in the

in my way as my fingers scrabble for the knife, its silver blade glinting in the moonlight. I’m bleeding. The scent

Ava: Fighting

Faster, damn it.

crashes down where I’d been lying just moments before. His jaws snap shut

knife with a white–knuckled grip, I lash out wildly, the blade slicing a shallow gash across his ear, his neck. A guttural yelp rips from his throat

The other wolves are still involved in their own struggles several feet away. How many have set upon us? Too

I can’t worry

to deal with

gasping for air as his claws rake across my abdomen, tearing through fabric

Agony.

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Ava: Fighting Back

stab into anything I can, wild jabs of my hand. I hit something, because blood coats my hilt and my grip slips time and

me to the ground with a wide movement of his head and upper body somehow and I backpedal, my

scream, and he’s on

dodge. I have no time to think.

weight slams me into the ground beneath him. My fingers scrabble against the knife as I yank it out and stab again and

body shudders violently, his blood coating my hands in slick streaks of crimson. A strangled whine escapes

gasp for air, no longer suffocated by his rancid breath. There’s no breath at all. Only blood and