Star Blessed

Wounded

They circled one another, man and beast, both bloodied but still very much in the fight- if Raff ignored the fact that his left arm was going numb from possible nerve damage. He would need to favor that side until healing could complete, but the knowing gleam in the rebel's eyes warned him the task wouldn't be simple.

With a mighty roar, he changed into his wolf, the transformation jolting his body and soothing his wounds. He didn't have knowledge of his enemy's size as a man, but as beasts, Raff was just slightly larger. It surprised him; he'd not met anyone but Lincoln who even came close. But one thing he did know- the bigger wolves often neglected to hone their speed, preferring to rely on their bulk. He did not make that mistake.

Raff made the first move, feinting to the left before lunging to the right and chomping on the Starless pack wolf's back leg. He was rewarded with a snarl, but it wasn't enough. He wanted whimpers.

A chill ran up his spine as the whisper of teeth brushed against his injured side, but he managed to swivel just out of reach. The other wolf lunged, anger fueling him, and Raff found himself forced to retreat, jumping over the desk and stumbling when he landed on the wrong leg. Shit.

Shit? Raff, what's wrong. He'd not meant to send that down the bond, and now Lincoln would be frantic. Nothing. It's fine. Keep doing whatever you're doing.

Oh hell no. I know you better than that. Tell me where you are.

He closed the bond, his Beta's thoughts distracting him. Agony tore through him as he took a step, but he couldn't give up. There was no way in hell he'd be killed because of the bastard got lucky with a sneak attack. Dropping into a crouch, he let his lips ride up over his teeth, his canines bared in warning.

Come on you bastard. Attack.

His request was met as the other wolf pounced, either not suspicious or not caring of the trap Raff was laying. The first tooth in his shoulder made his vision blur, but he let the force of the attack carry them both through the doorway. They rolled across the glass slivers, each pinprick adding a fresh pang of pain, but he used it to remind himself he was alive.

On the second rotation, he pulled his back legs up and dug them into his opponent's soft underbelly and kicked with as much force as he could muster, rejoicing when he felt the flesh tear and heard the howl of pain. Panting, he rose on shaking legs and prepared for another attack.

But it never came. The Starless pack rebel didn't move, his entrails hanging out of the hole created by Raff's back claws. The blood from his stomach spread across the floor, mixing with the congealed stain left by a now absent Nichols, and he knew this would not be an injury that healed. Dropping to his haunches, he considered telling Lincoln he needed to leave the fight. His shoulder and chest were a mangled mess that would take hours to heal, but the desire to be the one who snuffed the life from Mac wouldn't let him say the words.

His ears stiffened as gunshots sounded nearby. Who the hell was using a firearm? The Starless pack had no morals, but surely they weren't so cowardly as to resort to human weapons when the gods had given them natural ones. Digging deep, he found the strength to shift again. On two legs, the world felt off kilter, but he wasn't going to face a gunman as an animal.

"Stop!" The voice was male. "I've told you I don't know. We're under attack, he could be dead." So the shooter was targeting the enemy, or anyone he crossed paths with?

Another round was fired, the popping sound punctuated by a gurgled scream. Heavy silence was followed by an exasperated, feminine sigh and then the staccato click of boot heels moving in his direction. Nostrils flared, he tried to pick up a clue to her identity, but in his weakened state, he couldn't smell anything beyond blood and gunpowder. Seething, he pressed his body against the wall, the cinder blocks cool against his bare skin and waited.

The steps stopped as she reached the entryway, and the end of the gun appeared in his line of sight. Just another step. One more. When he saw the hands gripping the gun, he sprung into action and brought the edge of his hand down hard on her wrists, sending the gun clattering to the floor.

She grunted and moved towards the weapon, but he snagged her by the arm, intending to fling her across the room; however, she gripped him back and used the momentum to lash out with her leg. The force behind the kick was nothing when compared to the blows delivered by a werewolf, yet he grunted as the toe of her boot slid between his ribs.

The hellcat somehow managed to land a solid hit on his jaw before slipping from his grip. "No, you don't," he gnashed as she moved towards the gun. He wrapped his arms around her waist, a blast of jasmine searing his senses as he tossed her across the room. There's no way.

Her black clad body rolled through drying blood and broken glass, but she found her feet. Flipping her head up, shock rooted Raff to the floor when he saw a set of familiar turquoise eyes. He stayed put as she hastened to the gun and snatched it up.

"Meribella, what the hell?"

She didn't respond, but swung her arm towards him and fired.