Chapter 37 Chapter 37
Angelina's POV
"I'll handle them myself."
The words left my mouth, and I could feel the air freeze around us.
I knew how insane this sounded. A teenage girl, standing in front of two adults, announcing she'd take on over twenty rogues single-handedly.
I could practically hear their thoughts: A teenage kid thinks she can take on trained rogues? Does she think she's in some fantasy novel with magical powers? Look at those skinny arms—she probably couldn't even take down one rogue, let alone twenty!
Uncle Robert clearly thought the same thing. His face went pale as he reached toward me:
"Aria, what are you saying? Your parents are waiting for you at home—give me back the gun!"
He thought I'd panicked. Lost my mind from fear.
"Cousin, listen to my dad! Give him the gun back! He's got experience—he can get us out of here! You have to trust him!"
Oliver's forehead glistened with cold sweat as he shouted at me too. Just like his father, convinced I'd been scared stupid.
Only Aunt Faye bit her lip, saying nothing. But her dilated pupils betrayed her shock—no less than Robert's or Oliver's.
"Too late." I didn't let their words distract me.
I knew exactly what we were dealing with. These rogues were clearly third-rate trash. I'd barely break a sweat. But even third-rate rogues wouldn't be stupid enough to wait while Robert finished his little family conference.
As my final word fell, the twenty-some rogues were already making their move—half of them raising weapons, the other half beginning their shift.
BANG BANG BANG!
The armed rogues opened fire, bullets screaming through the air toward my head.
"Get down! Move!"
Uncle Robert's face went ashen, his shout desperate as he started toward me.
But I didn't need saving.
One second, I might have looked like a harmless teenage girl. The next, I became a blur, vanishing from my original position. The bullets punched harmlessly through empty air where I'd been standing a heartbeat before.
The other half of the rogues were mid-shift—their bodies contorting, fur sprouting, limbs elongating. Within three seconds, they launched themselves at me.
BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!
Still moving, still a blur of motion, I fired five precise shots. Five rogues—three with guns, two mid-leap in wolf form—dropped instantly, bullets lodged between their eyes. The shifted rogues collapsed mid-air, their bodies already beginning the involuntary shift back to human form that came with death.
The remaining armed rogues scattered, trying to find better angles. The wolves split up, attempting to surround me.
Amateur tactics.
I tossed aside the empty gun, both hands moving to my waist where I drew out two combat knives I always carried. The silver-edged blades gleamed in the moonlight—deadly to werewolves, and I kept them sharp enough to cut through bone.
A massive gray wolf lunged at my throat from the left.
I dropped low, the wolf's jaws snapping shut inches above my head. My blade came up in a fluid arc, silver edge slicing clean through the wolf's exposed neck. Hot blood sprayed across my face as the creature's body crashed past me, already dead.
Two more wolves attacked simultaneously—one from each side, coordinated.
I spun between them, my knives flashing. Left blade caught the brown wolf under the jaw, driving up through soft tissue into its brain. Right blade opened the black wolf's throat in a spray of arterial blood. Both collapsed, their death whimpers cut short.
BANG BANG!
More gunfire. I twisted, letting the bullets pass by so close I could feel their heat. My eyes locked onto the shooter—a rogue taking cover behind a tree twenty feet away.
I hurled my left knife.
It spun end over end through the darkness, a silver blur, and buried itself in his eye socket. He went down without a sound.
A huge rust-colored wolf slammed into me from behind, its weight bearing me to the ground. Jaws snapped at my neck. I got my right arm up just in time—the wolf's teeth clamped down on my forearm instead of my throat.
Pain exploded through my arm, but I didn't scream.
Instead, I drove my remaining knife straight up under the wolf's ribs, angling toward its heart. The blade punched through fur and muscle and found its mark. The wolf's jaws went slack, its eyes glazing over as it slumped on top of me.
I shoved the corpse aside and rolled to my feet, my wounded arm already starting to heal.
Six rogues left. Three wolves circling me, three gunmen finding new positions.
The wolves attacked as one, trying to overwhelm me with coordinated strikes. They were smarter than the others—waiting for an opening, testing my defenses.
I moved like water between their attacks. Ducked under snapping jaws. Sidestepped slashing claws. My knife found vulnerable spots—throat, belly, the soft spot behind the ear where skull met spine. Each strike was lethal. No wasted movement.
Three more wolves down.
BANG BANG BANG!
The last three gunmen opened fire in desperation, bullets coming from three different angles.
I was already moving, diving forward into a roll. Came up running straight at the nearest shooter. His eyes widened.
I closed the distance in three seconds flat. My knife took him in the throat before he could adjust his aim.
The last two rogues broke and ran.
I hurled my knife at the closer one. It spun through the air and buried itself between his shoulder blades, severing his spine. He went down hard.
The final rogue made it ten steps before my hand closed around a fallen gun. I raised it, aimed, and fired once.
He dropped.
Silence fell over the clearing, broken only by my steady breathing.
Twenty-three rogues. All dead. Blood and bodies scattered across the forest floor.
I looked down at my hands. Blood dripped from my knife, from my healing forearm, from my clothes. The metallic scent filled my nostrils.
Fifteen seconds.
Behind me, Uncle Robert's ragged breathing finally broke the silence. His eyes bulged, his face sheet-white. Aunt Faye's gun lay on the ground where she'd dropped it, her hands trembling. Oliver's mouth hung open in a perfect "O" of shock, his whole body frozen.
"A...Aria..."
Uncle Robert's voice shook, barely a whisper.
"Cousin...?"
Oliver couldn't even finish the question.
Aunt Faye just stared, her face blank with shock.
I looked down at my blood-soaked knife, my brow furrowing with displeasure.
"Too slow."
I murmured to myself.
Way too slow. Compared to my past life, this was pathetically slow. Taking fifteen seconds to dispatch these second-rate rogues—rogues who should've been as easy to cut down as vegetables—was unacceptable. In my previous life, I would've finished this in under ten seconds.
But this body was weak. Still weak. My wolf Yara remained dormant. I couldn't shift, couldn't access my full Alpha strength. I was fighting with maybe twenty percent of my former power.
If my encounter with Caelan had shown me how much weaker this reborn body was compared to my previous strength, then this confirmed it beyond doubt.
I needed a training ground. Had to rebuild my abilities to their former level as fast as possible. Because not everyone would be as easy to handle as these third-rate rogues.
Like Caelan, for instance.
Just thinking about him gave me a headache. That dangerous bastard was living in my house right now, after all.
But considering the three witnesses still processing what they'd just seen, I pushed thoughts of Caelan aside. Had to deal with the present situation first.
I turned to face Uncle Robert, my eyes sweeping over the twenty-three corpses littering the ground. The acrid smell of blood and gunpowder hung heavy in the air.
"Disposing of bodies—you can handle that, right?"
Right now, I was supposed to be just an ordinary high school student. If the situation hadn't been so urgent, I really wouldn't have wanted to reveal this side of myself. But after confirming that Robert had the connections to make these bodies disappear without affecting my daily life, I relaxed.
Despite having a thousand questions, despite the shock still written across his face, Robert could only manage a single syllable:
"Yes."
Nothing else came out.