Chapter 130
Raven
I didn't get to make the first move.
The coyotes exploded forward as one, a coordinated rush of fur and teeth and rabid fury. No warning growls, no posturing—just pure, mindless aggression.
Exactly what I expected from animals that had lost their fear of humans.
I charged to meet them.
The torch in my left hand became a whirling shield of flame, spinning parallel to my waist in a horizontal arc. Fire streaked through the darkness like a comet, and the coyotes' predatory instinct warred with their primal fear of being burned alive.
Most of them scattered to the sides, snarling and snapping but giving me space.
Most.
One—a mangy bastard with half an ear missing—was too committed to the attack. Or too far gone to process danger. It leaped at my throat, jaws wide.
"Your mistake."
My KA-BAR drove up through the soft tissue under its jaw, punching through the roof of its mouth and into the brain. The blade was designed for this—seven inches of cold steel, full tang, sharp enough to shave with. It didn't just kill; it erased.
Hot blood sprayed across the torch, and the flames roared higher, fed by the fresh fuel.
The coyote's body hit the ground, twitching. The others froze, suddenly aware that their packmate wasn't getting back up.
"THAT'S RIGHT, MASTER!" Miles was practically bouncing on his toes behind me. "SHOW THEM WHO'S BOSS!"
I didn't answer. Couldn't. Because the moment I'd yanked that blade free, my ribs had sent a lightning bolt of pain straight through my torso.
Cracked. Definitely cracked. Maybe broken.
I forced my breathing to stay even, forced my expression to stay calm. Pain was just information. I'd worked through worse.
The coyotes circled, hackles raised, eyes gleaming with a mix of hunger and madness. They were reconsidering their odds. Smart. If they'd scattered then, I might have let them go.
But the alpha—a scarred monster of a coyote, easily sixty pounds of muscle and bad attitude—threw back its head and howled.
The pack surged forward again.
Fine. Speed it is.
I moved before they could coordinate. No more defensive circles. No more waiting.
The torch swept east, driving three coyotes back with walls of flame. The KA-BAR flashed west, catching a leaping coyote mid-air and opening its throat. It crashed into its packmates, blood and momentum sending them tumbling.
Fire for defense. Blade for offense. The oldest dance in human history, perfected over thousands of years of survival.
Another coyote tried to circle behind me. I spun, torch low, and caught it across the snout. The smell of burning fur filled the air as it yelped and retreated, pawing at its face.
Seven down. Three to go.
But each movement sent fresh waves of agony through my ribcage. My breathing was getting shallow. My movements, a fraction slower.
Come on, Raven. Maddie's still out there. Tyler's still out there. This is just the opening act.
Two more coyotes rushed me together, trying to overwhelm my defenses. I sidestepped left, drove the torch into the first one's face, then brought the KA-BAR down in a brutal overhead strike that caught the second one right behind the skull. Severed the spinal cord. It dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
Two left.
The alpha and one other—a lean female with foam dripping from her jaws. Both had that red tint in their eyes. Both were past the point of rational fear.
They split up, trying to flank me.
Amateur hour's over, kids.
I threw the torch.
Not at them. At the ground between them. The sudden explosion of sparks and flame made both animals flinch, just for a second.
That second was all I needed.
I closed on the female first, too fast for her rabies-addled brain to process. The KA-BAR found her throat, and she went down gurgling.
The alpha saw its opening—while I was committed to the kill, while my right hand was occupied.
It launched itself at my exposed left side.
I didn't have time to bring the knife around.
So I didn't try.
Instead, I dropped, letting the coyote sail over me. Felt its claws rake across my shoulder—fuck, that's going to need stitches—and then I was rolling to my feet, blade reversed in an ice-pick grip.
The alpha landed, spun, charged again.
This time I was ready.
I met its lunge head-on, caught its momentum with my left forearm against its chest, and drove the KA-BAR straight through its rib cage into the heart.
It died mid-snarl, jaws snapping at air.
For a moment, there was just the sound of my breathing—harsh and ragged—and the crackle of the dying fires.
Then Miles's voice, shaky but triumphant: "Master... that was the most incredible thing I've ever—"
"MASTER, RUN!"
The panic in his voice made me spin, ignoring the way my ribs screamed in protest.
Oh, fuck.
Miles was on the ground, clutching his leg. Blood seeped between his fingers. And standing over him, blonde hair wild in the firelight, a hunting knife gripped in one perfectly manicured hand, was Maddie.
Her smile was pure poison. Pure triumph.
"Hey, Raven." She took a step forward, blade raised. "Miss me?"
Behind her, Tyler emerged from the shadows, flanked by six others from their camp. All armed. All grinning like they'd already won.
My ribs were on fire. My shoulder was bleeding. I had one knife, and it was slick with coyote blood.
This is going to suck.
Maddie smiled—and the fight began.