(Leah POV)
Two to go.
I forced my breathing to slow, even as my muscles begged to sprint. Wolves weren't supposed to think like this; we were supposed to move and do what the Alpha said, but if I charged blind again, I'd be dead before I ever saw what killed me.
Wind first. Always wind.
The air was drifting from the house toward the deeper trees, carrying Thomas's blood and newborn stink in a thick, ugly ribbon. I was downwind of the fight now, which meant my scent was rolling away from the house, away from where the remaining snipers would likely be watching.
Good.
Also dangerous. One wrong turn and I'd spill my scent right into their laps.
I angled wide, running low along a shallow depression where water had carved the ground soft and dark. Ferns slapped my ribs. Wet branches dragged across my fur. I didn't care. Cover was cover.
I kept my head slightly turned, tasting everything.
Gun oil lingered. Not heavy, not fresh like the one I'd just taken out, more like a ghost of it. That meant time. Preparation. Someone had been here waiting.
A faint metallic tang rode under it, sharp and wrong.
Newborn.
They were trying to be clever…trying to hunt like men.
Men made noise when they didn't think they did.
A twig snapped somewhere ahead. Tiny. Almost nothing.
I stopped so fast my paws slid in the mud.
Silence.
Then, so faint it was more vibration than sound, metal touched metal.
A bolt. A magazine. Something being adjusted by hands that weren't used to being quiet.
I shifted my weight and eased forward one step at a time, letting the forest swallow me.
There…between two spruce trunks, something that didn't belong: a straight line, too clean, too geometric.
Rifle barrel.
He was prone. Good position. Bad awareness.
He was watching the house.
Which meant he hadn't considered the possibility of someone coming from behind him.
I didn't rush. I didn't leap.
I circled wider, getting fully downwind of him, then approached in a straight, silent line.
Ten yards.
Eight.
Six.
His finger tightened on the trigger; he heard something. Not me. The fight. Something at the house shifting.
He lifted his head a fraction.
That fraction was his last mistake.
I launched.
My jaws closed around his shoulder and the top of the rifle stock at the same time. I didn't go for his throat…not yet. I wanted him disarmed first.
That was my biggest mistake yet.
My teeth sank into stone and fabric and the edge of the rifle stock, and for half a second, I thought I'd done it, thought I'd caught him before he could react, thought I'd bought Thomas and Edythe another breath.
Then the newborn moved.
Not like the clumsy ones Jasper described. Not like the frenzied, emotional flailing I'd seen in training. The other newborn I had fought was nothing compared to this one.
This one rolled with the impact, let my momentum carry, and used it.
He twisted his torso hard and drove his forearm under my jaw, right where my neck met my chest, levering me up and off-balance. My teeth tore free with a grinding rip, and the rifle clattered away into the ferns.
I landed wrong.
My front paws skidded in the mud, and I corrected, fast…but not fast enough.
The newborn was already on me.
He didn't go for my throat. He went for something smarter.
My back leg.
His hand closed around my hind leg just above the hock, fingers like iron bands, and he squeezed.
Pain exploded through me, white-hot, immediate, nauseating. Not a cut. Not a graze. A crush.
I snarled, twisting to bite him, but he jerked my leg higher, using it like a handle, pulling my body into a position that stole my leverage. I scrabbled with my front paws, dirt and moss flying, trying to turn my head enough to reach him.
He laughed, actually laughed, breathless and thrilled, like this was the best day of his life.
"Got you," he said, voice thick with adrenaline. "Stupid dog…"
He pulled harder.
Something in my leg popped. I saw stars. A yelp escaped my mouth.
My world narrowed to one truth: I'd made a mistake, and I was about to pay for it with more than pain.
I opened my mouth to snap anyway…
…and the newborn's head came off.
It wasn't a dramatic moment. It was a simple fact.
One second he was there, yanking my leg, grinning, and the next his hand was still gripping me while his head was gone, tossed aside like it weighed nothing.
Cold air hit the exposed stump of his neck. The hand on my leg loosened. His body went slack and toppled.
Edythe stood behind him.
Her eyes were gold and flat and furious, and her hair, braided back tight for the fight, didn't have a single strand out of place. What a weird thing to notice.
She didn't look at the body. She looked at me.
"Leah…"
One word. Not scolding. Not pity. Simple, lovely worry.
I tried to stand.
My back leg failed me. I couldn't stop the whine that pain forced through my throat.
Edythe was beside me instantly, one hand hovering near my shoulder without touching, like she knew touching might make me flinch or snap.
"You're hurt," she said.
{"No kidding!"} I thought toward her, knowing she would hear me.
I forced myself upright anyway, chest heaving, teeth bared more from instinct than intention.
{"I'm fine,"} I started…because of course I did.
Edythe's stare didn't waver.
I swallowed the lie.
{"…I can still move."}
"Good," she said, and then, quietly, deadly, "because we're not done."
A voice carried through the trees, amplified by distance and confidence. Not a shout. A command meant for people trained to obey.
"Fall back! Everyone, to me…now! Regroup on my position!"
Edythe's head angled slightly, listening. Her eyes narrowed.
"Thomas," she said, and it wasn't a question.
We moved to follow the sound.
Or I tried to.
My leg dragged. The attempted step sent a jagged spear of pain up my spine. I wanted to snarl at my own weakness, wanted to rip the injured limb off just so it couldn't betray me. But all I could do was pull it up to my body as best I could and hobble along next to Edythe. Every step was a jarring pain that made me want to curl up and cry.
Edythe tried to help as much as she could, but there just wasn't much she could do at this point. A small, weak part of me wanted to shift back to human so she could carry me, but there was still danger, and only the teeth of the wolf could keep me safe right now.
We pushed forward, Edythe moving at my pace, my humiliating pace. I knew I was lucky to still have a leg; hell, I was lucky to still be alive. But holding on to the anger and sparks of shame helped me push through the pain. Thomas could still need us.
{"You should go ahead; he could need you."}
Her look told me where I could shove that idea.
I tried to move faster.
We cut the trail of another newborn, his scent still strong in the air.
{"This must be the last sniper, he is rushing to their leader."}
"Yeah…I think the leader is the same newborn that we smelled waiting in the woods for the vampire that was in Bella's room. If not the leader, then at least one of the remaining vampires was there."
We heard movement and rapid conversations before seeing them. Then we broke into a clearing, we were at the back of the group, and we both froze. If there was any possibility that they didn't know we were there, it was a huge advantage. Slowly, we inched back, trying to make no noise.
Then Thomas, in his Dire Tiger form, appeared in front of the group. It was perfect timing for us; they had all their attention on the figure in front of them, making it less likely they would learn we were here.
Heat radiated off Thomas's form, and then he changed to a form I had never seen before. It was like a movie werewolf form, but in tiger shape. He looked amazing.
"Fuckin, Johnny!"