The impact shattered the stillness of the yard.
Tauriel did not hesitate.
The shift came fast and clean, driven by instinct and purpose rather than hesitation. One moment Ithilien stood on the porch, the next her wolf launched forward, a blur of muscle and controlled violence, colliding with the vampire before it could reach the house.
The force of it drove the creature sideways, but not down for long.
It recovered unnaturally quickly, twisting as it rose in a way that did not belong to anything living. Even for a predator, something about it felt wrong.
But Ithilien did not pull back.
There was no calculation beyond one simple truth:
Marco was inside.
That was enough.
Tauriel circled immediately, keeping low, cutting off the direct path to the door. When the vampire shifted, trying to angle past her, she lunged again, jaws snapping for its throat. Her teeth found flesh this time, tearing through it—but the reaction was not what it should have been.
The creature did not recoil.
It adapted.
It moved with sudden precision, turning into her attack instead of away from it, using her own momentum against her. The counterstrike came fast and brutal, striking her side and forcing her off balance.
Pain flashed through her, sharp and immediate, but it did not slow her down.
She adjusted.
Came again.
This time she did not aim to overpower it. Instead, she disrupted it—cutting its movement, forcing it to turn, keeping it from advancing. Every step she took, every strike she made, had one purpose:
Keep it away from the house.
The vampire tried to push past her again.
It was learning.
Its movements grew tighter, more efficient, as if each second of the fight made it more dangerous.
That realization settled hard, but Ithilien didn't let it reach deeper.
She drove forward, slamming into it with enough force to knock it back toward the edge of the yard, away from the porch. Gravel scattered under their weight as they clashed again, claws against unnatural strength, instinct against something engineered to endure.
For a moment, she held it.
Then it changed again.
Faster this time.
The strike came from a new angle, sharp and deliberate. It caught her across the side, tearing through muscle with a precision that made it clear this was no longer blind aggression.
This was targeting.
The pain was immediate, white-hot, but she did not retreat.
She couldn't.
Instead, she pushed into it, forcing the distance closed again before it could reposition. If it wanted space, she would deny it.
If it wanted control, she would break it.
Tauriel's teeth snapped toward its throat again, but this time the creature twisted away just enough, its hand slamming into her shoulder and driving her back with enough force to send her skidding across the ground.
The shift broke under the impact.
Ithilien hit the dirt hard, breath knocked from her lungs as pain rippled through her body.
For a fraction of a second, everything blurred.
Then instinct forced her up again.
She staggered to her feet, one hand already pressing against her side where blood was seeping through her fingers. The wound was deep. She could feel it in the way her body resisted movement, in the heat spreading under her skin.
But she stayed upright.
Because the vampire was still there.
Still between her and the house.
It moved toward her again.
This time, it didn't rush blindly.
It watched.
Adjusted.
Then attacked.
Ithilien barely managed to twist away, the movement pulling sharply at her injury. Pain flared again, sharper now, but she held her ground. She grabbed the edge of the porch railing to steady herself for a split second—
—and then pushed forward again.
She could feel time slipping.
Feel her strength beginning to drain.
But she also felt something else.
The distance behind her.
The house.
Marco.
She stepped into the attack again, forcing the vampire to turn, to focus on her, to stay exactly where she needed it to be.
Here.
Not there.
Not inside.