Chapter Thirteen

A Surprise for Christmas

The wolf bared its teeth at Lyla, then at Ariadne and Tristan as they approached from the cabin. Tristan nearly stopped dead in his tracks, his heart thudding erratically in his chest—and for more than one reason. Not only was Lyla in mortal danger again, but he could make out the shapes headed their way—nine men with a common goal that blinded them to everything else: revenge. And the wolf itself. It was larger than any wolf Tristan had ever seen. Pale fur specked with snow, and what could only be blood covered its massive body. Tristan gazed at the wolf, unable to shake the feeling that he was being stared at as well.

“What in the…?” he began.

“I was wrong this entire time,” Ariadne said, and he thought he could practically see his sister’s mind spinning into action, analyzing every issue before them. “I thought the curse manifested in you.”

“So did I.” He kept his gaze on Lyla and the wolf as they began to circle each other, his heart feeling as though a hand was clenching it. “But if it wasn’t me, then who…?”

The answer flashed through his mind like a lightning bolt, and his eyes widened.

“It can’t be,” he breathed.

Four thoughts raced through Tristan’s mind just then in rapid succession.

One: The curse never manifested in me. It wasn’t me who murdered Angus’s sons. That’s a bit of a relief, at least.

Two: I think I know who is responsible for the murders, and that’s even worse.

Three: Lyla is in danger. If I don’t step in now, she’s going to end up dead, and I’ll never forgive myself for letting anything happen to her. I have to protect her.

Four: Angus and his men were almost here. They’re not going to waste time asking questions.

He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, Lyla’s safety was his top priority. If she was harmed in any way…

“Hey!” he shouted. “Over here!”

The wolf snapped his head in his direction, and those large eyes flashed with pure bloodthirst, but Tristan was not to be deterred. He hurled himself at the creature, shifting as he did. Grey fur sprouted from his flesh, and his face elongated into a snout. His clothes ripped at the seams as his body expanded. His bones groaned and took new shape, claws extending from his fingers, and two rows of razor-sharp teeth filled his mouth.

He hit the snow and rolled to his feet, a wolf from head to tail, not quite as large as the monstrosity he now faced but fierce, nevertheless.

The other wolf snarled. Tristan snarled back.

And then they both charged.

“Tristan!” Lyla cried.

He collided with the other wolf, determined to knock his opponent off balance, which was difficult to accomplish with a creature almost twice his size. It felt a little bit like slamming into a stone wall. The next thing Tristan knew, he was lying in the snow, the other wolf towering over him, jaws parted, and then it lunged for the kill.

But Tristan wasn’t about to give up that easily, not with so much at stake. Lyla and Ariadne were in danger, not to mention that the true bearer of the curse was in need of whatever help was available. That help would come, but first…he needed to make sure no one got hurt.

To do that, he might have to hurt someone.

He scrambled out of the way, and the larger wolf growled as it bit into the snow. Seeing an opportunity, he slashed at the wolf’s side with his claws. As intended, the cut wasn’t too deep. Bright red blood seeped from the creature’s flank, and a howl of pain pierced the air.

He’d gotten the first hit. That was a good sign.

Unfortunately, his attack only seemed to make the other wolf angrier. Its eyes seemed to glow brighter.

Angus and his men chose that moment to arrive at the scene. Angus’s expression was embittered. His hair was tousled, a dark bruise on his left cheek. His gaze flickered between Tristan and the other wolf; his eyes narrowed with spite, then widened in confusion.

Two of Angus’s men rushed forward, swords drawn as they approached the fighting wolves, but Angus yelled, “No! Stand back!”

The men exchanged uncertain glances but did as they were told. Good for them. A few steps closer, and they could have been missing their arms by now if they were lucky. This wasn’t their fight. It wasn’t anyone’s fight but Tristan’s.

He couldn’t afford to lose.

Before Tristan could figure out the other wolf’s next move, it struck again. He had barely enough time to respond before it collided with him, knocking him down into the snow.

Tristan sank his claws into the wolf’s flank, holding on for all he was worth while he and his assailant tumbled downhill, snarling and clawing at each other.

“Tristan!” It was Ariadne this time.

Desperation surged through his body, but he found himself still holding back a little. Had he not known better, he might have fought with all his might, doing everything in his power to slay this creature before it hurt anyone else. But he did know that if he did that, he would be taking away an innocent life. Still, this wolf was easily more powerful than he was. If he continued to hold back, he just might doom himself.

They continued tumbling downhill until they came to a halt by a pair of boulders. Tristan quickly disentangled himself, springing onto all fours and striking before his opponent had the chance to get back up. He leaped through the air, claws extended.

The attacking wolf’s paw shot out so fast that he almost didn’t see it. Pain flared in Tristan’s side, and he hit the snow with a soft thud.

“Tristan!” Lyla’s voice sounded far away.

His side throbbed. In the corner of his vision, he saw the larger wolf approach, looming over him, its eyes blazing with victory. Tristan realized there wasn’t much he could do to protect himself at this point. The wolf was larger, quicker, and stronger. It was the living embodiment of a curse that had plagued his bloodline for generations.

This was it. The end. It was almost ironic when he thought about it. He was about to die at the hands of a wolf with the same bloodline.

Defiance coursed through him like water over a dam. He wasn’t about to give up, not now.

He staggered onto all fours, gazing up at the wolf, which was slowly advancing again, preparing for another strike. The throbbing in Tristan’s side made it almost impossible to concentrate, but he faced the creature, daring it to attack again.

Come on , he urged. Come at me.

As if on cue, the monster lunged.

Tristan darted left.

He saw what would happen split seconds before it did. The wolf slammed headfirst into the nearest boulder with a resounding thud. With a series of yelps, it sank to the ground. The gleam in its eyes faded.

Tentatively, Tristan approached the fallen creature, half-expecting it to get back up and swipe at his throat. But the wolf remained on its side. It didn’t move, not even when Tristan poked it.

And then the wolf began to shift. The pale fur receded into pinkish flesh, and he heard the sound of bones snapping and taking new shape as the creature shrank. The razor-sharp teeth sank into a snout that was quickly flattening against a human face. Within seconds, all that was left of the wolf was a young man lying in the fetal position in the snow.

Tristan shifted back to human form and stood over the man, his heart hammering in his chest as he took in the sight. He’d figured it out minutes ago, but it came as no less of a shock to see the face of the unconscious form at his feet.

“ You ,” he said.