Chapter 95
Kellan
Pain.
It should matter.
It should slow me.
Cripple me.
Drop me to the earth and leave me bleeding out like any ordinary creature.
But all I feel—
all I am—
is the pounding of one instinct beating through every shattered bone and torn muscle inside me:
Mate.
Protect.
Kill.
My lungs burn. My vision swims. Half my torso is barely holding together—skin hanging open, ribs exposed, blood dripping in hot streams down my fur. Every breath whistles raggedly through a tear under my ribs. I can't tell if the wet sound is my lung or just blood bubbling where it shouldn't.
But I stand.
I stand because I cannot fall.
A snarl rips out of me, deeper and hoarser than any wolf should make. It vibrates in my cracked jaw, rattles through my wounded chest.
Watson smiles.
That infuriating, calm, ancient smile.
