Scarlet (The Lunar Chronicles #2) - Marissa Meyer Page 0,109

the neck and used the momentum to throw him overhead. Ran rolled gracefully onto his feet. They were both panting, blood soaking through their shredded clothes. They paced, waiting, hunting for weaknesses.

Again, Ran made the first move. He threw his whole weight at Wolf, tackling him to the ground. His jaws went for the neck, snapping, but Wolf held him off, hands wrapped around his throat. He grunted beneath Ran’s weight, struggling to avoid the dripping fangs, when Ran dug his fist into Wolf’s shoulder—the bullet wound from Scarlet’s gun.

Howling, Wolf curled his legs to gain purchase and shoved Ran off him with a kick to the stomach.

Ran rolled away and they both staggered to their feet again. Scarlet could see their energy dissolving as they stood, wobbling, gazes flashing murder. Neither moved to cover their wounds.

Ran swiped a bare arm across his mouth, streaking his chin with blood.

Wolf crouched and sprang, shoving Ran onto his back and landing on top of him. A fist clawed for him. Wolf ducked, catching the brunt of the damage on his ear.

Pushing his opponent into the marble, Wolf raised his face to the ceiling, and howled.

Scarlet forced her back into the column, petrified. The howl resounded off the walls and through her skull and joints, filling every empty space in her body.

When he stopped howling, Wolf dropped down and snapped his jaw around Ran’s throat.

Scarlet hid behind her arms but couldn’t bring herself to look away. Blood gurgled up, coating Wolf’s chin and neck, dribbling down onto the mosaic floor.

Ran shook and jerked, but the struggle was quick to drain out of him. A moment later, Wolf released him, letting the dead body slump onto the ground.

Reaching around the column, Scarlet grasped the stair railing and hauled herself up the flight. Running, half limping up the steps.

The lobby was still deserted. Her feet splashed through the puddle in the center of the room as she ran for the doors. Doors that would lead to the street. To freedom.

Then she heard Wolf, chasing her.

She shoved through the exit. The cool evening air engulfed her as she pounded down the stairs to the empty street, already scanning the open square for help.

She saw no one.

No one.

The door slammed open behind her before it had time to close and she stumbled blindly across the street. In the distance, she saw a woman running into a nearby alley. Hope flashed and Scarlet urged her feet to move faster, to fly. She suddenly felt like she could take off and soar over the concrete. If she could just reach the woman, just use her port to call for help—

And then another figure appeared. Another man, his gait abnormally fast. He sped into the alley and a moment later the woman’s terrified scream screeched across the square, and was cut short.

A howl erupted from the same dark alley.

In the distance, another howl rose up to greet it, and another, and another, filling the twilight with bloodthirsty cries.

Terror and hopelessness choked Scarlet all at once and she fell, silt and concrete digging into her palms. Gasping, drenched with sweat, she rolled onto her back. Wolf had stopped running, but he still came for her. Prowling toward her with measured, patient steps.

He was panting almost as hard as she was.

Somewhere off in the city, another chorus of howling started.

Wolf did not join them.

His attention was all for Scarlet, cold and sharp and hungry. The pain was clear. The fury was clearer.

She scrambled away on her burning palms.

Wolf paused as he reached the center of the intersection. He was silhouetted by the moonlight, eyes gold and green and black and seething.

She saw him drag his tongue across his fangs. Watched as he curled and uncurled his fingers. His jaw worked as if to take in a bigger gulp of air.

She could see his fight. His struggle. As clearly as she could see the animal—the wolf—in him. As clearly as she could still see the man.

“Wolf.” Her tongue was parched. She tried to wet her dry lips and tasted blood. “What have they done to you?”

“You.” The word was spat out at her, full of hatred. “What have you done to me?”

He took another stumbling step toward her and she scooted away, pushing at the ground with the heels of her shoes, but it was useless. In the blink of an eye he had crouched down over her, knocking her onto her elbows without even having to touch her. His hands hit the