Corrigan Fire Bloodfire - Helen Harper Page 0,55

in agony, head jerking round to try and catch me with its teeth as it lumbered to its feet. I sprang away, taking one deep breath into my lungs, then threw myself at it again, rising up onto my hindquarters so I could make use of both my paws.

I scraped into its skin, drawing blood from its muzzle. Its mouth yawned open and glowing red eyes fixed me with venomous hatred. I only just managed to avoid its flashing teeth by jerking my head up and sinking my own fangs into its ear. It snarled, making a sound that only some kind of hellbeast could be capable of making. Thick, dark blood that tasted of cancerous death filled my mouth and I spat it out.

Jumping into the air, I twisted hard, somersaulting to land behind the thing’s body. As I spun through the air, I caught sight of blood and fur all over the place. Red dimmed my vision and I could hear my own pulse thundering in my ears. I raked my claws down its back, dragging it down to the floor. Then I ripped a chunk of flesh from its side, just as a wolf joined me from the other side. Dimly recognising Tom, I rolled to the side, my claws still embedded in the beast’s flesh so I could force it onto its back. With its vulnerable belly exposed, Tom was able to lunge forward. Letting out an inarticulate grunt of rage, he ripped its skin while it writhed under my tenuous grasp. Then I felt it shudder. Going for the kill, I pushed my claws deeper into its body just as it pulled itself away. I lashed out once more, but this time my paws met nothing but air. It had vanished, dissipating into a cloud of black, choking smoke.

Not waiting to work out what in the hell had just happened, I spun round to help the others. The sightless eyes of one of the Cornish girls stared glassily at me from her broken and lifeless body. There were moans of pain from all quarters of the house. I heard a sudden sharp scream and pounded forward and out into the garden. A scene of hell greeted me. To one side there was a leg lying incongruously in a leafy herb patch. There was no body attached to it but, sickeningly, I recognised the shoe. Julia. To the other side, another werewolf staggered, lurching from side to side as if he were drunk. His pupils were dilated and blood streamed from a gash in his side. In fact, everywhere I looked there were fallen bodies. Most had shifted but there were a few who hadn’t even had time to complete the movement. Moans of terror reached my ears.

Someone grabbed me. I pivoted round, snarling, only to see Staines blinking at me, with deep scratches down his face and neck. ‘My Lord. Are you alright?’

I growled in the affirmative, pulling away.

‘They’ve gone. Whatever they were, they’ve gone. They just…’ he shook his head as if unable to believe it, ‘disappeared in a puff of smoke. Demon dogs or something.’

I sniffed the air. He was right. It wasn’t just my own attacker that had vanished. They’d all gone. But we still didn’t know if they were coming back.

Get whoever is still able to stand to secure the perimeter. We need guards all around here.

‘Yes, my Lord.’

I located Fenewick. Are you finished with Lucy?

Yes, my Lord. Is everything okay? I could hear…

Just get down here. There are a lot of wounded to deal with. Then I shifted back and went looking for the rest of Julia.

***

She was in a bad way. The one, tiny saving grace was that she had lapsed into unconsciousness. Fenewick, expression grim, bent down beside her to bind her leg. I was gallingly aware that I could do something to take away a lot of the pain and suffering from both Julia and the other shifters around me. I was too afraid to weaken myself, however. If those hellhounds came back, all would be lost. We were in too much of a state of disarray to be able to conduct any sort of serious defence. I still couldn’t work out why they’d suddenly disappeared in the first place.

‘Why?’ One of the young Cornish shifters asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. ‘Why would they do this?’

Anton moved up beside her to provide support. She grabbed him, clinging on as if he were a life