A gunshot rang out. Ilianna twisted sharply and I couldn't see if she'd been hit or not. Fear churned my insides, but I raised the brick and threw it as hard as I could—just as the shifter spun around to face me. The brick missed, but so did his second shot—this one aimed at me.
Ilianna's footsteps disappeared down the street—she was running, as mares were wont to do when faced with danger—and relief surged. Running meant she was alive—and just then, that was all I cared about.
A third shot ripped the air. The bullet burned past so close to my shoulder I felt the heat of it, but before he could fire again, I threw another brick. This one hit him full in the face. Blood spurted and he howled, his voice thick with pain and fury.
The second shifter appeared, leaping over the fence of the house a few properties down. He raced toward me rather than Ilianna, but any relief I might have felt disappeared as I stared at him.
His eyes were filled with destruction.
My destruction.
They might need to talk to me, but it wasn't going to be pleasant, and I wasn't going to live for very long afterward.
Would Azriel step in to save me if things got that bad? I didn't know and, to be honest, I really didn't want the situation to even reach that point.
I flexed my fingers and watched the shifter, ignoring the ever-increasing urge to run. Running was useless. His legs were already elongating—thickening—until they were almost twice the length of mine. He had speed in droves—more than I could muster up, even as a half-wolf.
His face was also changing as he ran, until it resembled something more canine than human. But his torso and his hands remained fully human. I guess a dog's paws weren't as dangerous as a human's fists.
I waited, my knuckles almost white with my grip on the remaining brick, watching his eyes, waiting for his leap. I saw the fury deep in those brown depths and once again tried to ignore the inner voice that said I couldn't do this, that it was better to run.
I'd been trained to fight. Now it was time to put that training to the full test. There were only two of them—it was probably the only opportunity I was going to get at these sort of odds and at getting any answers as to why these people were after me.
He leapt, teeth bared and a low growl rolling up his throat. I jumped from the fence and swiped sideways with the brick. He twisted in midair and the blow swooshed past his side, overbalancing me as I landed. He hit the top of the fence and leapt again, coming straight at me. I brushed my fingers against the concrete to steady myself then twisted around, flinging my arm up and using the brick as a ram. It smashed into his arm and bone snapped, the sound clearly audible above the steady growl of traffic coming from the nearby streets.
He howled—a furious, angry sound—and swung sideways with his other fist. I leaned back, but the blow still caught the edge of my chin, the power of it snapping my head back and dropping me onto my butt. He was on me in an instant, all teeth and hands and ferocity. I blocked several blows with my right arm, tried to ignore the pain of the ones that got through, and smashed the brick into his ribs. He howled again and jerked sideways. I bucked with my body, flinging him off me, then quickly scrambled to my feet. His hands caught the edge of my borrowed sweater and jerked me backward, into his arms.
"Now, my pretty, you are going to tell me what we need to know, or I'm going to enjoy tearing sweet chunks of flesh from your neck."