Another wolf launched himself at Rory, knocking him down. The gun slid under the truck. Zander lunged for the surface so hard that the wolf did not have the opportunity to fight him for dominance.
Standing, Zander glared down at his brother, nostrils flaring. “You’ll never touch her again.” He signaled for Jesse’s wolf to back away from Rory—this was something Zander had to do himself. Jesse’s wolf let out a disgruntled growl as he moved aside. Zander rolled back his shoulders. “You want to fight, Rory? No, I won’t give you that. People fight to win. I don’t want to win. I want to kill you. You know I can.”
Rory staggered to his feet, putting a hand to the claw marks on his side. “You’re bleeding—”
“Now, so are you.” Not near as badly as Zander, but bad enough. “And how fucking typical is it of you that you wouldn’t attack until you thought I was too weak to beat you. I’ll always beat you, Rory. Every time. Because you’re the weak one. You always were. A part of you even knows that. You’ll just never face it because, as I said, you’re weak.”
Rory sniggered. “Not so weak that I didn’t get dear old Mom and Dad to leave me everything.”
“And what was it you thought I wanted from two people who were as equally pathetic as you? Abusive people are weak, and that was what Pearl was. Dad wouldn’t stand against Pearl, not even to defend his own kids. He was spineless, like you. So, where’s your victory?”
Rory’s mouth bobbed open and closed. “You’re saying I’m weak?” Nostrils flaring, he took an aggressive step forward. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d be on dialysis—”
“This again? Honest to God?”
“That infection almost killed me!”
“Yeah, almost. Right now, I’m wishing it had, because then it wouldn’t have come to this. Now, I’m done listening to your shit.” Zander shifted just as his brother clawed off his clothes and then did the same.
The identical wolves circled each other, ears flattened. The only difference between them was the scar on the face of Zander’s wolf.
The scarred wolf pounced. The other lunged. And they clashed, clawing and growling.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ezra cocked back his fist to hit Yvonne once more, but he froze at the sound of vicious growling just outside the house.
Gwen tensed, hope blitzing through her. There was so much noise out there, so many growls, roars, and screeches, that it sounded like a zoo gone crazy, but those growls . . . they were close. Very, very close. And Gwen would bet money that one of the wolves was Zander. She could feel his rage and determination, could feel that he was near.
She allowed a little smile to surface as Ezra looked at her. “I told you he’d come for me,” she reminded him.
Nelson grunted in her ear and dug the gun harder into her temple. She barely held back a wince. The bastard’s arm was like a thick rope around her chest, pinning her arms at her sides, and she felt like she couldn’t get enough air.
Even with the gun pointed at her head, Gwen had fought him at first. But that had only made them laugh and hurt Yvonne more, so Gwen had quieted. She’d clamped her mouth shut to contain the pointless pleas for them to leave the woman alone. Now, Gwen remained perfectly still. But her muscles were tight, ready to spring at the slightest opportunity.
“We need to end this now,” insisted Nelson.
Ezra didn’t seem concerned. “That sounds like two wolves fighting to me. It’s probably Rory tearing his brother to pieces . . . unless her mate’s fighting one of his pack mates, of course, which is quite possible. Those animals know no loyalty.”
Gwen bared her teeth. “He’s an animal? You’re the civilized one?” She flicked a meaningful look at a beaten Yvonne, who’d curled up into a protective ball—her nose was broken, her face was swollen and bruised, and there were scratches on her face from Ezra’s ring. She no doubt had at least one broken rib and a dozen bruises beneath her clothes. Emotionally, Gwen had felt every slap, kick, punch, and whack of Brandt’s crutch.
“You think that makes you strong?” Fists shaking, Gwen curled her upper lip. “You’re a pussy, just like your son. Ah, Brandt doesn’t like being called that either. It’s only the truth.”
“I’m telling you, Ezra, we need to get this over with!” asserted Nelson.
Brandt’s fists clenched. “Aidan said it would hurt her most to see Yvonne hurt.”
“Then your job is done, because Yvonne is out of it,” Nelson pointed out. “Now, Ezra, just kill her now!”
The lights flickered again. Doors slammed all over the house. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
At Brandt’s panicked expression, Ezra assured him in a shaky voice, “It’s just the wind coming through the windows.”
“I can smell burning,” said Nelson. “Can’t you smell burning?”
“No,” said Ezra, but he could. And so could Gwen, just as she could feel the chill in the air. Her muscles went taut, and the hairs on her nape rose.
Brandt jerked. “Shit, I just saw something move in the shadows.”
Moira sighed. “You’re being ridiculous.” But she looked just as freaked.
“I did! I saw something! And it’s not windy out there, so how can the doors be slamming shut?”
Nelson suddenly jumped and whirled, scrubbing at his neck with the hand holding his gun. “Something just breathed on me.”
Taking advantage of his loosened hold, Gwen jammed her elbow into his gut and snapped back her head to connect with his nose. As he cried out in pain, she dived for her Glock. At the same time, Yvonne reared up and stabbed Ezra in the thigh with a thick shard of glass.
Gwen grinned in satisfaction as her hand wrapped around the butt of her Glock. She rolled onto her back, shot Nelson in the chest, and then aimed it at Brandt . . . who was about to slam his crutch over Yvonne’s head. But then the painting on the floor whipped through the air and hit him hard, sending him toppling over the banister with a loud cry.
A screeching Moira grabbed Nelson’s gun and fired blindly over and over. Unused to shooting, her body shook with the impact, and her shots went wide. Except for one.
Pain blazed across Gwen’s temple. “Motherfucker.” She aimed her Glock at Moira’s head, but Ezra’s body knocked Gwen to the ground before she could squeeze the trigger.
For the second time that day, her gun went skidding along the floor. As Ezra straddled her, she heard gunfire and then Moira screech, and she distantly wondered if Yvonne had shot her. But Gwen’s attention was on Ezra as she scratched at his face and fought him like a wildcat. His hand fisted her hair, and he rammed her head on the floor. Once. Twice. Three times. He reached up, grabbed a heavy ornament from the round antique table, and smashed it right over her head.
Without mercy, the wolf stabbed his claws deep into his sibling’s flank. He liked hearing his opponent’s yelp of pain. Liked seeing that pain in his eyes. In retaliation, his opponent bit hard into the wolf’s wounded ear.