“I take it we’re not jumping off the cliff now,” Meera comments wryly.

“No.” I focus on Timas. “Can you get us back into the compound?”

“Yes,” he says. “It will take a while, but—”

“Work quickly,” I snap. “We’re hungry.” As the others stare at me, I turn from the sea and break into a trot, eager to feed.

I feel more alive than ever. I’m sure I look awful, no better than any of the mutated werewolves I now command. But I don’t care. Looks have never mattered to me less. After all the stress of recent years, the struggle between human, wolf and Kah-Gash, I’ve finally found a happy balance. This is who I’m meant to be, not man, werewolf or magician—but this. A mix of all three, uniquely disfigured and warped. For the first time in my life I feel complete.

Meera, Timas and Prae are nervous of me, and rightly so. If I turned on them, as I’m tempted to, they wouldn’t stand a chance. But I choose not to attack. These are my allies, and while I don’t feel like I need them anymore—except Timas, to get into the compound I honour our friendship. Besides, as the Kah-Gash pointed out, there are lots of others I can kill.

The humans struggle to keep up, but I don’t make allowances. If they fall behind, they’ll have to fend for themselves. I control the werewolves, but I know instinctively that my hold over them is fragile. If I don’t maintain complete dominance, I’ll lose them.

I can’t wait to get my teeth on Juni Swan’s throat.

Revenge is what I’m focused on. I barely spare a thought for Dervish and the danger he might be in. All I care about is killing the she-fiend who betrayed us. When I’ve ripped her flesh from her bones and wallowed in her blood… then I can turn to other matters. Maybe. Unless I decide to stay here and become ruler of Wolf Island.

The compound. Timas is hard at work on a security access screen. I smell the fear of the soldiers inside. They know we’re out here. Several of their finest technicians are united against Timas, playing cat and mouse games with him as if locking horns over a chess board. But he’s stripping away their defences, one by one. He’s better than they are. It’s just a matter of time before he outfoxes them.

By concentrating on my senses of smell and hearing, I follow the movements of those nearest us. They’re lining the tight corridors, checking weapons, preparing to blast wildly at anything that comes through. They’re frustrated. If the designers had built slots into these walls, as they did in those at the sides, they could have mown us down. But an assault like this was never taken into account. The outer wall was meant to hold. The plan, if it fell, was to block off all other entrances to the compound, then escape by boats stored at the rear of the complex. After all, there was no way brainless werewolves could short-circuit the security systems.

The soldiers could flee before we invade, and make a break for freedom. But they’ve been ordered to stand and fight. Juni doesn’t care about losses. It will probably amuse her to watch them die.

She’s still there. She has a distinctive, rotting stench. She’s waiting for us deep within the compound. I don’t know why. Perhaps she thinks she can get the better of me. More fool her if she does.

A couple of werewolves howl and others take up the cry. They’re growing impatient. They aren’t ready to mutiny yet, but they’re not far from it. Bending close to Timas, I growl, “A few more minutes. Then things get nasty.”

“You can’t rush a job like this,” Timas replies calmly. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

“Go faster,” I snarl. “When they turn, I won’t be able to hold them. I’ll be the first they attack, but you won’t be far behind.”

“Then we’d better hope time is on our side,” Timas chuckles, never looking up.

“Leave him alone,” Meera snaps. “You’re distracting him.”

“No he isn’t,” Timas says. “I can multitask.”

“Do you think they know we’re here?” Prae asks, pressing an ear to the wall.

I frown at such a ludicrous question, then remember that she doesn’t have the same sharp senses I do. “They know,” I tell her. “They’re waiting for us.”

“Our forces will be cut down,” she says quietly, studying the werewolves. “It will be a massacre.”

“Many will die,” I agree, “but not all. We’ll overwhelm them.”

“But at such a cost…” Prae sighs. “Is it worth it? Maybe we should just take the boats and get out of here.”

“They’d call in fresh troops,” Meera says. “They’d fire on the werewolves from the air and wipe them out—they couldn’t afford to leave them alive now that we know about Wolf Island. At least this way the beasts have a fair chance.”

“I hate this,” Prae mutters. “It was never meant to end in a bloodbath. I wanted to save lives, not be responsible for wholesale slaughter.”

“Then you shouldn’t have become a Lamb,” Meera says.

Before Prae can respond, Timas whistles softly. “No more time for bickering. The gates of hell are about to open for business.”

He presses a button. Panels slide apart. Werewolves howl and surge forward. A mass of guns discharge at the same time and the air turns red with blood.

THE SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME

Dozens are slaughtered within seconds, torn to ragged, fleshy shreds by the frenzied fire of Juni Swan’s soldiers. But the stench of blood only drives the rest of us wilder. We push on without pause, leaping over the jerking bodies of the dead and dying, ignoring the peril, the bullets, the fallen. Not a single beast turns and runs.

I’m among the pack, unable to restrain myself, risking all just to be one of the first to claim a human heart. It’s crazy. I should hold back and let them do my dirty work. But for a few mad moments I lose control. I press forward with the others, howling and bellowing, as much of a target as any other werewolf.

Then we’re on the terrified soldiers, hacking at them, tearing guns from their hands, chowing down on their sweet, soft flesh and oh-so-chewable bones. Human screams are added to the cacophony of gunfire and howls. The line disintegrates beneath us. I’m past it before I know what’s happening, staring at an empty corridor. I have to stop, swivel and dive back into the fray to claim my victims and be part of the barbaric, bloody feast.

I don’t know how much time passes. It could be seconds or minutes. All I’m aware of is the killing and feasting. My world becomes an endless pool of thick, salty blood, springy flesh, brittle bones, juicy inner organs. I butcher heartlessly, wolfishly. I don’t know how many. Bodies are tossed around and pulled apart like chicken wings at a party.

When the bloodlust finally passes—when I’ve had my fill—my senses return. I spit out a mouthful of soggy flesh. I’m drenched in blood, my ears and head ringing with noise. I stare at my red, twisted hands and wait to feel disgust and shame. But nothing hits me. I’m neither appalled nor shocked. In this new form I have no delusions. I’m a killer. Whether a killer of demons, werewolves or humans… no matter. I’ve butchered with magic in the Demonata universe. Now I’ve murdered with my hands and teeth here. I feel no more for the people I’ve slaughtered than the demons I fried. To a beast like me, there’s no real difference.

I look around for Meera, Timas and Prae. I find them standing in a doorway, transfixed, faces pale, eyes awash with horror. Even the usually unflappable Timas Brauss looks disturbed. I sneer at their expressions, wipe a hand across my lips, then lick them clean.

“Sorry I didn’t offer you anything to eat,” I chuckle hoarsely.

“Grubbs… you… this…” Meera can’t find words to express what she feels.

“I did what I had to,” I grunt. “It was a fair fight.”

“But you enjoyed it!” Meera gasps. “You laughed as you killed. The way you drank…”