Marked (The Coldest Fae Book 3) by Katerina Martinez (great novels of all time .txt) 📕

of them were. I wasn’t their Alpha, and they could give a shit that I was Ashera’s third.

The pack’s refusal sucked the wind out of my sails. Before I could speak again, the three wolves were on the move, dashing directly into the trees and going after the next, nearest Wenlow. I stared at them as they took it down, watching them act in concert to drop another of the horrible beasts.

They were trained killers; efficient, brutal, and swift. All three worked in tandem with each other, one of them setting up the blow for the next to deliver, who then set it up for the next. It was a train of savagery, and it was always on time—until Jaleem tripped up and fell as they rushed over to their third target.

I dashed toward them, watching from a distance as Lora and Praxis circled around their fallen packmate, trying to get him to stand up. One of Jaleem’s legs wasn’t working. I could hear him yipping and yelping, telling the others to go on without him, but they weren’t listening. Meanwhile, the Wenlow were closing in—slowly, inevitably.

I howled to get their attention, trying to warn them that they didn’t have time to debate things, but they wouldn’t listen to me, either.

“You have to move!” I yelled, but my voice fell on deaf ears.

One of the Wenlow picked up the pace, having spotted the pack and decided they were easy prey. Its sudden burst of speed and enthusiasm made me nervous. They had been slow until now, not too eager to engage, but this one was rushing through the woods, its mouth gaping mouth wide and open, its claws dragging on the ground.

I charged past the wolves and headed straight for the Wenlow, feeling the wind rushing through my fur and past my whiskers. When the creature spotted me, it paused, then reared like a bear, straightening its hunchback and making itself easily half a head taller than it had been a moment ago.

I could feel its paralyzing magic trying to reach me, breaking against the edge of my senses, but it didn’t slow me down, and that caught the creature by surprise. When I launched myself at it, I didn’t go for the neck or for an arm, but for one of its legs. I wrapped my teeth around its knee and used its considerable size to swing myself around the creature, my fangs rending muscle and bone as I went.

As soon as I let go of the beast, it fell onto its other knee. Once I’d recovered, I hurled myself at it again, leaping at it from behind and snapping my jaws down hard on either side of its neck. I could taste its blood in my mouth, its flesh under my tongue—it was a cold, metallic taste that reminded me all too much of what my own blood tasted like.

The creature struggled with me for a moment. It tried to push itself up, tried to grab hold of me, but its was already in a great deal of pain, and it didn’t have the right coordination to reach me where I was right now. I kept my mouth clamped around its neck, feeling the flow of its blood as it gushed out of the wound and went dribbling into the snow underneath us.

Up ahead I caught the trio of wolves staring at me. Jaleem had gotten up, but one of his back legs was curled up under him. The other two were staring at me like they wanted to attack me. Instead, Lora turned her head to the side and barked at Jaleem. The smaller wolf then started hopping away, heading back toward the ritual circle which continued to glow off in the distance.

The Wenlow under my jaws stopped moving, the final spurts of its blood spilled out of its throat. I let go of its throat and was about to approach the two wolves, when Praxis and Lora charged in my direction, their fangs barred, their teeth full on display. I backed up a step, preparing to defend myself against them, but instead they went whizzing past me and threw themselves at another of the white giants that had been about to sneak up on me.

They were changing their tactics. I couldn’t see the other creatures anymore, I couldn’t hear them, couldn’t sense them. I could just about smell them, but I wasn’t sure if that was enough. Panting, I leapt off the fallen beast and joined the other two wolves as they tried to take down a fourth of these things.

Praxis, the large, dark wolf that he was, slammed into it like a wrecking ball, knocking it off its feet. But when it came time to get back up, he struggled. Lora, now that the Wenlow had been dropped, went to grab hold of one of its arms while I dashed around it and sank my teeth into the other.

But something was wrong.

She wasn’t letting go; she also wasn’t sawing into its flesh with her teeth. “Lora!” I yelled, my mouth full of wooly fur and blood. “Can you fight?!”

Lora yipped, but she could barely move. The Wenlow underneath us yanked up its arm, sending the wolf high into the air and then shaking her off. Holding onto it should’ve been easy for her, but the paralysis had taken hold, and she soared through the air before slamming hard into the ground. I let go of the Wenlow’s arm and went for its neck while it was still downed, crushing its windpipe under my jaws and splitting both of its jugulars open.

This time, I didn’t wait until it was dead to let go. I backed away before it could attack me, getting myself out of reach of its claws as it struggled to pick itself up. But it was bleeding heavily, and I’d torn through the tendons in its wrist. When the creature rested its weight on that hand, it fell back into the snow, and