From the way he’s talked, I suspect he prefers to remain that way when he can keep control over himself. I can’t blame him, not when I’m keeping my own most destructive inclinations locked up.
The way he looked when I got a clear glimpse of his transformation in the control room—his face twisted into a distorted fusion of animal and man. Not an actual wolf so much as the kind of wolf-man you might see in a horror movie, a deformity more than an enhancement.
But he was still Zian, no matter how much fur leapt from his skin or how his face contorted.
I hope he knows that too.
Low voices carry from outside, too quiet for me to make out the words. If they say anything that Zian picks up with his keener ears and finds concerning, he gives no indication.
Footsteps travel down the steps with a faint rasp. They knowsomeone’sdown here, and they’re trying to catch those intruders unawares.
That’s another sign that they don’t know who they’re dealing with. The guardians are aware of Zian’s sharp hearing—I think they’d expect him to have already noticed their arrival if they knew he was here.
They aren’t prepared for his supernaturally penetrating sight either. He taps my shoulder and flashes seven fingers at me. That’s how many people he can see have entered the building so far.
The footsteps tread lightly toward us. My muscles tighten in anticipation.
The muzzle of a gun comes into view beyond the edge of the doorframe.
Zian and I spring out simultaneously. We leap at the closest of the figures, him instinctively letting me take the closer one with my shorter reach.
I slam the rifle against my thigh to bend it beyond use and haul the man who was holding it into the office room. He crashes to the floor with a clang of his helmet and vest.
They might not have realized who was in this place, but they pulled on their usual guardian gear regardless.
The man swings a fist at me and pulls a knife from a sheath at his waist. I kick the weapon away with a snap of breaking bone and yank up his helmet to get a look at his face.
He’s young, not much older than my guys—not a good choice for Andreas’s memory interrogation. I hesitate for just a second, but then the man rams his knee toward my belly while groping toward a holstered pistol at his hip, and I slash out with my claws.
His head lolls as blood gurgles from his throat. I shove myself away.
Bangs and thumps are echoing through the building all around me. Zian has already bashed his first target against the wall and left the woman in a crumpled heap. He has a man pinned under his immense frame now, one who looks closer to middle-aged.
“Did you know Ursula Engel?” he growls at the guy while restraining his struggling limbs.
“Let Andreas figure that out,” I tell him, and dash back to the doorway.
Three more bodies litter the hallway outside, two with the bashed in helmets I know were Jacob’s doing and another with a couple of bullet wounds to the chest that could have been dealt by any of the guys. In the room across from ours, Jacob has another man glued to the wall with his telekinetic force, the strands of gray in his hair suggesting he’s the oldest of those we’ve seen so far.
“Get what you need,” Jake snaps at Andreas.
Andreas stands rigidly next to him, staring at the guy with the ruddy gleam shimmering in his eyes. “I’m trying. He’s—he’s doing something that’s muddling things whenever I try to focus in.”
The man manages a sickly smile of triumph that makes my blood run cold.
What new techniques have the guardians figured out that are messing up Drey’s talent?
Before I can worry much about that, more footsteps pound down the steps as a few guardians who initially hung back charge in to defend their companions. Too late.
I dart back out at the same time as Dominic emerges from the control room, a gun in his hand. With his brisk motion to the right, we understand each other.
I hurtle at the two figures on the left, my feet pushing off the ground so swiftly the soles of my shoes barely brush the floor. Dominic fires off several shots in quick succession at the two on the right.
As his targets crumple, I slam into a woman who’s just aiming her rifle, too sluggish to match my unearthly speed. Even as I snap her neck, I’m already spinning my torso around to kick the man behind her in the face.
His helmet dents inward, puncturing his skull with a fleshy cracking sound like Jacob’s preferred tactic. I land on the floor surrounded by the four limp bodies.
The scene brings back a flicker of the arena. My stomach lurches, and I yank my attention away, toward the entrance.