Dickson slowly turned around, the faint crackle of electricity still dancing across his shoulders as the battlefield behind him continued to burn. The endless tide of crazed vampires had finally been broken, their corpses scattered across the ruined plain while smoke rose endlessly into the grey sky.
Behind him, two monstrous figures stepped forward.
Sergei.
Mikhail.
The two werewolves no longer resembled men. Their bodies had expanded into towering beasts of muscle and thick silver-grey fur, each standing well over twelve feet tall. Their shoulders were broad enough to block the sunlight while every breath escaping their jaws came out as white mist despite the heat surrounding Lana's battlefield. Their claws dug effortlessly into the shattered earth, leaving trenches with every slow step they took.
Neither of them growled.
Neither of them rushed.
They simply stared ahead.
Waiting.
Because they could feel it too.
The battlefield had gone strangely quiet.
