Just as Gérard had anticipated, the wolf hurled itself onto the car, crushing any chance of escape. But that wasn't all jagged rocks littered the road, deliberately placed to trap them.
His gaze flicked once toward Charlotte as she ran toward the woods.
Then he moved.
In one swift motion, Gérard drew his silver knife and hurled it. The blade struck true, sinking deep into the wolf's eye. A tortured howl ripped through the air.
Before it could recover, Gérard lunged. He yanked the knife free and, without hesitation, dragged it across the creature's throat.
It collapsed instantly.
He hadn't shifted yet.
His eyes swept the battlefield, calculating. Six attackers. No eight. Two were still hidden. He could feel them.
His warriors were locked in combat with three. One already lay dead at his feet.
Then his gaze snapped toward the woods.
Charlotte.
His heart lurched violently when he saw one of the wolves sprinting in her direction.
Pain exploded across his side.
