The Drunk Wolf novel · Chapter 29 of 32

Chapter 29: The Turning

I shifted in the air.

My coat tore off me as I went, and I met him over the ledge, white wolf into black.

We hit the heather together and rolled.

He was heavier than me by half. He'd been a wolf for thirty-eight years.

But he was fifty-six, and I'd run the hill all night three weeks ago, and I was angrier than I'd ever been in my life.

His teeth went into my shoulder.

It hurt.

I didn't let go of him.

I got my jaws in the thick fur behind his ear and my weight across his chest, and I held him there.

He thrashed and clawed my side, and I held on.

Around us, the crowd had broken back in a wide ring. Nobody could get a crossbow in without hitting me.

Then I heard Struan.

He was still on his knees by the Stone, grey-faced, with Morag's hand on his back.

He lifted his head.

His eyes had gone the colour of ice on the loch.

"Down," he said.

It wasn't the drunk voice from the cellar, or the clean one from the drain.

It was hoarse and sick and aimed like a bolt, and it went past me.

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