The Climax

The tactical team breached the penthouse doors with explosives.

Smoke filled the living room. They moved in formation, laser sights sweeping the room.

"Clear," the lead soldier shouted. "Find the Wolf. Kill the girl."

Suddenly, the red emergency lights cut out. The room plunged into pitch blackness.

Then, the sound system shrieked. It was a high-frequency feedback loop, amplified to 120 decibels.

The soldiers screamed, clutching their ears.

Strobe lights began to flash—erratic, blinding bursts of white light designed to induce seizures.

"Now!" Harper screamed from the server room doorway.

She hit the final key. The fire suppression system exploded—not with water, but with the Halon gas stored for the server room, vented directly into the living room. It was cold, disorienting fog.

Dominic stumbled out of the server room. The clean air inside had given him enough strength to stand. The wolfsbane in his system was fading, but not gone.

He didn't need to be a wolf to be a killer.

He moved through the strobe-lit fog like a phantom. He grabbed the first soldier, snapped his arm like a twig, and used the man’s body as a shield against the spray of bullets from the others.

Harper watched from the doorway, her heart in her throat. She held a tranquilizer rifle she’d found in Dominic’s "In Case of Rogue Wolf" emergency kit.

Marcus Thorne stepped through the smoke. He was wearing a gas mask. He held a high-caliber revolver plated in silver.

He aimed at Dominic’s back. Dominic was busy wrestling two soldiers.

"Goodbye, boss," Marcus shouted.

Harper didn't think. She didn't calculate. She stepped out, leveled the rifle, and fired.

The dart hit Marcus in the neck, right above the collar of his suit.

He slapped at it, confused. He turned to look at Harper.

"You..." he slurred.

His eyes rolled back in his head. He crumbled to the floor.

Dominic finished the last soldier with a brutal headbutt. Silence fell over the room, broken only by the groans of the incapacitated men.

Dominic stood amidst the carnage, chest heaving, shirt torn, blood (mostly not his) splattered across his chest.

He turned to Harper. His eyes were glowing bright, steady gold. The wolf was back.

He walked over to her. He didn't say a word. He grabbed her face in his bloodstained hands and kissed her.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was adrenaline and survival and possession. Harper kissed him back, dropping the rifle, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers.

"You shot him," Dominic whispered, sounding awed.

"He was going to ruin my paycheck," Harper breathed.

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