Accepting My Twin Mates

Chapter 118

Chapter 115 – Chase?

Astennu

As soon as the gunshot rang, I had torn into the rogue that had leapt at me. He fought with ferocity and I could only hope he was not one of the wolves that was fighting for his family. While I had won, Aasim and I hadn’t come out unscathed. The wolf had caught us in our shoulder with his claw; a small injury, but deep. And with each and every movement, a lance of jarring pain shot through the muscles of my left shoulder. © 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

All of my pain was forgotten the moment Aasim and I felt the coursing fire flow in our veins and yet my wolf remained intact. I had known the instant Badru had been hit with wolfsbane and for a split second, Aasim was thrown for a loop, unable to feel his twin. This is exactly what I feared, that he would throw himself in the line of fire and he had quite literally done just that. But our mate was looking out for him out of the corner of my eye. Nothing felt amiss with our pup, so I had to trust that she knew what she was doing. And with her in her lycan wolf form, I had less to worry about with regards to hers, her father’s and my brother’s safety.

As we threw down another opponent, we sensed another at our back. As their jaws opened to snap at the nape of our neck, an almighty bang rattled the wolf and a weeping hole slung their dead body sideways.

‘Don’t worry. I got your back, pookie,’ a teasing voice prodded.

‘When we’re done here, I’m killing you next, Adrian!’

‘Love you too, doodle-bug.’

Catalina’s wolf had dragged her mate off to the side and out of the fray and was busy helping the four conscious vampires move their comrades out of harm’s way. All that stood in the path of them and the four circling wolves was Bastiaan, favouring his right leg as his left pant leg glistened under the moonlight, steeped in blood. Gashes swept up his exposed ribs, painting his torso in the metallic crimson that stained the air with its bitter taste and scent.

As he carved his large knife towards one wolf, his high sweeping arc left him open on one side to another. Aasim and I surged forward before the attacker could lock their jaw down and we grasped him between our own teeth, capturing him in a roll and flinging them clear across the clearing into a protruding rock. Bastiaan gave me an appreciative nod, the two of us facing a slightly more equal match to a pair of wolves who barked and snarled their threats, masking their injuries as best they could. But in the chaos that had ensued, I had lost track of which wolves were Marceau’s men and who were being forced into the conflict.

‘I think it’s a safe bet that the ones gunning for our jugular actively want to fight for the chelb (dog),’ Aasim asserted, throwing a lunging wolf by their front paw into the swiping curvature of Bastiaan blade. ‘So we’ll start there and work our way through them.’

I had never fought alongside a vampire before but our movements together felt fluid, almost as though it were Badru at our side for how deftly he read my actions. A small group of five wolves had kept back, reluctant to fight but issuing the odd snap or bark of threat. Their heads jerked and twitched, fighting the innate instinct to bare their necks in submission to us under the watch of the man that held their fate.

Abruptly, their behaviour shifted and their attention shifted to the blond wolf bursting through its once sharply tailored suit. Marceau had grown tired of waiting, it seemed.

It nauseated me how many times he had waltzed freely through our home, eaten at our table like a welcomed guest. In all those occasions, I had never seen his wolf form or had any clue about his skill.

The man was large in his stature as a human and his wolf was no different, not much smaller than mine.

We had the advantage of Alpha strength and raw power. He had the advantage of maturity and age. Marceau and his wolf had decades, compared to me and Aasim with our eight years.

Seeing the shift in ‘loyalty’ beginning to surface, the lips of his wolf lifted and peeled back in a roaring snarl, his jaws snapping at the nearest rogue. The wolf was fast to scramble from the swift incisors, but lost the tip of its tail to Marceau’s teeth.

Gearing up our head, we barrelled into the right- hand side of his ribs with a crack, the shock impact travelling down our spine. He rolled several times, putting space between him and the rogues I blocked him from. I circled, hiding the nettling sting of the puncture wound to my left shoulder and keeping his path blocked, maintaining his focus on no one but my midnight wolf. He had hurt enough people. His fight now lay with me.

His wolf slinked like a predator, accepting my challenge, blood dripping from his muzzle. The thick, ropey muscles of his neck twitched and his right eye winced; the only tells that he was grappling against my aura.

With a snap of his jaws, he rushed forward, aiming low at our chest to go for the kill. All he got was a mouth full of our dense fur, but it was enough to send the two of us sprawling and tumbling into the snow. White powder, rock, blood and tufts of fur billowed in every direction as we fought each other for the upper hand. I would be lying if I said he wasn’t strong because Marceau was and hit like a sledgehammer.

His nose sought out the blood coagulating at our injury and aimed his full arsenal of attacks upon it, trying to tear into us by tooth and claw. But we had dealt a punishing blow to him that was starting to

take effect. His breathing ruckled and gargled, blood filling his right lung and the crimson results staining his blond jaw and chest as it found its path of escape.

Over my shoulder, I could hear the snapping and cracking of a shift, a grunting whimper following with it. I took it as a wolf somewhere behind me tending their wounds, but I couldn’t turn my attention away from the clash in front of me.

The sounds transformed into a brutal and bellowing roar, one that dwarfed Evie’s. The mountainside descended into a disturbing silence, one that sucked all sound into its void, leaving the remaining atmosphere barren.

The low basal growl that broke the silence, raised the hairs on the nape of my thick neck and caused Marceau to freeze. I hazarded a poorly chosen glance over my shoulder to meet the immense and intimidating lycan form of Konstantin; his wolf, Kirill.

‘Daddy wolf looks pissed,’ Aasim gleamed, a trickle of excitement pinching him at the chance to fight alongside our father-in-law.

And like the coward he was, Marceau turned tail and ran, careening down the alternating slopes of the rocky forest.

‘Chase him!’ Konstantin barked, setting off in a pounding run.

I didn’t need to be told twice and broke into a sprint to hunt the wolf down. In any other pursuit, I would have gained ground quickly. However, between my injuries and exhaustion, they were taking a toll and making their presence known. At my back, I could feel the heavy thuds of Konstantin following, but unable to meet the speed needed to make headway.

The scent of blood painted Marceau’s trail. With his punctured lung and gaping slashes born of our claws, he wasn’t getting far or evading our hunt. Skidding down the path carved from his paws, Aasim

and I landed at the base, bursting through the cloud of dry dirt.

The dusty smog obscured our line of sight for the split- second our enemy needed to hurl himself into our side. We flailed our legs to flip us the right way round just in time to avoid the latch of his teeth and, with his head by ours, we sunk our canines into the side of his face, whirling him in a spin.

His body flew but his ear remained between our teeth, a blood-curdling howl of pain ripping from the red-soaked wolf. He never had the chance to hit the ground, caught midair by Konstantin’s huge clawed paws.

He held Marceau’s wolf aloft, his claws piercing his enemy’s throat that slowly dripped and pooled beneath. The wolf clumsily shifted back to his human form as his windpipe crushed in on itself under Konstantin’s strength.

‘You’ll… n-never… find… t-them,’ Marceau grimaced a sneer, trying his damnedest to prise at the elongated digits around his neck.

‘Just as you doubted my wolf? Moi mal’chiki will find wolves you take,’ Konstantin’s grip tightened, bulging Marceau’s eyes out of his sockets. ‘I never make threat I cannot act.’

There wasn’t a shred of hesitation as he gripped the French wolf’s head of hair and ripped through him like a cleaver through meat, leaving it to roll away from the body he threw to the ground. Deep reverberating grunts sounded from his chest as he heaved for oxygen or relief; I wasn’t sure which.

‘Konstantin?’ I nudged the paw that hung at his side. ‘You injured? You ok?’

‘I am well, volchonok,’ he ran his paw through our fur and patted our flank. ‘I put very old demons to sleep.’

‘You said something to him in Russian, about finding the wolves he’s taken?’

‘I say my boys find them. I know that man would never tell,’ his wolf stooped and pressed his muzzle to ours, as a parent would to their pup. ‘You and Badru found us here. You are great Alpha and will find other wolves.’