The thing that stood on the bank of the river was not Alaine. It was a Shadow of her, a beast brought to life by the trauma of losing a child. He had seen fury before. His daughter had come at him like this before, though Talitha would not have struck him. She would kill those children. She would slaughter anyone that harmed Ezekiel, this the dark beast knew as truth. For this simple reason he could not allow the dog to pass—not that he believed she would make it to his son. Someone would cut her down.
His eyes locked with her own and he saw that struggle play out, ocean against the shore. She struck, she took, but he endured. Gabriel’s tail rose like a flag. “Don’t do this,” he half begged, half warned. The collie’s face broke into a terrible snarl and she came for him again. The wolfish man threw his head low and felt her teeth connect with his neck. Yet he did not throw her, and did not move. She would have to kill him to pass, and in his heart, he knew her better.
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