Chapter 8: Snap
The wolf lunged, claws scraping the floor. Fin dove to the side, crashing into the wall shoulder-first. Pain shot through his arm, but he scrambled up as the wolf spun around, snapping its jaws.
He swung the dagger—missed by a mile. The wolf's claws raked the air, inches from his chest, and he stumbled back, tripping over his own feet.
Laughter echoed from outside—Red Hair, probably. "Slum boy's gonna be dog food!" he heard through the door.
"Shut up!" Fin yelled, but his voice cracked. The wolf charged again, and he barely rolled out of the way, its teeth snapping where his leg had been. He was losing—bad. His breaths came fast, shallow, and his hands shook.
'I can't do this. I'm not a Hunter. I'm just a nobody.'
The wolf circled him, growling low. He could see the guild masters' shadows in the windows above, watching, judging.
'They think I'm a joke. Everyone does.' His mind flashed to Meg—her purple hair, her loud laugh, her shoving that cash at him. "You've got a shot," she'd said. "Don't waste it."
And the slums. The stink, the rot, the broken everything. He'd promised to get them out. But here he was, about to get eaten by a damn dog.
"No," he growled, low and rough. "Not today."
The wolf lunged again, jaws wide. Something snapped in Fin—rage, fear, all of it boiling over. He didn't dodge this time. He roared and threw himself at it, slamming the dagger into its side. The blade sank in, but the wolf twisted, claws slashing his arm—hot pain, blood dripping. He didn't care.
"Get—off—me!" he yelled, yanking the dagger free and stabbing again. The wolf snapped at his face, but he grabbed its neck with his free hand. That buzz—his power—kicked in, wild and sharp. He didn't think, just pulled. Strength flooded his arm, the wolf's energy flowing into him like a shot of fire.