The Alpha's Fated Kiss
The severed tendril screamed—a wet, human sound—and regrew thicker, barbed with subway tokens that spun like buzz-saws.
“MOVE!” Lila bellowed, flare gun blazing. She fired point-blank into a vein cluster; the phosphorus round detonated, white fire blooming, incinerating three tendrils in a heartbeat. But the ashes coalesced, reforming into a hand—Victor’s hand, fingers elongated, nails red—reaching for her face. She ducked, rolled, came up with a rebar spear and rammed it through the palm. The hand clenched, crushing the rebar, then yanked Lila off her feet, dragging her toward the nearest grate.
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