The Wolf Came on Christmas (Johanna and Alexander) novel Chapter 34

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The beast had something in its hand; at that moment I couldn’t quite make out what it was. A piece of white fabric, maybe. I screamed from the bottom of my lungs and slammed the door shut at full speed when I saw that being-so beautiful and yet so terrible-draw back its lips to show me enormous, curved fangs. I threw myself against the door, trying to slide the bolts into place, but I knew it would be useless: that monster doubled me in size and was surely four times stronger than I was. Neither the solid wood nor the metal bolts would stop it. Terror flooded me when that creature brutally shoved the door, me and all my useless humanity along with it, and thrust a long arm through the gap that opened as a result.

Its roars were bone-shaking; I no longer knew whether I was screaming or not-I couldn’t hear myself. That furry hand with retractable claws savagely raked the wood of the door, carving deep grooves into it, and then began to grope blindly, perhaps trying to find my head.

Enraged, the beast lashed out once, twice.

The third strike, though just as blind, reached me.

I felt a terrible pain in my right shoulder blade; the creature buried its claws into my back and its nails slid roughly over me, tearing my anorak and my flesh down my arm almost to the elbow. My eyes filled with tears, my strength faltered, and with the next shove I was hurled backward violently. My voice caught in my throat, choked by the pain. The door began to open by inertia, but before I could run or let out another warning shriek, Alexander appeared from the living room, a bestial growl rumbling in his throat, and he hurled himself shoulder-first at the door.

He slammed it shut right on the monster’s arm as it was pushing back in.

It was faster than it had seemed to me at first-much faster.

A horrifying roar shattered the harmony of growls, and the fingers of that clawed hand curled painfully. This time the monster struck the door from the other side with such force that it made even Alexander stagger back a step. It shoved, pounded, and roared several more times until it managed to free its arm; then it lunged at the wood again, which splintered from the impact (such was its strength), sending Alexander flying almost to where I was. The nearly broken door flew wide open and slammed noisily against the edge of the counter.

The beast prepared to leap at Alexander and enter the house, but-

He was even faster. He pressed the barrel of his gun to its forehead with astonishing

courage.

It was an instant of absolute horror for me, in which time seemed to grind to a halt and I

Chapter 34-1

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became aware of the amount of blood on the floor, of the fact that I was crouched beside the central leg of the table, and that I couldn’t feel my right arm. But the blood-my blood! I brought my hand to the torn sleeve of the anorak, and the rips were soaked. I looked at my fingers, wet with red, and no longer had the strength to scream; I only managed to hide farther under the table, trembling.

At that moment I heard Alexander’s voice, deeper than usual:

“Go upstairs, Johanna!” he ordered, barely glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. His face was twisted with rage, slick with sweat. “Go, now! Because if this bastard moves, I’ll shoot him. And even he knows full well that a bullet to the brain is fatal, isn’t that right, kitty?”

I confess that the being crouched before him was sublime. Its beauty and perfection took my breath away. It was a cat-a giant, beautiful cat.

The creature bared its fangs with a very feline hiss, writhing with fury beneath the barrel of the gun that held it crouched on the floor. Its anger could be felt in the air and in the way its ears were pinned flat against its head, laid back. Its elegant tail lashed with hatred, striking the blood-smeared tile, but its green-blue eyes never left Alexander’s face. You could see the anxiety it felt to sink all its teeth into his neck, furious. The werewolf, for his part, also bared his fangs, never stopping his answering growls.

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Chapter 34-2

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With astonishing agility and without the slightest groan of pain, Alexander also rose from the nest of wreckage that had once been my table and lunged at his enemy. With a furious roar he confronted it, colliding chest-to-chest and wrapping his arms around its torso. They vanished from my sight for an instant, but the noise of the struggle was still audible. Perhaps my numbness was receding, because all of a sudden I heard agitated shouts in another language that didn’t sound like Alexander’s, and the roar of engines. Was there someone else in my yard?

There were a couple of gunshots with a different sound, too.

But what was happening out there? I made a supreme effort to get to my feet and drag myself to the porch.

I let out another scream and scrambled back into the house when I saw two large werewolves-one with grayish fur and another very dark, considerably larger and taller-run past right in front of my nose toward the garage. Neither of them seemed to notice my presence, but I tried to close the kitchen door anyway. I couldn’t, because the feline man had knocked it out of alignment with all the blows and shoves. Perhaps the most peculiar thing of all was that, behind those wolves, a slender, athletic woman ran past, with very long blond hair tied in an impeccable braid. She was carrying a very large assault rifle.

Were those the reinforcements Alexander had been expecting?

They had to be. For Heaven’s sake, they had to be! I slid down to the floor against the wall. My uninjured hand fell onto something soft and cold, and I grabbed it. It was a simple dirty piece of fabric, with serged edges. What was it? No idea. At that moment I couldn’t even coordinate my thoughts.

I don’t know why, either, but squeezing it in my fist made me feel better.

I was still trembling, and my immobilized arm hurt horribly. I couldn’t touch it with my other hand or try to move it; any muscular pull, however slight, caused a suffering I can’t begin to describe, but remember all too well. I realized I was breathing very fast and tried to calm myself. The sounds of fighting were starting to fade-they were moving away from the house -and so were the gunshots.

I cast a vague glance around the kitchen. It was a mess. I could still smell the coffee, but the intense red decoration on the floor was the most striking thing. My furniture was

light-colored-white, pine wood, steel… the floor was white, too. Not anymore. It was streaked with bright red lines that traced an uncertain path until they ended where I was. I raised my good hand to push back my hair, matted with blood, as a reflex.

I couldn’t help thinking it: was I going to die?

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