Eater of Lives(SPECTR #4) by Jordan L. Hawk Page B

living
nerves screaming as the wendigo hooks deeper. It means to
eviscerate him, to yank out his organs eat them in front of his
eyes, using his body to fuel its terrible hunger.
    They are locked together on the ground, with
him on the bottom. He snaps at its throat, hoping to catch hold
with his teeth, but it jerks out of his reach. Its breath steams,
icy cold, and its mouth gapes open, impossibly wide, its forest of
razor teeth poised to bite his skull in half.
    His hand closes on one of the bent metal
chairs beside them, and he swings it with all his considerable
strength into the side of the wendigo’s head. Dead white skin
splits open, baring the skull just beneath, and several teeth fly
loose, one hitting him in the face.
    It shrieks, claws ripping loose from his
battered flesh, blood washing hot across his belly. He grabs for it
as it lunges away from him, but the thin film of frost on its skin
makes it too slippery to hold, and none of his claws catch before
it can wrench free.
    The mortal, Tiffany, tries to block its path,
fire blooming on her hands, and perhaps it would normally flee the
heat. Now, maddened and injured, desperate for anything to fuel its
healing, it grabs her by the throat.
    Her eyes go wide, and she claws at its arm
with fiery fingers, leaving streaks of scorched, bubbling skin.
Even so, it yanks her to its gaping maw.
    Gray tackles it from behind, shoulder plowing
into its lower back and sending it sprawling to the floor. He
doesn’t make the same mistake twice, claws latching into the
creature’s legs. Belly down, it digs its nails deep, trying to gain
enough purchase to wrench free, but it is too late. Gray pins it
under him, waiting for its thrashing to reveal the vein pulsing
under the skin of its throat.
    There is it; he strikes.
    It is a bit like Caleb’s memories of slushies
and milkshakes, the blood thick and full of ice and demonic energy.
It floods into him, so good, sustenance and pleasure, a moment of
perfection before it is gone, drained.
    He sits back. Most of his injuries have
healed, but there is an ache somewhere behind his eyes.
    “ Ice cream headache,” Caleb says, and
laughs, on the edge of hysteria.
    John drops down beside him, brilliant eyes
worried. “Are you all right?”
    But it isn’t him John speaks to, or wishes to
speak to, but Caleb. He draws back inside, and curls up, and leaves
Caleb to be kissed.
    * * *
    Caleb walked into the office just as John
finished up the first round of paperwork.
    They’d gotten incredibly lucky—other than the
poor woman the wendigo killed in the first moments of its
transformation, no more civilians died. As soon as they’d returned
to SPECTR-HQ, John set himself to writing up the report, while
Caleb went home to shower and change out of his blood-stiff
clothing, before returning.
    Will had called during Caleb’s absence. “They
just let me out of the hospital,” he’d said, his voice sounding
shaky.
    “Do you need me to come pick you up?”
    “No. I’m okay. I just…I’m going to come by
later, pack up my luggage, and go home to Savannah. I don’t think
I’ll be back.”
    “I’m glad you’re okay.”
    “Me too.” There came a moment of hesitation,
before Will said, “Listen, I don’t know what the hell is going on
with Caleb, but I owe him my life. Tell him thanks for me. And if
he ever needs a good suit, I’ll set him up free of charge.”
    John grinned at the thought. “I doubt he’ll
take you up on it, but I’ll let him know. Bye, Will.”
    “Good bye, John.”
    Now Caleb shut the door behind him and came
around the desk. Saving the first draft of his report with a click,
John rose to his feet and took Caleb in his arms. “You did good,
babe.”
    “It was all Gray.”
    “Then Gray did good.”
    Caleb buried his face in John’s hair. They
held each other in silence a few minutes, just breathing. John
tried not to think about the moment when the wendigo snapped Caleb
and Gray’s neck.
    Or how