Werewolf Suspense (Book 1): Outage by T.W. Piperbrook Page A

by some higher power, taken over by some instinct she couldn't understand. Her senses overwhelmed her as she grappled.
    She could smell Lorena's blood in her nose. Tom's sweat as he fled through the forest. The musk of her transformed skin. And above it all, she could smell Rob's breath, laced with the blood of the people he'd killed.  
    The stench was on his breath and his claws, and she huffed it in as she fought against him, reminding herself of the things he had done.
    They rolled across the snow in a heap, each of them clawing and tearing, each trying to get a handhold. The pain in Abby's leg had subsided into the background, allowing her to focus.  
    Several times she tried to speak, but nothing came out—only a growl. Her body was larger, different than before, and she had to work to control it. After several seconds of struggle, she managed to roll on top of Rob, and he bucked and writhed beneath her. She pressed against him with the weight of her body.
    She glared at the beast below her. His eyes blazed red, and he stared at her as if she were nothing more than prey.
    Although Abby was bigger than she'd been before, Rob was stronger, and he hurled her backward and onto the snow. Abby sank into the powder, her fur matted white. Ice clung to her fur and paws. She realized she was no longer cold. The sting of the elements had disappeared after her transformation, as if she was born and bred for the snow.  
    A snarl drew her attention. She rolled to the side just in time to avoid Rob's lunging body, and he sank to the earth next to her. She could hear his heartbeat in his chest, and the thump was so loud that for a second she thought it was her own. She took to her feet and faced him, but Rob had already regained his balance.
    The two wolves circled each other, hands outstretched, maws open, as if adhering to some ancient ritual. Abby's eyes penetrated the darkness, searching for an opening. Across from her, her husband did the same. The snow parted and churned beneath their feet. Rob took a menacing swipe, and she ducked to the side, narrowly avoiding it. She returned with a swipe of her own.  
    They continued the dance for almost a minute, testing each other, each of them waiting for the opportunity to lunge. Abby's mind was consumed by the battle. In just a few minutes, she'd forgotten about the people her husband had killed, and her mind was fixated on the opponent across from her. It was as if her brain had made the decision to kill, and all that was left was for her body to carry out the orders.
    Somewhere in her subconscious, she could smell burned rubber. Tom had reached the car, and was doing his best to free the tires. Rob sniffed the air, as if he, too, sensed the man escaping.  
    Out of nowhere, Abby's eyes flitted to Lorena's corpse. The coppery odor of blood filled her nasal cavity, drifting into her mouth.
    This time, instead of making her sick, the scent made her hungry.  
    She stared back at her husband. Although his claws still hung in the air, she noticed he'd taken a step backward. No words had passed between them, but his message seemed to hang in the air. Join me.  
    Her nostrils flared, and suddenly she could smell the scent of a dozen other wolves lurking through the forest. It was as if they'd been hovering close by, waiting for her to accept his invitation.
    Her mind spun, a revolving wheel of thoughts that spanned the length of her life. She saw her first kiss, her high school graduation, the day she'd met Rob.
    Her mind hung on that last memory, and she felt something stir deep within her.
    This didn't have to be the end. It could be the beginning.  
    Join me. Join us.
    Abby felt a swell of emotions building inside her. Despite her best efforts, she was losing the battle. Her fists clenched and unclenched, and her claws dug into her skin. The scent of Lorena's body next to her was driving her to madness, and she needed to act, needed to do something. Abby let out a guttural roar,