Nik lay on the floor, staring at the smoking barrels of the shotgun the young idiot had dropped after discharge. Even at point blank range, it hadn’t killed him, only pissed him off. He could feel the skin squeezing out the bits of shrapnel and he gathered his strength to push himself to all-fours.
Bits of fossil bones and gravel dug into his hands and knees, but the pain faded into the background while he gasped for breath.
You might have gotten away this time, punk, but now I’m gonna wear Kevlar.
Shifting into his natural form, Nik went hunting.
Never piss off a werewolf. I hope you enjoyed my little story and if you get a chance, please visit the other #FridayFictioneers' stories on Madison Woods' site. Thanks for stopping by and happy reading.