Liam never saw himself as savior material. He just wanted to survive this brutal world—a woman, a safe nest, a full belly. That was enough.

  But a man had to draw his own moral lines, even when no one was watching. He could have flown the black dragon across the river and let the camp fend for itself. He knew better. Those people were innocent, caught in the crossfire because of him. He couldn't walk away.

  Liam had watched mutants tear people apart without flinching. He'd eaten rotten meat to stay alive. But he could say this with pride: he had never killed indiscriminately. No cops remained to judge him, yet he hadn't given himself over to chaos. Even with power coursing through him, he'd never forced himself on the girl or Emma.

  Lose that restraint, and you weren't human anymore—just a beast wearing a man's skin.

  Now Liam's mind had unraveled. Only one thought remained: hold the line. Don't let the mutant mustangs through.

  His dark hair wove a massive net across their path. The creatures behind couldn't see the barrier, slamming into the ones ahead with bone-crushing force.

  The impact shuddered through the web, through Liam. His injuries deepened. Hundreds of hair strands pierced his back, anchored in muscle and meat, holding him upright because every bone had shattered. Remove them, and he would collapse.

  Any normal man would be dead ten times over. His regeneration kept him breathing, but the margin grew thinner with each passing second.

  Above, the black dragon circled with Bentley and the girl. It sprayed fire and ice desperately, barely scratching the herd. The girl tried to leap down more than once, but Bentley locked his jaws on her clothes, snarling as she screamed frustration. The fall would have killed her.

  Then the fire-wolf arrived with his pack.

  He vaulted over Liam, kicking a mustang aside, and froze. Liam's eyes had rolled white, his body convulsing.

  The man had thought him crazy before. Now he knew—Liam was something else entirely. Unconscious, yet still wielding power. But he read the truth in the trembling flesh: continue this, and Liam would die.

  "Kid. You hear me?"

  Nothing. The convulsions continued. Liam had gone somewhere beyond sound.

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  His eardrums had ruptured long ago.

  The man frowned, then sighed. No outside hand could pull Liam back now. Survival had become a matter of luck.

  He threw back his head and howled—a long, carrying note—then turned on the mustangs caught in the web.

  Fourteen wolves made little difference. The mutant horses stood massive, armored in metallic secretions that turned blades. They barely grunted when their own kind rammed them from behind, unharmed.

  The fire-wolf could burn them, but his pack were ordinary lycanthropes. They harried the beasts without penetrating that armor, claws scraping uselessly against living metal.

  "Shit. Fourteen of us, and we're not worth one of him." He hurled a ribbon of flame, cursing under his breath.

  Facing the herd, he felt helplessness for the first time. His speed kept him safe, but stopping their advance like Liam? Impossible.

  Then Liam spat blood. His skeleton made a sound like grinding glass. Blood poured from his eyes, nose, ears, mouth—the whole spectrum of orifices weeping crimson.

  The fire-wolf glanced back and knew: this man was finished.

  Liam bent double, vomiting blood as if emptying himself completely. The hair-net began to thrash, wild and uncontrolled.

  "Cosmos vast, heaven and earth sunder!"

  The voice came from everywhere, resonant with terrible authority. Light bloomed in the air—countless points—and the mustangs simply ceased to be. Ash and nothing.

  A hand materialized before Liam. It touched the gem on his forehead, light as a breath, then faded.

  While they stood frozen, Liam's hair swept inward, wrapping him in a massive sphere of black. It hung in the air, pulsing like a heart, radiating pressure that made the chest tight.

  The fire-wolf stared, mind reeling. He hadn't processed the first change before the second arrived. An entire herd erased in an instant. A dead man transforming. What force had entered their world?

  He thought of the companion. "Don't touch the sphere. Scout the perimeter, then back to camp."

  Thirteen wolves dispersed.

  He ran for the camp—and stopped. Another black sphere, smaller, hovered before the gates. His face twisted. Two?

  No answers would come from staring. He pushed through.

  Emma was helping an elder onto a cargo trike. She understood: the faster the evacuation, the safer Liam became. She did what she could, however small.

  "Stop packing! The threat's gone!"

  The voice halted everyone. When they saw the fire-wolf, cheers erupted. The camp was crude, barely more than scrap and hope, but it was theirs. They didn't want to lose it.

  "You're certain?" Emma asked.

  He nodded. "Check the watchtower if you doubt me."

  She climbed. In the distance, only the great black sphere remained, hanging against the sky.

  "Convinced?"

  She nodded. "My companion?"

  "Inside that thing. His own hair, solid as steel. I can't see through it." He laughed, but there was no humor in it.

  He had wanted to ask what this meant. One look at her face told him she knew less than he did.

  "Thank you. If it's over, I need to reach him." She ran.

  She prayed as her feet carried her forward, hoping against hope that he would survive.