After the war, London is in chaos.
Packs are battling it out for dominance in the streets, lycans are killing each other in illegal fight dens. The Royals are being murdered.
All Juliet wants to do is forget - forget Sebastien, forget the wa...
*FOR READERS WHO STARTED STRAYS BEFORE 8 JUNE 2016*
This is a masterlist of 'major' changes I made to the previous chapters to correct mistakes & terminology with previous books in the series (which I'm writing in secret :P )
- Lupi changed to lycanthrope/lycan
- Sebastien's encampment in the "lycan dimension" moved to the mountains of the Russian Far East
- Theo's location the night of the siege moved from the Craven house to the Petrides house
- London run by "seekers" now changd to London run by an "official alpha"
- Ch 4: Some minor dialogue changes to correspond better with Michael's thoughts
- Warehouse changed to clubhouse
- Floor pads changed to floor jumpers
- Sebastien's "cabin" changed to an underground war bunker
- President Rianne Baxendale's name changed to President Sophia Baxendale
- Ch 17: Some of Sebastien's dialogue altered to be more in line with his character
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The smell of sweat and blood clung to the air.
The howls of bloodthirsty wolves rang in my ears, screams echoing through the darkness of the underground tunnels. "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!" The noise made my pulse pound with adrenaline and anticipation.
Keep your head, Juliet. Keep your head.
But it didn't matter how many times I repeated the mantra in my head; by the time they tossed me onto the tracks, I was too far gone. My body shook with the need to phase, to attack, to draw blood. Bloodlust unlike anything I'd ever felt rose in my gut and I gnashed my teeth together savagely.
My opponent responded with a warning growl. I spun just in time to see him launch himself off the tracks, soaring high into the air, coming right at me. There was a split second of recognition — I've killed him already — before he hit me, clawed hands sending me to the ground.
The chants of the crowd grew louder, screams for blood and death tearing through the makeshift arena.
"KILL! KILL! KILL!"
Number 21 grabbed the back of my head, yanking me up by my hair before slamming my face back down on the tracks. Pain exploded through my face and an agonised scream was ripped from my throat. Blood spurted from my nose, coating my lips, spraying the air. The taste of it sent a shudder of pure fury down my spine and I ripped myself out of his grip before he could attempt another face-slam.
Our fight became a ferocious duel: no finesse, no skill. Just pure bloodlust. I bit and clawed at his dirt-streaked skin, tearing with my teeth and my hands, kicking and shoving while he tossed me around the arena like I weighed little more than a ragdoll.
