The Wolf with the Iron Jaw (Elysium #1)

Chapter Thirty-Four

 Trinket's breath caught in her throat.

Booker pushed her towards the stairs and pressed something hard into her hand. She glanced down at it. Boris' whistle.

"You wait here," he whispered. "I'm going to open the door. When I give you the signal, blow."

She tried to protest, but he hurried back to the door before she could utter a word. With her heart hammering in her chest, she retreated several steps back and sat down, leaning into the railing so she could get a better view of the doorway.

Booker's hand was on the doorknob, gripping it tightly. He met her gaze and held it for a brief moment before slowly pulling the door open.

Swallowing hard, she fixed her eyes on the black void of the night, waiting for a flash of those metallic teeth. But there was nothing. Was the Wolf still there? Or had it run off? Had they missed their chance?

She returned her attention to Booker behind the door. He pointed at her, eyes wide with excitement. Fingers shaking, she lifted the whistle to her lips. It tasted bitter on her tongue. Like blood.

His blood.

Pushing the voice aside, she blew into the whistle.

Silence.

And then a whine.

Her heart skittered as two gleaming yellow eyes appeared in the dark.

The Wolf stepped into the light, ears pricked and alert. Booker signaled for her to blow again. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her lips around the metal whistle a second time and blew.

The Wolf let out another whine. It limped forward, nose quivering as it sniffed at the air. Its tail wagged, and she could have sworn the beast actually smiled. It looked eager. Happy. Like it was somewhere good. Somewhere familiar.

Her heart clenched.

No. Someone familiar.

Boris.

Did the Wolf detect the scent of its loving caretaker in the house? Is that what led it to their front door? Was it expecting to find him here? Did it think that he was the one blowing the silent whistle? The whistle that the poor creature connected to a friendly face?

Guilt washed over her as the Wolf met her eyes and gave a sad whimper.

How could you?

You really don't have a heart.

Monster.

The door slammed shut, and both she and the Wolf jumped. They turned to find Booker aiming the sleeping gun, his movements quick and precise.

But the Wolf was quicker.

It revealed its luminous grin in a vicious snarl. The syringe launched forward. The Wolf dodged it, and the needle stuck in the rug that ran down the center of the hallway. Booker was swift to reload, but the Wolf seemed privy to his plans.

Without hesitation, the beast fled.

It flew through the hallway and veered into the kitchen. Booker was on its heels, Trinket close behind. With the door to the dining room shut, it had nowhere to escape to but the scullery.

Crashes from pots and pans echoed throughout the room. The Wolf leapt onto the counter. The sink. Back to the floor.

Booker chased after it but did not shoot.

Trinket watched from the doorway. Her eyes darted between the two, uncertain of what to do, how to help. The Wolf pushed past Booker and bounded towards her. She gasped and jumped away. It skidded into the dresser. Glass shattered as a jar of tea burst into pieces. Booker emerged from the scullery just as the Wolf dashed into the hallway.