Highcliff Pt. 8

The Wererat’s jaws snapped in a blurred fury, lashing out blindly and tearing into the young man’s stomach. He grabbed Drew’s sword hand, crushing his grip until he dropped the Wolfshead blade with a clatter. Vanmorten strained to get to Drew’s underbelly, to bury his teeth in his softer flesh. Drew writhed, trying to get clear, but he was unprepared for the ferocity of the Wererat’s attack. Each time he tried to pull back his head, Vanmorten’s jaws closed around his hands and forearms, bringing up fresh gouts of blood with each bite.
Drew’s chest screamed with pain as the Wererat tore a strip of flesh clean off his ribs. With his left hand he tried to prize the creature clear, his fingers hooking under razor-sharp teeth. Pulling with what little strength he had left, he succeeded in throwing Vanmorten back briefly but at further cost. As the Wererat sprang back for a moment, the bare side of his skull shimmering in the light of the fires, he spat something at Drew that bounced off the boy’s chest. Drew gazed at the floor, horrified to see one of the bloody fingers of his left hand lying there. The Wererat chuckled as his brothers hollered with appreciation at the top of the stairs.

B1 P6 C8