Shoving Harbinger back, Franks kicked out, sweeping the legs. Harbinger hit the carpet, but instantly rolled and sprang back up. Franks was fast, but Harbinger was faster, and while he was getting up, Harbinger slammed one fist into Franks’ eye socket, dropped an elbow on his neck, and stomped on his ribs. Franks was becoming very annoyed.

The werewolf might have been quick, but Franks had size, strength, and durability. He weathered the punishing blows until he was able to reach out, gather up a handful of leather coat, then he yanked Harbinger toward him and head-butted him so hard it would have killed any mortal man. Even Franks saw stars.

Shaking his head to try and clear the fog, Harbinger stumbled back. Franks still had a lock on the coat, and using superior weight and leverage, he hurled his opponent at the far wall. Harbinger flew across the distance, knocking furniture everywhere, and disappeared in a cloud of splinters and dust. Apparently the interior walls were not nearly as solid as the exterior.

Starting toward the hole he’d made, Franks felt a twinge. He put one hand on his abdomen, and it came away covered in blood. There was a deep laceration on his torso. Harbinger had grown claws.

They were playing for keeps.

Drawing his Glock, Franks approached the hole. On the other side was another room, a guest bedroom from the look of it. There were bits of wood spread everywhere, but no Harbinger. Shackleford and Pitt were still banging on the door, but between that heavy thing and the armored shutters, they would not be getting in anytime soon. Franks moved carefully, changing the angle, slicing the pie, looking for a target.

The wall behind him broke apart as Harbinger leapt through and sank his claws into Franks’ shoulder. As the werewolf dragged him through the wall, Franks turned the Glock past his head and fired it at Harbinger’s face, but only succeeded in putting several rounds through the ceiling and damaging one eardrum. Harbinger ripped a chunk out of Franks’ back trying to take out his spine, but Franks shoved the Glock under his elbow and fired repeatedly, striking Harbinger in the chest.

There was a flash of red and blood shot from Franks’ wrist. The Glock went spinning away. He caught of glimpse of Harbinger grimacing from the pain, but then he realized that the bullets were lodged in the leather jacket. Damned minotaur hide. The furious Harbinger was tugging him down the hall. Franks grabbed the claw impaled in his shoulder and squeezed. It caused his own wounds to grow in a flash of blood, but the werewolf wouldn’t be getting away. Still locked on Harbinger’s hand, he twisted hard to the side. Bones splintered until the werewolf let go.