Harbinger fell back, shaking his arm loose so that the bones would realign, then he tore off his restrictive, indestructible coat and threw it aside. Franks stood up. The two of them faced each other across the hall. Harbinger was rapidly transforming, and already within the few seconds since he’d first come in, he was almost entirely in werewolf form. His clothing was ripping as bones pushed through at new angles, hair was sprouting through his skin, his jaw was extending, and the voice that rushed past those sharp teeth was guttural and almost incomprehensible.

“You killed her!”

Who? Franks had killed a lot of people lately. “Narrow it down for me.”

The werewolf leapt at him, but Franks was ready. He swung one meaty fist and hit Harbinger in the snout. Blood and saliva sprayed across the hall, yet the werewolf still managed to rake claws down his bicep. Harbinger’s foot grated across Franks’ stomach in an instinctive attempt to disembowel him, but the claws were still stuck inside Harbinger’s boots, so it didn’t do him any good.

Franks fell backwards, but on purpose this time, using the werewolf’s momentum against him, and he tossed Harbinger down the hall. He hit the hardwood, rolling and bouncing, but sunk his nails into the floor and stopped himself. Harbinger got right back up, and this time when he stepped forward, his feet were so misshapen they slipped from the boots.

The two of them stood across from each other. Harbinger was almost fully shifted into his other form now, which was an impressive specimen of muscle, cunning, and fury. This was no ordinary werewolf, but Franks was no ordinary golem. Neither of them was capable of fear. Both of them were warriors who understood that mortal life could only be truly appreciated while at the ragged edge of death. MCB agents and Monster Hunters everywhere had been arguing in bars and placing bets about the potential outcome of this particular fight for years.

Battling Harbinger was not conducive to completing his mission. There was still some measure of intelligence behind those golden eyes. He did not know why Harbinger had attacked him so viciously. He could try to reason with the werewolf, explain the importance of his errand, and enlist MHI’s help against their mutual foe . . .

Fuck it. This was the supposed King of the Werewolves and Franks had been eager to test him for a very long time.

There was a coatrack next to the door. Franks picked it up, pointed it like a spear, and charged. Harbinger rushed him, but Franks caught him in the ribs and knocked him back. Harbinger lashed out and snapped the end off the coatrack, then he stepped up the wall, and threw himself down on Franks. Claws sliced cleanly through Franks’ cheek before he could retaliate by driving the jagged end of the rack deep into Harbinger’s stomach.