Franks roared and clubbed Harbinger’s skull, fracturing it enough to put bone fragments into the werewolf’s brain, but even then he didn’t let go. Alarms were sounding in Franks’ mind. If he lost that leg, he’d lose his mobility, and then it was over. Desperate, Franks pushed off toward the railing, dragging the latched-on werewolf with him.

They toppled over the edge.

The floor rushed up to meet them. They both landed at an awkward angle. On impact, Franks felt bones break, but more importantly it knocked Harbinger’s teeth off of him. Franks kicked Harbinger with his other leg, sent him sliding across the polished hardwood.

Franks tried to push himself up, but his ruined arm flopped about uselessly. He shifted, used his other hand, and struggled upright, only to find that his other leg was buckling beneath him. Harbinger had crippled it as well. He was becoming combat ineffective. This called for desperate measures. Franks reached into his blood-soaked pocket and pulled out another flask of Elixir.

He had never used more than five doses at once. He was unsure what would happen if he did.

But he wouldn’t find out, because Harbinger was on him before he could open it.

Teeth sank into his shoulder, punching clear to the bone, and then Harbinger twisted and shook, tearing him apart. Claws flayed open his back and ripped a kidney in half. Franks struck out with his good hand, but Harbinger released, moved aside, and counterattacked that arm. That bicep opened to the bone. Franks bellowed in fury, but Harbinger followed up, and bit him on that arm, pulling and ripping, yanking him across the floor.

He had intended to take the werewolf apart, piece by piece, but it was Harbinger who was doing that to him instead. Franks twisted his head as far as his neck would allow, and bit the werewolf on the nose. He really chomped down hard. The werewolf yelped and let go.

Franks was running out of options. He looked to his dangling hand and the white bones sticking out, thought why the hell not? Then he stabbed Harbinger in the neck with his jagged wrist bone.

The surprise in those golden eyes told him that the werewolf hadn’t seen that coming. Franks jerked his arm back in a flash of red. Harbinger collapsed.

The two of them lay there for a moment on the dance floor in a mingled puddle of blood, struggling for breath. Even a powerful werewolf could only regenerate from so much damage before their system began to shut down.

“You are a worthy adversary,” Franks muttered as he tried to sit up.

Harbinger was also struggling to rise. Apparently neither one of them was much for giving up.