Gabriel Gruber glanced around the laboratory wildly. His escape route was barred by the furry mass of the werewolves that had closed ranks after the technicians’ panicked exit. There was nowhere to run. As the werewolves reached Gabriel Gruber, the expression on his face was one of dawning realization. He was going to die. But he still had so much to offer! He felt himself being lifted up high by strong, clawed paws, and for one mad, vain, self-satisfied, smug, exhilarating moment, he allowed himself to think he was being held aloft like a hero. But it was only the werewolves’ way of playing with him, like cats with a mouse. Gruber was flung up to the ceiling. When he hit the floor, his former prisoners pounced on him, greedily and without mercy.

Lucas Scale never missed an opportunity. While everyone’s attention was absorbed by the shredding of his former colleague, he vowed revenge on the Carver boy. In the name of the Proteus project, he had been disfigured beyond all reason, and now his dreams of glory were rapidly dispersing, all because of that stinking, self-righteous little kid! He threw Angelo roughly across the room and turned his attention to Nat Carver, getting ready to spring.

Mick, guessing the hideous creature’s intentions, raised his samurai swords above his head and charged. Scale, his eyes igniting as if on fire, grinned, baring his teeth in a sick smile of welcome.

“Granddad! No!” screamed Nat, as Scale viciously ripped the swords out of Mick’s hands and grabbed him by the throat, his foul claws raking into the soft flesh. Angelo, stumbling to his feet, his hair still smoking from the Ag shower, tried to tackle the savage brute, but Scale’s superior strength won. He kicked Angelo away like a soccer ball. Nat ran toward Scale, who turned his full attention to him, eyes flashing almost lovingly.

As if in slow motion, Scale received Nat into his outstretched arms and savagely fastened his blackened teeth deep into his throat.

CHAPTER 28
ALTERED

The monsters controlling the doomed shape-shifting Proteus project were dead. The pack of werewolves was making short work of dispatching their late tormentor, Dr. Gruber, and the loud bone-crunching and slurping noises were enough to give anyone indigestion.

The rescue by the unknown intruders had been carried out with admirable precision right through to the end, when, following his attack on Nat Carver, Lucas Scale had been felled by a single silver bullet from Ophelia Tate’s army revolver.