snatched her hair with such force that her head snapped back. He flung her back with such strength that her feet actually left the ground. She screamed again as she bounced against the mattress. But he was no longer interested in her. He spun back toward the door even as it burst open and then the oddest thing happened.
It was dark outside, and the candlelight in the room provided only the dimmest illumination so Amy could see little of her rescuer’s face, only a figure, tall and lithe and crouched in the attack/defense position. He wore jeans and a T-shirt. His straight black hair swept over his collar; his face was in shadows. Amy’s captor was directly in front of him, less than three feet; Amy expected him to lunge for the door, to attack the man or to push past him and disappear into the night. But he did not move.
It lasted ten seconds, perhaps a little more, and it seemed like centuries. Amy counted every exploding beat of her heart, every half-choked, stammering breath. She wanted to scream; she wanted to run. But the strange paralysis that had afflicted the two men had her in its spell, as well. They stood there, staring at each other, poised on the brink of conflict or the edge of murder, yet startled, studying each other with a kind of mutual horror.
Later she would decide that was exactly what it was. Mutual horror.
And that was when Amy was witness to something she could not explain and would never forget. There was a sound, a low rumbling sound that seemed to come from the throat of one of the men. A growl, only louder and more fierce than a growl, deadlier and more controlled. And with the growl, something began to happen, and afterward Amy would never be able to describe it with words or even recreate it in her mind; it was more of an experience than an observation.
The man in the werewolf mask seemed to change somehow; she could see little in the dim light and with his body disguised as it was by the long cloak and the mask, but it was as though he were shrinking into himself and at the same time expanding, growing larger and more menacing. The air around him seemed charged and actually appeared to quiver, and there was a hot, electric smell like static electricity filling the room. It prickled on her skin and caught in her chest and filled her with a visceral terror…and wonder.
And suddenly everything exploded. The man in the werewolf mask gave a great roar and leapt into the air, flying—yes, flying—toward the man in the doorway with an acrobatic strength that was supernatural. The roar echoed in Amy’s ears, hurting them. She screamed and covered her ears, pressing herself back against the wall as the werewolf monster struck out at the man in the doorway. The man went down and Amy screamed again, propelling herself off the mattress and toward the door.
When she got there, her rescuer lay crumpled against the doorframe, his throat covered with blood. The werewolf was gone.
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