Alek felt his fury seep through the pack, passed by whisker and paw. The girls too newly pregnant to be slowed and every single boy churned around him, ready to tear any invader to bloody strings of meat.
But there was no enemy here.
Alek had to calm himself. His fury was right, yes. It felt good. He needed it.
But the Family couldn’t fight this.
And really, what could he do? Alek knew war. More than once he’d fought for his life, twisting and grabbing and biting and clawing with a human in the tunnels over a scrap of food or just the right to live. Alek had lost himself in a swirl of claws and gashes and, more than once, a rock clenched in a bloodless hand, raised high over a soldier who would have murdered Alek.
But how could one fight explosives? Explosives hidden all over town.
A
