Chapter 9
Our own problems were far from over, though. I’d fought the entire preceding battle on one lungful of air, and the shark’s teeth had squeezed half that volume out of me before I was able to fully make use of my limited oxygen supply. Without two-inch-long teeth beckoning, in fact, lupine instinct begged me to open my mouth and let water fill cavernous lungs.
Stooge was in an even worse state. Blood gushed out of his wound in reaction to his over-exertion while my half-assed bandage had slid aside to reveal an arm that resembled nothing so much as tenderized meat.
Worse, Stooge was eying me with the same expression he’d used in the face of that attacking oceanic predator. Aggression and anger, but most of all fear.
We’re still us, my wolf brain retorted, but the inner voice wa
