Drake had his hands around the werewolf’s throat, keeping it from biting off his head. Drake was strong, but not even he could hold off the one-hundred and thirty, plus kilos of fur and fury for long.
“Hey, over here!” called the Woodsman.
The werewolf ignored him, too intent on finishing off its new victim. Then, Drake realized that the man wasn't trying to get Mathewson’s attention.
With an extra burst of strength, he pushed the wolf back with one arm and slid the Mossberg along the floor with the other. The Woodsman picked up the gun, reloaded a silver bullet, pumped the gun and fired. The round hit the creature in the shoulder, causing it to howl angrily.
Releasing Drake, it writhed and gnashed in pain. The wound was glowing and smoke began rising from the hole as the werewolf reverted back to its human form.
Drake watched with a fixture of fascination and revulsion, while the Woodsman simply gathered up the rest of his bullets....
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