Issue # 46- A Shattered Clasp

A Shattered Clasp
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“Bastardly beast,” Mikel snarls as another blessed round slams into the towering were-bruin that had him pinned to the searing red sand. Putrid blood flies from the gaping hole in the snarling creature’s neck soaking his face and hair, its roar of agony nearly shattering his ear drums.

Seven rounds the Guardian thinks as he fights for each breath, his chest crushed beneath a paw the size of his Rover. Seven fucking rounds into the thickly furred bruin and still it raged on.

Truly his knowledge of nether realm inhabitants needed to be honed. Mayhap if he spent more time reading in his vast library and less time slipping his prick into a wee witchling`s glistening muff he would not be facing his death at the moment the male acknowledges.

The Glock fires once more, jolting his right hand backward. This round misses, the shaggy pelted bear having tossed it enormous head at the last minute. Knowing he has literally blown his last shot he drags a heaving breath in and stares at twin rows of sharp teeth descending downward at his face.

Since his Glock was empty he slams the gun into the bruin`s mouth, jamming it as far back as he can.

Thick, viscous spittle runs down over his cheeks and forehead as the creature works it`s tongue around in its mouth trying to dislodge the offensive thing. Mikel blinks as drool covers his silver eyes gumming his eyelashes into sticky spikes as he catches the sounds of his tracker impacting something very solid.

Gallo`s deep roar of pain telling the Guardian that his companion fared about as well as he did. Rayvenwing tries to sigh, but finds he can`t inhale that deeply when the dark gray beast swallows one of his guns with a loud, wet sound.

“Bastardly……..beast,” he huffs hearing the bruins stomach gurgle. At least he would die with his gun Mikel thinks although he dreaded being shit out in a day`s time. Somehow he envisioned his death to be vastly different than ending up a pile of were-bruin scat.

Ephra beneath him in the throes of an orgasm as he drove into her slick tightness, now THAT would be his choice he admits working to bring air into his lungs.

He prepares himself for his death, his gummy eyes locked on the jaws once more. He would be damned if he would close his eyes like a woman when his….

The bruins head then explodes.

Now his eyes close automatically as large and small chunks of skull and rabid brain matter rain down on him. The sound was grisly, much like an over-ripe melon hitting the pantry floor he ruminates as the gruesome noise of another enormous cranium detonating hits his gore soaked ears.

Twenty-five hundred pounds of dead bear falls on his wide chest and he opens his eyes to find his wee witchlet standing over him with a pink tube of lip balm and a very smug expression.