Back in that torn-apart building, where the pack had left him to die an agonizing death, Julian lay, waiting for death to claim him. The pain and agony exploded from every part of his broken body.
He could hardly breathe without that very action stroking the flames of pain that consumed him like gasoline. Devoured by the screams of his suffering Julian lay bleeding and shattered on the floor of his own home.
The torment engulfing his very being was so overwhelming that it left no room for the man to feel anger, rage, or even fear for what he was sure was his own death.
Julian could barely feel the trickles of blood pouring from every open crevice in his body like rivers of crimson. His heart stuttered as it struggled to beat against fractured ribs.
His intruders who had imposed upon him in his own home had broken him just as they had the front door. Julian was sure they were inhuman and felt that their very existence went against all that he knew to be true.
