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her flying across the room.
    Still laying on his back, Alvarro grabbed at his backup pistol, strapped to his ankle, then fired it into the guard. Three bullets ripped into Mosley's side and back.
    Mosley turned back to the detective, apparently unharmed, and bared his fangs.
    Then Jimmy was on him.
    The huge, brown werewolf crashed into Mosley like a freight train, tackling him and carrying him crashing through a wall. Plaster and wood exploded in all directions as the two made a new opening into the home's kitchen.
    Somehow, Mosley broke free of Jimmy, then raked long claws across the werewolf's chest. Similar to Jimmy's own lengthened nails, the sharp claws sliced through fur and flesh, cutting Jimmy to the bone. But the werewolf ignored the pain and slashed back.
    Mosley hissed, exposing his long fangs and somehow ducked beneath the werewolf's attack. Then he wasn't there anymore.
    Moving with blinding speed, Mosley circled around behind Jimmy, grabbing at his refrigerator and tearing the door off with one quick pull. As Jimmy spun in place to face the guard, the door swung around in an uppercut, catching the werewolf in the jaw and breaking bone.
    Jimmy staggered backwards into a countertop, splintering laminate. Before he could recover, Mosley was on him, driving both sets of clawed hands into Jimmy's stomach. Claw-tipped fingers pierced the werewolf's flesh, gouging deep into his intestines.
    Jimmy threw back his head and howled in pain.
    "Freeze!" Deb Harris yelled, firing her gun at the same time from the living room. She fired off a volley of shots from her pistol, each of six rounds punching into the back of the guard trying to disembowel the werewolf.
    Mosley turned toward Detective Harris, baring his fangs and growling.
    Harris fired again, this time trying to empty her magazine. Despite a marksmanship rating with the department and hours on the range every month, the Detective couldn't seem to hit Mosley. Her bullets seemed to pass through him, smashing into the walls of the kitchen instead of the fanged monster she now faced.
    Mosley raced forward, his movement so fast he was literally a blur to the Detective. He backhanded her, his long nails slicing her face in the process.
    Harris was unconscious from the bone-breaking blow as her body flew backwards through the air like a ragdoll, flipping end over end before crashing down on the floor of the home, limp and unmoving.
    Jimmy again pounced, encircling the guard with both arms and driving his own mouthful of impressive teeth into Mosley's right shoulder.
    The guard screamed in agony as great gouts of blood erupted from his shoulder and bone splintered from the crushing force of Jimmy's bite. Then he turned in place and impossibly pushed free of the werewolf.
    Jimmy ignored the pain in his own wounds, which were not yet fully healed and dashed back in, once more tackling Mosley. But this time when he grabbed the guard, he kept on running.
    Mosley pummeled the werewolf about the head as they ran through the living room, then smashed through a wall, out into the bright sunlight. Jimmy adjusted his course, driving Mosley into a palmtree planted in his front yard. He felt a satisfying crunch of bones as the guard's rib cage partially collapsed from the impact.
    Mosley kneed Jimmy in the groin and drove his hands into Jimmy's sides. Even with his arms pinned, the guard was able to dig his clawed fingers deep into Jimmy's torso, past fur and muscle and into his kidneys.
    Jimmy tried to howl in pain, but the pain was just too much and his mouth hung open and silent.
    Mosley kicked the werewolf away, eyes squinting in the bright sun. He looked up, finally realizing where he was, and a look of fear spread over on his face. He looked down at his exposed skin.
    Instead of bursting into flames or even smoking as he imagined it would, Mosley was surprised to see his skin turning a frosty white. It took his altered brain a moment to realize what was happening. Ice was forming