I skidded to a stop and held my breath as I listened.
Werewolf hunters don’t have as good of senses as a wolf. Yes, we have fairly good night vision, but we don’t possess the amazing sense of smell the werewolves have. We do, however, have a kind of detection magic.
We can sense when werewolves are nearby, and how many of them there are. Typically, this was zero help for me. I lived with werewolves, there was no getting away from them. But there was something…off about this presence.
Werewolves were typically bright spots in my senses, and kind of minty feeling. This wolf was dim, and had a twisted feel to it.
I swung my backpack off my shoulders and clutched it so it didn’t make any noises as I stalked down the road as quietly as possible.
I stopped altogether when I reached the natural boundary where the forest thinned out around Timber Ridge.
Nothing. I don’t see anyone unfamiliar…
My eyes skated over the lumpy browns and vibrant greens of the forest boundary.
And then something moved.
I froze as a large wolf crept out of the tree line.
Although he was a little larger than a typical gray wolf, the werewolf looked rough. His brown and red mottled fur was patchy—as if he had mange—and he was so skinny he was almost skeletal.
Whoever that is, he’s not from the Northern Lakes Pack. All of them take pride in their wolf forms—they’d never let their fur get that greasy and dirty.
I pushed a tree branch back, and my heart stuttered in my chest when I got a better look at the supernatural.
His lips were curled back in a snarl, and there was something glassy and unfocused about his eyes as he stalked toward downtown with the saunter of a predator. Something was wrong with him. It was like he was sick, or his instincts had taken over and his humanity was in the back seat.
He licked his chops as he narrowed in on two little girls who were playing on a swing set in a park at the very edge of town.
He’s going to attack. He’s going to attack humans.
My phone felt heavy in my hands—I needed to call someone.
Aeric and Wyatt could take him no problem. I couldn’t. Hunters worked in families and focused on a single target. I was by myself, and I couldn’t even avoid werewolf hugs. Taking on a crazed wolf by myself wasn’t possible.
He’d kill me.
But can Aeric and Wyatt get here before this psycho hurts the girls?
My heart hammered in my chest as I looked from the creeping wolf to the two little girls, who were still on the swings, oblivious to the danger they were in.
Although my throat was tight with fear, I knew what I had to do.
I can’t let him hurt them—even if I can’t win against him.
I took a deep breath, tucked my fingers in my mouth, and blew off the shrill, specific whistle I used in lieu of a howl: three sharp blasts.
I ripped my bag open and pulled out my silver tipped daggers Mama Dulce and Papa Santos had gotten me for my eighteenth birthday.
I tossed my bag aside and stalked after the wolf, magic singing in my veins.
Sorry, Mayor Pearl. Looks like the welcome center is opening late today.
My hunter magic blew through my body, giving me a solid dose of adrenaline as it tried to prep me for this battle I was almost certainly going to lose.
Thankfully, the wolf hadn’t noticed my whistles—or perhaps that was unthankfully, as it meant there was something really wrong with him to not notice.
But the little girls had. They looked up, saw the wolf, and ran off screaming.
That was the wrong thing to do.
Like their wild counterparts, werewolves work together to get their prey to run instead of standing their ground. A running animal that is scared out of its mind is more likely to stumble and fall, and that’s when they strike.
The wolf tore after them with a throaty growl that had my heart leaping in my chest.
A bedraggled groan ripped from my throat as I ran after him, leaving the safety of the trees—wolves can’t climb, which made trees the safest place.
He passed the girls and started to circle around them, cutting them off from the city.
I threw my first dagger, which bit into the large target of his flanks and stuck out of it like a glittering marker.
The wolf swung around, and curled its lips so high up its gums to display its teeth that it wrinkled the skin on the top of its muzzle. It worried me that he didn’t show more of a reaction when the silver in the daggers should have been a burning sensation to him.
“No—not allowed. Get lost!” I shouted so hard my voice cracked as I barreled at the wolf, trying to crank up my intimidation factor as much as possible. “Go!”
The little girls hadn’t stopped running—they’d arced away from the wolf, thank goodness.
The wolf flicked his eyes—which were an unnerving shade of pale blue—after them.
I leaped in front of him, breaking his focus, and stabbed my remaining dagger at him. “No! Get lost—this isn’t your territory!”
I met the wolf’s gaze and stared him down, refusing to look away.
A staring contest with a wolf was no joke, but as I stared into his blue eyes, my palms were soon coated with sweat. His eyes were still unfocused, but now I could see what made them appear so glassy was the lack of humanity.
Werewolves are not dual natured. They live in harmony with their human and wolf instincts, which shows in their eyes. Even in their werewolf forms, their eyes have that light of intelligence and humanity.
This werewolf’s eyes were dim, as if he was entirely driven by his werewolf instinct and all shreds of his humanity were gone. He wasn’t just sick, he was feral.
Huh. The next few minutes are going to be a little exciting.
The werewolf lunged at me—teeth out and ready to rip into my throat or belly.
I sidestepped him and stabbed my dagger into his shoulder with my left hand and yanked my other dagger free with my right hand.
The wolf growled and pivoted so fast, this time I wasn’t entirely able to avoid him when he snapped at me.
His jaws clamped shut with an audible chomp on the sleeve of my shirt, and he nicked my arm with his teeth.
I didn’t even feel the scratch. My hunter magic produced adrenaline, which deadened my senses of pain, so I was still in fighting condition.
I yanked my arm free, ripping the sleeve to shreds, then slammed the pommel of my dagger into the side of the wolf’s head, all while screaming as loudly as I could.
The wolf staggered, and I followed up with another kick to his head, followed by a stab into the scruff of his neck.
I darted backward before he could bite at my open belly, breathing fast as I cautiously watched him.
Despite taking two knocks to the head and three dagger wounds—all of which were bleeding badly—the wolf lunged at me again.
Don’t fall—if I fall this is all over!
I walked backward, mentally patting myself on the back for my devotion to comfortable footwear as I tried to get back to the tree line.