He had nothing left to lose.
Braxton’s eyes rolled back in his head as he embraced the wolf. His bones shifted, cartilage stretched, muscles contracted and stretched as power flowed through his veins. His clothes shredded and fell from his body as the beast replaced his human form. His heart raced in his chest, and a deep growl dripped from his lips.
Opening his eyes, he jumped to his paws.
He met the horrified gaze of the two human cops.
“What the fuck?” Jerry held his hands up and backed away, his face white.
Braxton took a step toward him.
Jerry screamed and a dark spot began to spread in the region of his crotch.
He wanted to laugh at the asshole cop wetting his pants, but it didn’t seem so funny with the younger cop pointing a 10 mm between his eyes.
CHAPTER TWO
The cop squeezed the trigger.
Braxton leaped. The bullet whizzed past his ear.
Pushing off his back legs, he sprang toward the darkened alley, running hard and pushing his muscles to their limit.
“Stop!”
Ignoring the cop’s command, Braxton ran as fast as his four legs could carry him. A second gunshot echoed into the night. He gritted his teeth, expecting the impact of the bullet to penetrate his hide any second.
The pain never came.
He skidded to a stop when he reached a chain-link fence at the far end of the alley. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the cop running toward him, gun drawn.
He was trapped like a fucking rat. He backed up a few feet, sprinted and jumped, easily clearing the fence beneath him.
The second his feet made contact with the ground, he ran, dodging trash cans and a homeless drunk.
He had to put as much distance behind him as he could before the Assassins arrived. They were probably already at the police station, waiting to bail him out. Once he was in their custody, they would kill him.
Assassins were the most vicious werewolves, sent to deliver justice, quickly and effectively. No wolf survived and no wolf ever got away.
Braxton raced through the cold night, keeping to the shadows and staying out of sight as he doubled back to his parents’ house.
By the time he arrived at the house, everything was quiet. The ambulance was gone and the nosy neighbors had gone back to the shelter of their own homes, their overeager curiosities appeased. Except for the yellow police tape draped across the front door, it looked like any other ordinary street in America.
Braxton’s gaze landed on his Harley and he smiled. Thank God no one had tried to take his bike into evidence. It might be old, but it was his baby. Now it was the only thing he had left. Crawling under the neighbor’s evergreen shrub, he shifted back into human form.
Something sharp poked him. He winced and rubbed his ass. Fucking holly bush.
He glanced up and down the street, making sure he was alone before venturing out of his safe spot. The last thing he needed was some early-rising housewife to see him running across the yard nude and call the cops on him.
Hurrying over to his bike, he reached inside the saddlebag and grabbed a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. He dressed quickly. His leather jacket and boots were still in the alley where he’d shifted. A Were’s natural body temperature ran a few degrees higher than a human’s, so he didn’t really need a coat to keep him warm. He was a walking furnace.
Still, that leather jacket was his favorite.
Grabbing the Harley, he walked it down a block before starting the engine. No need to alert the neighbors that he was back.
He cast one last look back on his parents’ house. Now it was his mother’s house. Was she okay? An overwhelming urge to go to the hospital and check on her pulled at his gut.
He shook his head. There was no reason to check on her. She was completely safe. The only danger in her life was now dead.
Braxton had bigger concerns. He had to make it out of Louisiana before the Assassins caught up to him. He had to try to make it to Missouri. It was one of the few states that offered refuge for Weres who were in trouble with the law. Every werewolf in trouble hunkered down in that state.
He straddled his bike, comforted by the feel of steel and chrome between his legs. He started the engine and tore down the street, refusing to look back on a life he no longer knew.
***
Dressed in tan pants, a black sweater, and armed with a smile, Kate walked through the doors of First Springs Bank. The lines for the bank tellers were five people deep, and the secretary had her phone pressed against her ear, furiously scribbling something in a folder. It was quite busy for the small town of Eureka Springs.
She hesitated and then took a couple of steps toward the secretary’s desk. The woman gave her a warm smile and nodded her toward the empty chairs lined against the paneled wall near her desk.