Noah took the ring into his mouth, swinging his head to make the keys jingle.
The man gasped, turning to face Noah. Death clung to the human, the reek of someone else’s fear. He’d killed Noah’s kind before, pores oozing guilt.
From somewhere, the guy pulled out a knife. Noah traded keys for a wrist between his teeth. Bones crunched. The hunter yowled, releasing the blade. He kicked, catching Noah in the side.
Noah let out a pained yip, then clamped down on the wrist again.
“Let go of me, you shifter bastard. I’ll motherfucking kill you!”
Well, then, Noah wouldn’t let go. Or rather, not for long. He jumped back, watching his prey. For all his talk, the guy ran. Even giving him a head start, Noah easily overtook the man who’d dared try to kill him. Part of him wanted to torment this guy, make him pay. The practical part of Noah gripped the man’s throat and shook.
The man swatted at him, the blows growing weaker and weaker, before finally stopping altogether. Four down.
One to go.
The remaining woman hadn’t gotten far from the lake in the total dark on a moonless night. Noah, blessed with a wolf’s keen eyesight, eased forward through the brush. He announced his approach with a low growl.
The woman backed up to a tree, aiming her handgun in Noah’s direction. Scant light gleamed off the barrel. “Come near me, you bastard,” she snarled. “I got your name on a bullet. You won’t be the first mangy dog I’ve put down. You damned sure won’t be the last.”
She lied. Or maybe she didn’t, because Noah wasn’t the last since she failed to put him down.
Hunters. These people were hunters, like the ones who’d killed Paul’s family, Paul’s pack.
Noah’s family. Possibly Paul.
Noah showed them all the mercy they’d shown him.
Chapter Six
ThegrazealongNoah’sside ached, as well as his partially healed shoulder. That kick must’ve broken ribs. Pain dogged his every step. Still, he managed a good pace back to the cabin.
The cabin, where he could lick his wounds and heal. If he could just shift and shift back… Twice he tried. Twice he failed. Weak. Too weak.
Noah limped close enough to the cabin to detect the presence of humans. Fuck! Two. Waiting. A dilapidated pickup truck sat in the yard. Sniffing the tires didn’t tell him anything new: the people in his home were strangers.
His adrenaline rush fading, he felt every ache, barely putting one paw in front of the other, especially after a seven-mile lope. Thank the gods the bleeding finally stopped. A shift or two—plus a lot of meat—and he’d be good as new.
He’d just have to rest before shifting again.
“Why the hell hasn’t Joe called us?” a man’s deep voice asked from inside the house.
Followed by a crash.
A higher-pitched male voice snapped back, “Why the fuck you asking me? I ain’t my brother’s keeper.”
Brother’s keeper. Joe. The woman had called Noah’s attacker Joe. A family link.
Noah’s blood boiled. Those assholes tried to kill him, and now more were ransacking his home!Kill, kill, kill!his wolf-mind howled. He ran toward the house. Every muscle in his body screamed. He stumbled and fell. Wounded, exhausted, and outnumbered, he didn’t stand a chance.
Every rip, every crash, shattered his heart. His home. They were wrecking his home. Why? What had he ever done to them?
Let them search. Nothing in the house even hinted at werewolf. The night wore on. If they’d come for Paul, they’d arrived too late, and they’d find few valuables.
Crashes, ripping fabric, and other sounds of destruction shattered the quiet at regular intervals, followed by a “shit” or “damn” or “fucking stop already!”
Waiting allowed Noah time to regain some strength. How did they know he was a wolf? Had they watched Paul? Tracked down the mysterious former owner of the cabin? Maybe they weren’t looking for Paul because they’d already killed him.
Thoughts circled round and round in Noah’s mind.