He needed his gun. Especially now.
On and on. How far had they gone? He knew the way, not the distance. No more howls guided him. Still, Noah was up ahead, with three hunters on his heels. Slade’s side ached, not just from his run. Like playing Hot and Cold as a kid, his tattoo warned him of the hunters nearby.
Brush shifted behind him. He whirled. Two grey wolves stared at him. One nodded. Slade went back to picking his way through the brush. One wolf circled, managing a faster pace. With a yip, the second followed. Yeah, yeah. Human. Old and slow.
He picked up the pace, following the trail the wolves blazed. How much farther? What would they do when they got there?
Voices came from ahead. Slade caught sight of his wolf escort crouched low.
“Where is your pack?” a man’s voice shouted.
“Pack? What the hell are you talking about? I don’t take a pack with me when I hike. Slows me down,” Noah snapped back.
“You know damned good and well what I’m talking about.”
Slade peeked out from behind a tree. Noah stood unashamedly naked. So, he’d shifted. He’d need rest and meat. His fingers trembled. Hopefully, the enemy wouldn’t notice.
Three men encircled Noah, one, eighty or older, holding a shotgun. “Don’t act innocent, boy. You know damned well what I’m talking about.”
The other two were the average-looking men Slade spotted at the diner.
“Idon’tknow what the hell you’re talking about.” Noah, defiant to the end. He had to be freezing.
“What the hell are you doing out here stark-assed naked in the middle of the woods?”
“I was taking a swim when I heard screaming. Wouldn’t you go look?”
“Swimming? In November?” Mr. Average Number One scoffed.
“Ever hear of the polar plunge challenge? I read about it in a magazine and thought I’d try it out.”
Every fiber of Slade’s being demanded he jump in front of Noah. He looked to the larger wolf. Mac. Mac nodded, tossing his head toward the fray. Slade sucked in a deep breath, making as much noise as possible to keep trigger-happy assholes mere assholes and not deputy murderers. He tucked his gun into the holster at his back.
“Mace!” he called one of Noah’s aliases, stepping out from behind his tree, making sure to shuffle through dead leaves. All three hunters turned to face him. The relief on Noah’s face made any risks worthwhile. Slade let out an exaggerated sigh. “You okay?”
“Fine.” Noah’s fists balled tightly by his sides called his word a lie.
Slade rounded on the three men. “What the fucking hell are you doing? Put those damn guns down.”
“Who the hell are you?” the older man snapped.
Slade gave him a shark smile. Maybe Mac had the right idea. “I’m a muthafucking deputy sheriff, and you’re in my jurisdiction. Now, put those damned guns down.”
One of the other two men glared. “You’re human. What are you doing with the likes of him?” He pointed with his gun toward Noah.
Slade narrowed his eyes. “Are you a fucking homophobe?” He kept his voice loud, allowing the wolves to do whatever they intended, while he donned his best bad-assed biker act. Funny how in moments like this, he realized how much he’d changed. “I hate fucking homophobes. Now, you better tell me why the hell you’re holding guns on my boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” The older man spat on the ground.
“Put your guns down, slowly,” came a deep voice from behind the men.
As one, the three started to turn.
“Uh, uh, uh,” Slade said, pulling his gun. “Put the guns down.”
“Why should we listen to you?” The older man came across as more self-assured than the others, so likely the boss—and the bigger asshole.
“Deputy sheriff, remember? Oh, the sheriff’s right behind you, along with about fifteen pissed-off wolves. So put the guns down, or they’ll never find your bodies.” Slade grinned. “Takes on a whole new meaning in these parts.”