Wolf Hunter

by Linda Thomas-Sundstrom

  Maybe, though, that fear now worked both ways.

  Sam had scuttled from the torture room before she’d gotten clear of the cage. All he’d had was the dart; at least, that was the only weapon she’d seen. Against the sheer force of her anger, a dart might have been more of a nuisance than a worry.

  But Sam hadn’t been quick enough to use the dart on her thick werewolf hide. When he’d seen her escape route, he had run away. He’d been a coward in the face of possible defeat.

  What about tonight? Would he run? Would he surround himself with hunters to bolster his courage?

  Sam wouldn’t come after her unprepared, not after seeing her stretch the metal bars out of shape. Strength came with the fur suit, along with a hefty dose of intimidation factor. Her muscles sang with newly found power. Surges of strength flickered in every muscle and cell, producing massive amounts of energy. But she couldn’t use these things to take Sam down. And if she killed Sam, she also would be a murderer.

  Sam’s mantra rattled around inside her head.

  The only good werewolf was a dead werewolf.

  Growls of protest bubbled up as Abby slowed. Sam’s scent grew stronger as she neared his hiding place, but the night itself seemed another kind of enemy, tempting her with a bombardment of scents and smells.

  Each fresh scent existed as a trail she wanted to follow. Each led somewhere else. She had to close them all out, ignore all but the trail she needed to take to stick with the goal. Her life, her soul, depended on this meeting.

  A life force hit her sight radar, appearing suddenly in the form of a wavy infrared outline. Her wolf gave an inward roar. She let that roar out. She had tracked her prey, and found it.

  She headed toward the outline, unable to think about how she’d get Sam to talk. Pin him to the ground or against a tree? Roar in his face. Use her claws to put more fear into him, before she changed back to Abby? Once she shifted back, Sam would again have the upper hand.

  Years of living in close proximity to Sam Stark left no leeway for doubt. She smelled his clothes, his hair, his skin and the distinct odor of gun metal. Rifle, she guessed.

  And there he stood, with his legs apart and his body braced, near the intersection of two merging walls. She hadn’t gone far to find him, and had not misjudged the voracity of the emotions radiating off him in waves. Sam was filled with red-tinted hatred and blackened disgust. His steely determination was very much like a slap in her face.

  If Sam hadn’t seen her, she had the advantage of surprise. With that flash of insight, Abby realized that wolves had always possessed that kind of advantage. Given the sensitivity to smell and the heat-seeking radar, it made no sense that hunters had been able to take down so many Weres, so easily—unless those Weres had believed themselves to be invincible.

  Sam waited for her, soaked with the aura of an executioner. His calmness made him doubly dangerous. She hadn’t considered that he might have a night scope on the rifle, but it didn’t matter now. The end had come.

  Abby paused a few yards away and waited to see what he’d do. His image filled in. She now saw the scope that allowed him to view her, as well, and that pretty much evened things out.

  “Abby,” Sam said. Not a question. He had his sights on her.

  She growled in reply, and the sound carried.

  “You had to come,” he said. “Beast blood makes all of you do stupid things.”

  Did you shoot my mother? Hunt her down?

  She didn’t have the ability to demand answers for those questions, and had an eerie feeling that those answers really weren’t something she wanted to hear. The image of her mother running in the dark, being chased, hunted and about to lose her life made her sick. Sam had silver bullets in the rifle. She stood very still, wondering why he didn’t just pull the trigger and get this over with.

  Another growl rose, scary but insufficient in getting to the heart of the matter of her mother, and of what Sam might do next.

  “She was Lycan,” Sam said, continuing to aim. “Not bitten, though that wouldn’t have mattered much, either. She had a ring of scar tissue on her left arm in the shape of a set of teeth. I found out that’s a sure sign of the moon’s wolf cult. So I had to take care of that.”

  Abby’s hatred, pent-up and boiling, leveled out. Sam was talking about his wife, not her. At the moment, he didn’t believe they were one and the same. He had just filled in some of the missing information she’d been searching for, but she wanted to understand the rest.

  Go on, Sam.

  “I took you both in,” he said. “Imagine my surprise when the full moon arrived.”

  This didn’t sound good. Abby growled again, unable to hold her sadness back.

  “In the end, she faced me just like you are. If she had run away, she might have had a chance. If she had stayed a monster, she might have lived. But she wanted to be assured of your survival. She said if indoctrinated into my cult, instead of hers, you might never change. If kept from the moon after puberty, you might never realize what you are. I made sure of that on all counts, for as long as it lasted, and your inner awareness of monsters came in handy.”

  Yes. I only hunted for you the nights before a full moon, supposedly to see who was around. To see what wolves prowled the park grounds.

  Hell...you almost had me. If I hadn’t met Cameron, I might have remained ignorant of my birthright.

  Her hands fisted. The claws brought up blood.

  “So, here we are, Abby. You have destroyed my livelihood and brought cops to my door. I don’t lose much if I pull the trigger. You, on the other hand, lose a lot.”

  Sam was a crack shot. No way he’d miss at this range. She’d have a chance of surviving the silver bullet, as Cameron had, if help arrived quickly. But she could not maintain the shape that might save her. More gaps had to be filled in, and she needed a voice.

  Abby wasn’t sure how to go about that reversal in this situation. Outside of the bar, at Cameron’s urging, the shift had happened on its own, without any real conscious thought. Did she have the power to will one shape into another? If hatred kept her in fur, that hatred hadn’t dimmed by much.

  She opened her hands, pictured the claws retracting. Nothing happened.

  Why not shoot, damn you!

  What are you waiting for?

  “I prefer shooting monsters in the back,” Sam said. “It’s less personal that way. Any time you want to run, I’ll do the honors. You can’t possibly want to live like that. Look at you, Abby. You are a beast. You’re one of them. Now that you’ve changed, you’ll always be a freak.”

  One claw pulled back into a fingertip with a painful sting. A second claw followed. At that rate, a reversal might take all damn night, and she had only seconds before Sam’s patience gave out and his madness took over.

  “Run,” he advised. “I can’t stand the sight of you. Never could actually.”

  At last, more confession. Sam had despised her from the start.

  A whiff of heat-filled air reached her as Abby stood her ground. The earth moved beneath her feet. She didn’t dare turn her head or turn around to see who was coming. Weres. She didn’t have to guess who.

  Waves of adrenaline coursed, drawn from the stagnant pool of her motionlessness. The oncoming Weres were nearing, fast. In another minute they’d find her.

  Must. Change. Back.

  No matter how close that silver bullet was, Abby closed her eyes and reissued the demand.

  Change back.

  A third claw retreated, then three more. Her face began to feel soft and gummy, as if the bones had started to melt.

  “Haven’t I said enough?” Sam asked. “Run, Sonja. I command you to run. I can’t look at you. I can’t stand the sight. You tricked me, and that happens only once to a Stark.”

  Sonja.

  Sam’s madness had prevailed, maybe so that he didn’t have to face murdering another family member that had disappointed him to the point of desperation. In Sam’s crazy mind, he might imagi
ne himself to be reliving what had gone down before.

  Abby’s chin shifted without sound. Bones at the base of her neck began to realign. Pain echoed internally with a series of metallic sounds. Patches of red-brown fur sucked back into her pores.

  She refused to double over or shut her eyes again. She watched Sam, counting the seconds. Three...four...

  Leaves overhead rustled. She heard the sounds of running feet, mixed with the crackle of her rib cage decompressing.

  “Sam Stark?” someone shouted. But his aim remained locked to Abby.

  Figures moved, running as fast as anything Abby had ever seen. But they wouldn’t be protected without a full moon overhead.

  Please. Not Cameron, Abby thought before Cameron appeared, calling her name. He didn’t reach her in time. Dana Delmonico moved like lightning to stand in front of her...just as Sam fired.

  Chapter 33

  Dana didn’t fall back. Her arms were spread wide to cover Abby, but she couldn’t have taken the bullet.

  A roar filled the night that shook the trees and everyone still standing. The sound came from the furred-up beast that had raced to protect Dana.

  Sam’s bullet had pierced that werewolf’s hide, but the werewolf lunged forward to rip the rifle from Sam’s hands before Sam knew what hit him. And Cameron pushed Sam face-first to the ground, with a knee on Sam’s writhing back.

  It happened so fast. In a moment removed from time, and without the carnage that could have resulted from Sam’s demented rampage—a rampage Abby had not expected to survive—it was over. Truly over.

  Abby looked down at herself as Delmonico tossed her cuffs to Cameron. She also found herself buck naked, without one hint of a wolf showing.

  She shook so hard her teeth hurt.

  Then she was running.

  She moved toward where Sam lay hog-tied with his hands behind his back. Her knife, drawn from its leather sheath, was in her right hand.

  She straddled Sam’s body, holding the knife high, pulling at the collar of his shirt. “You bastard!” she cried. “Did she run, as you asked her to? Did my mother give you the satisfaction of shooting her in the back? Is she a pelt on some other bastard’s wall? A trophy?”

  “No,” Sam said. “Her pelt hangs above my bed.”

  Her knife never came down to sever Sam’s murderous flesh. It remained suspended, motionless, frozen, until Cameron took it from her and tossed the blade to the grass.

  Cameron pulled her to her feet and spun her around. “It’s over,” he said. Then he called over his shoulder, “Dylan? What do you need?”

  “A new chest,” Dylan, in man form, replied, getting to his feet with Dana Delmonico’s help. “Good thing I know where to get one.”

  “He wore a vest,” Delmonico said. “And it was the strangest-looking duo I have ever seen. Sort of like a high-fashion runway featuring fur and Kevlar. However, the combination seems to have worked its magic.”

  “Vest?” Cameron said.

  “Just so happens I know a cop who had a spare,” Dylan said with hardly a disturbed breath.

  The moment of levity that should have seemed out of place, didn’t. After what felt like a lifetime of holding her breath, Abby finally exhaled and found her voice. “I didn’t kill him.”

  “No.” Cameron tightened an arm around her, crushing her to him while he tore off yet another borrowed shirt. “You didn’t. No one thought you could.”

  “I shifted.”

  “One of many more, by the looks of things,” he said gently. “Next time, though, can you give me a sign?”

  “They’ll take him away?” She loathed saying Sam’s name.

  “Yes. It really is over.”

  “Not quite,” she countered, pulling away from Cameron, ignoring her nakedness.

  She went to where Sam still lay. “You loved her,” Abby said. “You loved my mother. You knew there were decent Weres among the bad, and yet you murdered a beautiful soul.”

  She didn’t actually expect Sam to address that, with his face in the dirt and the monsters he hated standing guard.

  “It isn’t over,” Sam said, contradicting Cameron. “It will never be over, whether I’m loose or not.”

  “Oh, you won’t be loose,” Cameron confirmed. “And we’ll take another look at that self-defense judgment in your past, to see how you managed it.”

  “Too late,” Sam said smugly. “And if you go for my business in trafficking rare-animal pelts, I’d like to see you explain what those pelts are, and where they came from.”

  A chill wafted over Abby. Sam couldn’t be freed. Ever. Because he was the monster.

  “I believe the secret floor and the cage it holds might take some explaining on your part,” Cameron said.

  “As will the blood staining it,” Dylan tossed in. “Also the stockpile of weapons in three storerooms behind the bar.”

  Cameron nodded his head. “Forensics teams are going to tear up the floor in that secret room, and they’re going through your apartment right now. What will they find, Stark, in light of those things? Enough to hold you for a very long time, I’m thinking.”

  Sam became uncharacteristically silent.

  “Where is she?” Abby said to Sam. “What did you do with my mother’s body?”

  He did not reply. But he had confessed to her about her mother’s pelt—an awful confession she’d never forget.

  “Did you keep it because you loved her?” Her voice was as shaky as the rest of her. “Just answer that.”

  Sam said nothing. Of course, he’d know not to speak of those things here, with cops standing over him.

  Abby couldn’t think about her mother’s pelt being among Sam’s things. She would never be able to see it.

  Detective Wilson and another Were stood him on his feet. “Time to go, Stark,” Wilson said.

  “I’ll tell them about you,” Sam hissed. “I’ll sic them on all of you.”

  Dana Delmonico shook her head. “Going for the insanity plea, huh? We’ll see how far that gets.”

  Abby again felt Cameron’s arms enfold her. She desired more than anything to give in to his heat and his nearness and his unconditional support. She fought back tears of anger and regret. But she had one more thing to say, and had to say it. “Thank you. All of you. Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

  “That depends,” Dylan replied.

  Abby turned her head.

  “On what?” Cameron asked.

  “On both of you agreeing to join the pack, so that we can keep an eye on you.”

  Abby sensed Cameron’s relief. She heard him draw in a long breath. “Abby?” he said.

  But she was beyond speech. One more word and the tears would fall. She had lost nothing in this fiasco, and had gained a new family. She had a mate she loved more than life itself. The puzzle of her mother’s death had been solved—as much as she wanted to hear about, anyway, wanting to forget the nightmares that had plagued her all this time.

  “I think they need some alone time,” Wilson said, eyeing the pair.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Delmonico agreed.

  “Shall we book this sucker, Dana?” Wilson asked.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Delmonico said.

  Without another word, they hustled Sam off, leaving Abby wrapped in Cameron’s arms. They stood entwined for several minutes more as silence returned and Abby’s shaking eased a little.

  Then Cameron spoke. “You’re naked,” he said, a comment so unexpected Abby nearly laughed in disbelief. The smile felt so damn good.

  “Completely naked,” he added.

  “Is that the only thing you have to say to me after all of this?” Abby asked.

  “No. But it’s a start.” He took a moment to go on. “The pack will be expecting us at the Landaus’, I suspect. But I’d rather wait awhile. How’s that for a confession? From now on, I’d prefer you wore no clothes every night, even in a public park. And when you do get dressed, I’d prefer my clothes next to your
bare skin, in lieu of not having that skin pressed to mine.”

  Tilting her head back, Abby looked up at him. When her eyes met his, he gave her the dazzling smile that captured her on that first night and haunted her still.

  “Furthermore,” he said, “you might be a werewolf princess, or some such thing, but just so you know, I wear the pants in this family.”

  “I see that you’re wearing them now,” Abby said.

  He smiled a devastatingly gorgeous and revealing smile...

  And Abby, satisfied, but still hurting on a level that only the Were beside her could take care of, smiled back as she reached for his zipper.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from POSSESSED BY A WOLF by Sharon Ashwood.

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  Chapter 1

  Something cracked, a snapping sound that shot up Lexie Haven’s spine with an icy, instinctive foreboding.

  She looked up from her Nikon, still absorbed in photographing the wedding ring on its black velvet pillow. Her concentration had been absolute, and it took a moment to come back to reality and wonder what had disturbed her. Curious, she glanced around the room, but the portable lights she’d rigged up sank everything and everyone else into darkness. The night outside turned the floor-to-ceiling windows into mirrors. She was far away, but could see herself move—a figure in an emerald silk tunic and slacks, her pale face framed by a hip-length tumble of fiery hair. And then someone moved, blotting out her reflection.