Wolves' Bane (The Order of the Wolf, #3)(6)

“I’m on it.”

Just as he clicked off his phone and slid it back into his pocket, he heard the scrape of claws behind him and felt the puff of rancid breath billow over his neck. Shit. He shifted his gaze to his sword, which thankfully still lay at his side, calculating the odds of him getting a strike in before his head was ripped from his neck. Picking up a handful of gravel and sand, he battled his screaming instinct to snatch up his sword and instead spun away from it. Taking the beast by surprise, Cal threw the mixture into its eyes before barreling into its flank, landing jab after jab to its ribcage as he rolled toward his blade, praying this time luck would be on his side.





Chapter Four





Possession


You are marked for death. You are being hunted. Beware of the beast. The psychic’s words pulsed in my head, consuming my thoughts as I raced away from the carnival grounds toward my home.

I kept flashing quick looks over my shoulder as I ran, putting all of my energy into getting away, terrified that both the man and the beast were following me.

Your hunter. He had said it so plainly, as if I should just accept that he was there to kill me. I’d reacted purely on instinct, my rattled brain pulling some self-defense move that I had learned years before. I hadn’t stuck around long enough to see the look on his face, but I guessed that he wasn’t too pleased at being kneed in the groin.

Serves him right. He seemed like an * anyway.

An * who saved your butt from that wolf.

I slowed my pace and glanced one more time over my shoulder. But why did he rescue me from the wolf—the talking wolf—if he only meant to kill me? My thoughts were frantic, muddled, twisting around the facts of the night—facts that could only be possible in some messed-up kind of nightmare. But it was real. The wolf’s drool caked my neck, its gross crust flaking on my skin. And that man, Caleb, well, he was for sure real. It was odd. After the initial shock had worn off I had felt kind of safe in his arms as he carried me. I hadn’t even struggled as he swept me off to god knows where. What the hell was up with that? Such a conflicting feeling considering that he was supposed to be hunting me.

I paused at the corner of my street, panting as the growing hitch in my side threatened to send me crumbling to the curb. “I’m out of shape,” I gasped and lowered my hands to rest above my knees, my body bent over as I sucked air into my lungs with deep gulps.

I realized I still wore the ridiculous cloak that Caleb had put on me—was drowning in it in fact, the course wool scratchy against my arms. I stood and fingered the clasp at my neck. He had said that as long as I wore it I would be safe.

But safe from what, or whom?

I glanced over my shoulder again, but there was nothing to indicate that man or beast was following me. I swung my head back and squinted down the street. I could make out my house in the distance. Not far to run, with or without the cloak.

You gonna believe some strange man or you gonna start believing in yourself?

I unclasped the clip and let the cloth slip from my shoulders to the ground. I didn’t want any reminder of this crazy night. It was going to be hard enough to reason away a talking wolf let alone some supposedly protective cloak. I stepped out of the many folds as they pooled at my feet, then took off running again and made it to my house in less than a minute.

I paused at the white picket gate that surrounded my small front yard, the slow creep of fear once again descending. My scalp prickled, goose bumps raised on my flesh. My porch was dark, as usual, and I cursed myself for never getting around to replacing the burnt-out bulb. I squinted into the darkness. Someone was there, standing on my porch.

“Morgan?”

Relief flooded through me as I recognized the voice. “Jimmy?” And only hours before he was the last man you ever wanted to see. “Oh my god, Jimmy, you’ll never believe what just happened.”

He stepped off my porch and quickly walked to meet me at the sidewalk. “Are you okay? Rachel called me.”

“Rachel?” My mind was whirling again. How could I have forgotten about my friend?

Jimmy nodded, his gaze soft with concern. “Yeah, she called about a half hour ago. Said that she’s at the hospital.”

“The hospital? Is she okay?” Terror spiked again. What if the wolf or the hunter had gotten Rachel?

Jimmy reached out and gripped my shoulders. “Calm down. Rach will be okay. She’s got a broken arm, nothing serious. She said that there was some crazy panic at the carnival, and that a bunch of people rushed to the exit at the same time. She got caught up in the stampede and was knocked down, trampled a little. She wanted me to make sure you were okay. You weren’t answering your phone.”

I nodded distractedly. Stampede, of course, Rachel had been caught up in that crush of people. The people running from the wolf. The wolf that didn’t exist.

Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself the crusted saliva on your face is all in your head.

I reached into my pocket and yanked out my phone, then stared at the blank screen as if it held all of the answers.

Jimmy turned my hand to look at it. “Yep, see, it’s dead. You should keep your phone charged, Morgan. You never know when you’ll need it.”

I nodded again as I slid it back into my pocket, suddenly feeling even more dazed, and incredibly tired—my brain revving so high on overload that it felt as if it was about to bust open. I looked up at Jimmy.