Hunted (Pack of Dawn and Destiny, #1)
K. M. Shea
Chapter 1
Pip
As a hunter living with a Pack of werewolves, there were a lot of things I’d gotten used to. The hunts where I ran until my lungs ached with pain, the beautiful howls in the dead of night…but even after a decade, I still wasn’t used to the aggressive snuggling.
My backpack thumped against my back as I hurried at that awkward too-fast-to-be-a-walk-but-too-slow-to-be-a-run pace.
I had the morning shift at the Timber Ridge Welcome Center, and if I didn’t get there ten minutes early to open the place up at eight, Mayor Pearl would stop by to give me the evil eye.
I rubbed my cold nose and picked up my pace as I marched down the gravel road that would lead me into town.
Although it was nearly the middle of summer, this far north in Wisconsin our nights and early mornings were still pretty cool.
The trees and patchy lawn were drenched in dew. I’d gotten my shoes soaked all the way through to my socks when I’d walked across the lawn earlier, so I made a squelching noise every time I took a step.
But the moist noise wasn’t loud enough to cover the wet slap of leaves that came from inside the forest. I suspiciously clutched the shoulder straps of my backpack and peered into the trees that hemmed the road in on either side.
I didn’t hear anything else, but when I nudged my hunter senses I felt two bright spots in my mind, which meant there were two werewolves near—
A man threw himself out of the forest, landing so close to me that the gravel he kicked up hit my shins.
I dodged him and darted up the road, scuttling in a sideways motion so I could keep an eye on him.
A twig cracked, and on sheer instinct I threw myself to the side, narrowly avoiding a second man.
I heard the first man chase after me, closing in fast. I struggled to point my back toward something solid, but when you live in a forest filled with werewolves, anything can be a hiding spot.
The first man made a grab for me, but I shimmied away, barely avoiding him. He stopped long enough to laugh and brush a few leaves off his gray shirt and blue jeans. The casual clothes couldn’t hide his corded arm muscles or the broad shoulders that most defensive linemen in the NFL would envy.
“Don’t fight it, Pip.” He adjusted his thinly framed glasses. “Just give in.”
I made a shooing motion with my hand. “No, thank you. I’m not interested today. Or ever. Run along, now.”
I felt the second man move farther up the path, putting me between the two of them.
I tried to back up toward the trees, but trapped as I was, I couldn’t dodge as easily. The first man—the one with glasses—took advantage of this and pounced immediately.
“It’s time for a Puppy Power-up!” He scooped me up as if I were a stuffed animal and squeezed me to his chest, deeply inhaling.
“Wyatt, stop it.” I tried to elbow him in the gut, but he just squeezed me harder.
“Oh yeah, that’s the good stuff,” Wyatt said. “It’s like hugging a basket of beagle puppies!”
“I thought we agreed she’s a Pomeranian?” the second wolf asked. He cocked his head, his red hair glowing in the spot of sunshine that stabbed through the forest canopy. He was a little taller, but more wiry and lean. “She’s got fluffy white hair like one.”
I stopped wriggling in Wyatt’s grasp—there was no point in trying to out-strength a werewolf, especially one as strong as Wyatt. Instead, I tried to push the tangled mess of my stark white hair out of my face and grimaced when I got some in my mouth. “Stop comparing me to small dogs.”
Wyatt patted my back as if I were a fretting baby. “But you yodel like a beagle when you’re upset.” He planted his cheek on the top of my head, then sighed in obvious happiness. “You are also so soft and squishy, and the alliteration is catchier, so I guess you’re a Pomeranian after all. Aeric, here.”
Wyatt passed me off to Aeric, who hugged me with enough force to make my spine crack.
“I feel better already,” Aeric announced. “These puppy pheromones are the best.”
“I’m so glad to hear that,” I said with no emotion. I tried to dig my phone out of the back pocket of my khakis and settled in for another hug session.
You’d think being embraced by two big, hulking guys would be every girl’s dream, right?
Yeah, well, it’s not when said guys don’t think of you as a girl, but more as a cute puppy.
It was my pheromones—which were dead useful most of the time. Just not when I was trying to make an eight o’clock shift and the wolves were in a snuggly mood.
As a hunter, I was considered a subset of wizards, since I was a human with magic. But I couldn’t use elemental magic like regular wizards; instead, I had hunter magic. Some forms of hunter magic are innate, and all werewolf hunters get them—like higher stamina and the ability to make trap spells. But my pheromones were examples of genetic magic that’s only passed down through hunter family lines.
My pheromones—which were similar to the kind puppies give off—were the hunter magic hallmark of my mom’s family tree. It was an awesome defense mechanism, as it inspired a wolf’s protective instincts and made them way less likely to harm or kill me.