Hunted (Pack of Dawn and Destiny, #1)(3)

The wolves could take getting hit by a golfcart. But even with my slightly increased healing capabilities, I couldn’t.

But Hector was still patting my head, and given the werewolves’ touchy-feely-ness with those they considered family, he’d feel a little hurt if I just walked off.

“Greyson oughta just go down to Magiford and set the Curia Cloisters straight so they’ll stop accepting complaints,” Wyatt declared.

“You’d think other Packs would be happy we’re actually growing,” Aeric grumbled.

The golfcart hummed its way along, emerging from a bend in the road.

Two of the humans that belonged to the Northern Lakes Pack were sitting in it—Olivia and Tucker. They were a little older than me, and I’d known them since I’d been adopted into the Pack.

I gave the pair an awkward wave.

Olivia gave me one of those equally awkward tight frowny-smiles you give people when you see them but don’t want to talk. Tucker didn’t seem to notice—his gaze was flickering between the three wolves, who absently waved to the pair without looking at them.

“Regardless, Greyson would like to speak with both of you.” Hector gave my head one last pet, then took a step back. Unlike most of the Pack, he respected the concept of space, even if he had a personality as warm as the spring sun. “And if Phillipa is to make her morning shift, I believe she must leave shortly.”

Tucker and Olivia puttered off in the golfcart, but they glanced back with a look I recognized unfortunately well: dislike.

Wyatt nodded decisively. “Got it. We’ll report in. See you later, Pip!”

“Shania is coming in at lunch time. We’ll come with her to say hi,” Aeric said, referring to his girlfriend and my closest friend.

“Okay.” I glanced at my phone—I had ten minutes to make the fifteen-minute walk. “Good luck with that guy,” I said, referring to the venerated Alpha.

“Aww, Pip, come on. It’s been years. You’re going to have to accept him eventually,” Aeric laughed.

I shrugged and hitched my backpack higher up my back. “Someone has to be a doubter, or his fanclub will get too crowded. See you guys later!” I jogged off before he or Wyatt could protest—Hector knew better.

Running in khakis and my short-sleeved polo shirt wasn’t too uncomfortable. I was wearing my orthopedic walking shoes with their special inserts for maximum cushion. (It made for a fabulous combination with my business casual clothes, but when you’re on your feet all day, granny shoes will save your feet. And your knees. And all your joints!)

Gravel crunched under my feet, and the sky was an inviting shade of blazing blue that cut through the trees above my head.

Running was something I’d gotten good at since I’d been adopted into the Northern Lakes Pack. The biggest irritation was that my khakis didn’t stretch very well at the knees, which kept my stride short. But I wasn’t even sweaty when the gravel trail merged with three other gravel paths and turned into a paved road that led directly into downtown Timber Ridge.

I’m two minutes out from town, and about three from the welcome center. I should be able to make it in time!

I trotted toward the last big curve in the road, my backpack smacking me with every step.

When I reached the curve, my hunter instincts slugged me in the gut.

I skidded to a stop and held my breath as I listened.

Werewolf hunters don’t have as good of senses as a wolf. Yes, we have fairly good night vision, but we don’t possess the amazing sense of smell the werewolves have. We do, however, have a kind of detection magic.

We can sense when werewolves are nearby, and how many of them there are. Typically, this was zero help for me. I lived with werewolves, there was no getting away from them. But there was something…off about this presence.

Werewolves were typically bright spots in my senses, and kind of minty feeling. This wolf was dim, and had a twisted feel to it.

I swung my backpack off my shoulders and clutched it so it didn’t make any noises as I stalked down the road as quietly as possible.

I stopped altogether when I reached the natural boundary where the forest thinned out around Timber Ridge.

Nothing. I don’t see anyone unfamiliar…

My eyes skated over the lumpy browns and vibrant greens of the forest boundary.

And then something moved.

I froze as a large wolf crept out of the tree line.

Although he was a little larger than a typical gray wolf, the werewolf looked rough. His brown and red mottled fur was patchy—as if he had mange—and he was so skinny he was almost skeletal.

Whoever that is, he’s not from the Northern Lakes Pack. All of them take pride in their wolf forms—they’d never let their fur get that greasy and dirty.

I pushed a tree branch back, and my heart stuttered in my chest when I got a better look at the supernatural.

His lips were curled back in a snarl, and there was something glassy and unfocused about his eyes as he stalked toward downtown with the saunter of a predator. Something was wrong with him. It was like he was sick, or his instincts had taken over and his humanity was in the back seat.

He licked his chops as he narrowed in on two little girls who were playing on a swing set in a park at the very edge of town.

He’s going to attack. He’s going to attack humans.

My phone felt heavy in my hands—I needed to call someone.