Hunted (Pack of Dawn and Destiny, #1)(4)

Aeric and Wyatt could take him no problem. I couldn’t. Hunters worked in families and focused on a single target. I was by myself, and I couldn’t even avoid werewolf hugs. Taking on a crazed wolf by myself wasn’t possible.

He’d kill me.

But can Aeric and Wyatt get here before this psycho hurts the girls?

My heart hammered in my chest as I looked from the creeping wolf to the two little girls, who were still on the swings, oblivious to the danger they were in.

Although my throat was tight with fear, I knew what I had to do.

I can’t let him hurt them—even if I can’t win against him.

I took a deep breath, tucked my fingers in my mouth, and blew off the shrill, specific whistle I used in lieu of a howl: three sharp blasts.

I ripped my bag open and pulled out my silver tipped daggers Mama Dulce and Papa Santos had gotten me for my eighteenth birthday.

I tossed my bag aside and stalked after the wolf, magic singing in my veins.

Sorry, Mayor Pearl. Looks like the welcome center is opening late today.

My hunter magic blew through my body, giving me a solid dose of adrenaline as it tried to prep me for this battle I was almost certainly going to lose.

Thankfully, the wolf hadn’t noticed my whistles—or perhaps that was unthankfully, as it meant there was something really wrong with him to not notice.

But the little girls had. They looked up, saw the wolf, and ran off screaming.

That was the wrong thing to do.

Like their wild counterparts, werewolves work together to get their prey to run instead of standing their ground. A running animal that is scared out of its mind is more likely to stumble and fall, and that’s when they strike.

The wolf tore after them with a throaty growl that had my heart leaping in my chest.

A bedraggled groan ripped from my throat as I ran after him, leaving the safety of the trees—wolves can’t climb, which made trees the safest place.

He passed the girls and started to circle around them, cutting them off from the city.

I threw my first dagger, which bit into the large target of his flanks and stuck out of it like a glittering marker.

The wolf swung around, and curled its lips so high up its gums to display its teeth that it wrinkled the skin on the top of its muzzle. It worried me that he didn’t show more of a reaction when the silver in the daggers should have been a burning sensation to him.

“No—not allowed. Get lost!” I shouted so hard my voice cracked as I barreled at the wolf, trying to crank up my intimidation factor as much as possible. “Go!”

The little girls hadn’t stopped running—they’d arced away from the wolf, thank goodness.

The wolf flicked his eyes—which were an unnerving shade of pale blue—after them.

I leaped in front of him, breaking his focus, and stabbed my remaining dagger at him. “No! Get lost—this isn’t your territory!”

I met the wolf’s gaze and stared him down, refusing to look away.

A staring contest with a wolf was no joke, but as I stared into his blue eyes, my palms were soon coated with sweat. His eyes were still unfocused, but now I could see what made them appear so glassy was the lack of humanity.

Werewolves are not dual natured. They live in harmony with their human and wolf instincts, which shows in their eyes. Even in their werewolf forms, their eyes have that light of intelligence and humanity.

This werewolf’s eyes were dim, as if he was entirely driven by his werewolf instinct and all shreds of his humanity were gone. He wasn’t just sick, he was feral.

Huh. The next few minutes are going to be a little exciting.

The werewolf lunged at me—teeth out and ready to rip into my throat or belly.

I sidestepped him and stabbed my dagger into his shoulder with my left hand and yanked my other dagger free with my right hand.

The wolf growled and pivoted so fast, this time I wasn’t entirely able to avoid him when he snapped at me.

His jaws clamped shut with an audible chomp on the sleeve of my shirt, and he nicked my arm with his teeth.

I didn’t even feel the scratch. My hunter magic produced adrenaline, which deadened my senses of pain, so I was still in fighting condition.

I yanked my arm free, ripping the sleeve to shreds, then slammed the pommel of my dagger into the side of the wolf’s head, all while screaming as loudly as I could.

The wolf staggered, and I followed up with another kick to his head, followed by a stab into the scruff of his neck.

I darted backward before he could bite at my open belly, breathing fast as I cautiously watched him.

Despite taking two knocks to the head and three dagger wounds—all of which were bleeding badly—the wolf lunged at me again.

Don’t fall—if I fall this is all over!

I walked backward, mentally patting myself on the back for my devotion to comfortable footwear as I tried to get back to the tree line.

The next time the wolf lunged at me I struck at his chest, arcing my blow low so he wouldn’t be able to avoid it.

My dagger bit into his chest, but he smashed into me with such force I hit the ground with a roll.

Up, up! Get up—now!

I got up on one knee before the wolf body slammed me, so I hit the ground again.

I kicked up, hitting it in the jaw, so it backed off a few steps, then threw my left dagger at its chest. My dagger hit the wolf, but it still didn’t seem to notice as it snarled and snapped.