Hunted (Pack of Dawn and Destiny, #1)(87)

Greyson leaned in and sniffed me—probably listening for my heartbeat too, or something. He spun me around to check my back, then slowly righted me so I faced him. “Fine,” he said. “But stay behind me—and don’t engage with any enemy until after I get Amos.”

“Sure,” I agreed.

It’s not like there’s anyone for me to fight.

Even though the Pack was outnumbered, the wolves were flattening the hunters.

Greyson gave me one last look over. He should have looked ridiculous with his fitted black pants and the borrowed hunter jacket that was too tight in the shoulders and couldn’t be zipped, but he just looked deadly with his glowing golden eyes instead. Go figure.

Some people just have all the good genetics.

He watched me for another moment, then pivoted, and punched a hunter on the jaw, taking him down with one shot.

I lingered near his broad back—making sure I gave him plenty of room to maneuver if needed—and peered around the chaos, looking for Amos as magic thrummed so deep in me it felt like my bones were vibrating.

“I see him!” I waited until Greyson tossed a hunter before I draped myself over his back so I could point over his shoulder. “There!”

Amos was at the fringe of the fight. It looked like he was going to head across the meadow to the trees beyond the lodge that were far away from the fighting. He wasn’t running—his limping, rolling gait looked too painful for that.

“Got it.” Greyson pivoted in his direction, grabbed a fleeing hunter, then pushed him in front and used him like a battering ram to mow down any of the hunters in front of us.

A female hunter tried to stab his back, but I was there and helpfully slammed my heel into her lower back, then popped her in the base of the neck with the pommel of my borrowed dagger so she wouldn’t be too tempted to get up again.

A hunter tried to grab me from behind, so I hung on to the back of Greyson’s jacket and heaved myself over his shoulder.

Without pausing, Greyson swung around with me and kicked the hunter square in the chest, knocking him on his rear.

“This is fun!” I declared. “You’re still the worst, but fighting like this is fun.”

Greyson faced Amos—we’d almost caught up to the rat. “Get used to it.”

“Really? Why?”

Greyson picked up a small rock off the lawn and threw it, nailing Amos in the back of his left knee. He fell with a pained shout. “Got him. Are you ready?”

“Oh yeah.” I jogged out in front of Greyson, reaching Amos just as he struggled to stand. “It’s over, Amos. You’ve lost—and now you’ll have to pay the consequences of all your insane theories.”

Amos growled and swung around, lunging at me.

Greyson caught him by the wrists and shook him like a rag doll so he flopped to the ground and had his arms stretched over his head. “Resign yourself, hunter.”

“Never.” Amos peered up at us, his beady eyes angry. “I know I’m right about all of this. You’re using something—something dark and illegal,” he snarled. “You can’t hide from the likes of me. The Fletchings are the best investigative hunters there are in the Midwest!”

“No, actually,” I said. “You’re quite possibly the worst investigator I’ve ever met.”

Amos growled, but stilled when I grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to his feet with a strength I didn’t normally have.

“And I know that, because you are so fundamentally wrong about me it’s laughable.” My voice rapidly dropped in pitch as my anger returned. “All those times when you asked me how I could side with werewolves—who killed my parents—you proved how ignorant you really were.”

Amos tried to spit in my face, but I moved my head fast enough to avoid it. “You traitor—” he started.

“My parents weren’t killed by wolves, Fletching.” I yanked him closer, barely holding back from decking him again. “They were killed by hunters.” I let him go and shoved him down.

Greyson released his arms and stepped back, letting me take over.

I planted a foot on Amos’s chest and leaned in when he tried to stand. “Friendly fire,” I spat. “It was an accident. There was a miscommunication about the location of a feral wolf, and the Quillons killed them both. It’s why they’ve helped me all these years.”

Amos flapped his mouth open and shut, looking for words.

The years of sorrow still crackled in me, and I ground my heel into his chest. “It was a famous case, and somehow you—Mr. Mighty Investigator—didn’t hear of it, or bother to look into my history before coming here?”

I laughed. “The wolves have my loyalty, Amos, because they took me in when the hunter community did their worst to me. Only the Quillons tried to help, which is why I still respect them despite what happened. And now, your whole family is going to pay…because you didn’t bother to check why a hunter was living with wolves.”

I kicked him in the side of his head, carefully aiming for a knock out hit. It was a dirty move, but I didn’t feel it was necessary to play nice with the creep who intended to kill my friends.

Amos slumped to the ground, so addled from the kick he couldn’t even groan.

I stood up straight and surveyed the rest of the fight—the wolves had subdued most of the hunters by now.