Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Sweat beaded beneath Raven’s armpits. Her breath came in sharp, shallow gasps.
These were not the timber wolves she knew and understood, still deadly, still dangerous, but at least familiar.
The hybrid wolves were completely other. Alien and terrible.
Raven nearly turned around. She almost lost her nerve and fled back to the gate.
The biker’s flashlight beam swept across a thicket of trees a dozen yards to her right. Fear stuck in her throat like a hook. Her pursuer was searching for her.
Human killers or killer wolves. Either choice was horrible.
The human killers were worse. They would take their time, make it hurt. They’d use her. The animals, at least, would be quick, clean.
She’d take her chances with the animals.
Frantic, she searched for a hiding spot within the enclosure—a wide tree trunk, a thick bush, a fallen log—anything. She squinted, peering into the darkness, the darkness that held any number of monsters.
The flashlight beam swept toward her. Raven scrambled down the shallow incline, shoved brambles and underbrush aside, and dove behind the trunk of a hickory tree. The bark scraped her spine, but she hardly noticed.
She drew her arms and legs close, hunched her shoulders, and made herself as small as possible.
A second later, the flashlight skimmed over her hiding place. The light glinted off something in the brush deeper in the trees. The light stilled on a spot ahead of her, not five yards from where she huddled behind the trunk.
Two pairs of reflective eyes peered back at her.
Raven went very still.
Both wolves were less than twenty-five feet away. Every cell in her body screamed at her to flee. She couldn’t. The biker stood on the path above her. He trained the flashlight beam on the pairs of glowing eyes and swore softly.
A halo of white emerged among the darkly gleaming leaves. It was Luna, the big white female. Luna’s mate remained utterly camouflaged in the darkness. Only the glitter of eyes stared intently back at her.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
She was trapped inside a cage with two genetically modified wolves almost twice her weight. Each wolf was designed by nature and man to maim, to tear and destroy, to kill with impunity, endowed with a bite force of fifteen hundred pounds per square inch.
It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to scream. She gritted her teeth against the panic, the adrenaline, the terror thrumming through her veins. Her muscles taut, she counted the eternal seconds.
Finally, the flashlight swept away.
The biker stumbled down the path away from the enclosure. The flashlight wavered wildly as he cursed and shouted for his friends. “I found her! She disappeared on me!”
“I think she’s over here by the otters!” another voice shouted back.
Raven didn’t have the time to sigh in relief.
The white wolf moved. She glided silently closer, her back low, hackles raised. Somehow, she was suddenly twenty feet away, then fifteen. Her ears twitched. She never took her gaze off Raven.
Raven dropped her gaze in submission. It seemed like the wolf stared at her forever.
The other one was here, too. She felt him.
Somehow, it was more frightening not to see him.
Were they taking her measure? Did they see her as a potential threat?
Or were they deciding which parts of her to eat first?
She knew the answer. Her organs. Her heart, lungs, stomach, and intestines. Alphas got the choicest bits. These two were the most alpha of any alpha wolves she’d ever seen.
Her stomach lurched. Somehow, she remained still, quiet, and submissive. She was no threat to them. Neither was she prey. Hopefully, they were smart enough to figure that out. Or else, they were about to tear out her warm, beating heart.
In an eye blink, the white wolf vanished. The black wolf, too. She could feel his presence, then she couldn’t. It was that fast. One second, they were there. The next, they faded silently into the darkness.
She peered into the gloom, her gaze sweeping from left to right and back again, straining to make out a familiar predatory shape in the shadows.
She’d thought it couldn’t get worse, but it could.
Not seeing them, not having any idea where they were, whether they were sneaking up on her right this second, preparing to pounce from any direction—this was worse.
Could she leave without being attacked? Had they grown tired of her and wandered off somewhere to sleep? Maybe she could rise quietly and sneak back to the gate.
But no. There was no sneaking. Not with wolves. They could detect her every movement by scent. They would know the second she stood.
If she made it to the fence, it was because they’d allowed it, as opposed to the other option: tearing her throat out.
It was worth a chance. Better than sitting here and waiting for death to come. Slowly, she rose from her crouch. The clouds drifted from the moon, and pale white moonlight spilled across the enclosure.
As she stood, something sharp jabbed into her thigh. Adrenaline shot through her. Images of gleaming claws and fangs flashed through her mind.
It wasn’t claws or fangs.
It was her whittling knife. It was still in her pocket. She hadn’t changed since yesterday, since she’d buried her dad.
Raven drew the knife from her pocket and flicked the three-inch blade open. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.
On her feet, she took a single, cautious step. Dead leaves crackled beneath her boot.
Ahead of her, a low growl erupted from the bushes.
Raven froze.
The black wolf materialized out of the darkness.
She forgot how to breathe.
The wolf stood between two maple trees, less than ten feet away. He was stiff-legged, tail straight out behind him. He tilted his regal head, studying her with his intense amber eyes.
He growled again. His ears flattened.
Instinctively, she backed against the tree and lowered herself, so she was smaller than he was, less of a threat. She gripped the knife but kept it low and pressed against her thigh.
“Whoa now,” she said softly. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
As soon as she sat back down, making herself small, the wolf’s ears lifted. He gave her a piercing look, as if to say, Now, stay there.
She settled against the trunk of the hickory tree. Yellowed leaves rustled over her head. “You want me right here where you can keep an eye on me,” she murmured, hardly daring to breathe. “Is that it?”
The black wolf prowled around her in a slow, languid circle, sniffing the ground, the air, never breaching that ten-foot radius. Ten feet or ten inches, it hardly mattered. If he wished, his jaws could snap around her throat in less than a second.
For several minutes, he circled her. Raven sat rigid, nearly passing out from lack of oxygen. Abruptly, the wolf loped away and disappeared into the underbrush.
This time, she knew better than to move. He remained present but out of sight, watching her. The white wolf, too. She could feel their presence in the prickling of her skin, the rapid beat of her heart.
This was their territory. She was the intruder. Whether she lived or died tonight was entirely up to them.
She inhaled a slow, shaky breath and glanced up.
Should she try to climb the tree, escape their reach?
There were no low branches. She scanned the other trees—all too slim to bear her weight.
Besides, movement would attract the wolves.
If they deemed her actions threatening, they’d be on her in a heartbeat.
Better not to move until they tired of her. At least she was temporarily safe from the murderous bikers. There was that.
She sat against the tree trunk and waited, the knife clenched at her side. The cold ground seeped through her pants and chilled her legs and backside. Above her head, the sickle of the moon hung in the trees, caught in a snarl of branches.
For what seemed like hours, she waited and listened to the pulse of the night, the pitter-patter of tiny nocturnal creatures, and the soughing of the wind through the trees. She stayed alert for any sound or glimpse of the wolves, but there was nothing. They moved through the darkness like ghosts.
An hour later, the black wolf returned.