“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.
I tried to scramble to my feet, but the wolf jumped at me again.
I braced myself on my knees—hoping I would at least be able to keep it from throwing me to the ground—when an unearthly, eerie howl that seemed to make the air shake filled the park.
I knew that howl—it was as individualistic as a thumbprint.
Greyson.
The feral werewolf was on me—snapping at my face. I held my arms up and shoved it back, but it was stronger than me. It was going to bite my face.
I sucked air in and leaned backward, when something collided with the rabid wolf, knocking it head over tail.
Greyson had arrived.
Chapter 2
Greyson
I stood up from the crouch I’d landed in after knocking the intruding wolf over.
The brute was still rolling around on the ground, so I took the moment to roll up the cuffs of my sleeves—no sense ruining another shirt on the likes of this mutt—and glanced at Pip.
The hunter was stiff with adrenaline and an admirable amount of false bravado. I could hear the frantic beat of her heart, but her face showed none of her fear as she fixed her hold on her dagger.
“Did he get you?” I asked.
“Nah—but he tried to go after some kids. Two of them.” She nodded at the still recovering wolf.
I slightly tilted my head up so I could smell better, and picked up on a familiar metallic tang. “Lying again, Lady Hunter?” I asked, using my nickname for Pip that I knew she hated. “I smell blood.”
She puffed up, and her white hair—natural, not dyed—smacked her in the face. “It was just a nick!”