CHAPTER 10

My wolf didn't wait for more bullets to be fired, she took off, top speed toward the shooter, our senses expanding, trying to get a sense of where they were.

In the last five years we had grown. Where our senses had once outstripped other wolves, they were now so powerful I had to block them most of the time just to function without a constant barrage of information.

But on average we could scent danger for a few miles. Which was a problem, because somehow our shooter had snuck within our range without us noticing.

*It makes no sense*, my wolf complained.* I know what we heard, we should have scented anyone at that distance.*

Our black fur wavered around us as we picked up speed, and I could feel our anxiety building. Who the hell would be shooting at us on a full moon? We had no current conflict with any of the other Boston packs, not enough that they would risk starting a pack war anyway. And the Southtown Terrors were nothing but pathetic middle men trying to make a mark in the crime world. No one who would have access to the type of rifle a shot at this distance would require, let alone someone who could make it.

My wolf growled, low in her throat, the smell of blood followed us through the trees as another shot fired from the same location.

One shooter then.

The knowledge didn't help my nerves. We were racing now, keeping our scent and sound to ourselves, ever closer to whatever was waiting.

A noise behind us had my wolf stretching her senses backward. Some of the pack were following, having the same idea as we did; kill the threat. We were just faster, and ahead of them by a quarter of a mile.
Hopefully that would give us time to catch whoever it was by surprise.

The shooter was situated atop a steep rise that overlooked much of this section of the reserve. By the time we approached the radius of where my wolf calculated the sound of the shots had originated I was getting worried. There was still no scent, which was impossible.

We paced the hillside, sniffing, our focus driven to find what we knew must be there.

A crack of branches above was the only warning we got before a heavy body hit ours, crushing us to the ground and tumbling downhill, snarling and biting at our assailant. Our teeth caught the flesh of an arm, human...and yet not...and a grunt of pain accompanied a stabbing sensation in our side where something sharp pierced our ribs deeply, piercing skin and muscle and sinking deeper.

My wolf let out an involuntary, breathless yip, ripping harder at the limb she'd caught between her teeth, twisting her head until our assailant was ripped from our back, the wound in our side growing as the anchor of the blade ripped upward toward our spine with the movement, before tearing out of our flesh completely.

No, not a blade...claws, we panted, every breath searing and yet not enough.

Great, massive claws like those of a large cat, and they were attached to a paw on a partially transformed arm.

The man lay on the ground before us for a moment. Nearly fully human, minus the one paw and a set of large predatory cat eyes in a human face. The result was disconcerting. There was no mixing of parts. You were either wolf or human. And yet here this...thing was. Not even wolf at all, part man and part cat. What the actual fuck?

Slitted pupils contracted and then he was leaping toward us, mouth stretching into a maw with fangs the size of small daggers. We dodged the attack just in time for his transformation to be complete. A jaguar stared back at us, ears pinned, snout snarled. Blood trickled from it's left front leg where we'd bit him. We recognized now the foul taste of feline in his blood.

He was the sniper, he had to be. But what the hell was he? And why was he shooting at our pack?

He dove at us again, his speed unreal, even for a legendary jungle cat. Fortunately for us, we were quick as well, we spun out of the way just in time for the jaguar to land where we had been moments before. Our side screamed in pain and our vision blurred a little, our legs going weak. We were losing blood fast and a knowledge came to me that we would not win this fight.

That seemed to have him hesitating as he whirled toward me, his eyes studying me now as he circled. We circled too, trying to hide the weakness that was making it hard to keep on our feet, watching, waiting for the moment...

Three more wolves burst through the brush, finding our battle site on the hillside. The jaguar had been distracted, focused on us, and was startled at their entry. His back raised, hackles stood on end and he hissed at the newcomers. We didn't take our eyes off of him, but I knew Anthony was there, and Mark, and Angela too.

The jaguar must have decided the odds were too great, because he turned tail and ran, his speed impossible. He was gone before the others even thought to chase after him, leaving no scent behind. We might have been able to keep up, maybe. But before we could try our legs gave out and we sank into the pool of blood that had been growing beneath us.

The last thing I was aware of was our eyes closing and Anthony's voice yelling out my name.


***

I was surprised to wake up. Even more so to find myself in my room at the mansion, under clean sheets with the smell of antiseptic in the air and in human form. Bright light shone in through the tall windows, hurting my swollen eyes enough that I turned my head away, blinking as I noticed Anthony perched on a chair on the other side of the bed. He looked haggard and strained, wearing dirty, stained clothes, his hair a matted mess and a long gash along his cheekbone that had mostly healed but still left a mark. His blue eyes met mine and I could read exhaustion in them.

"I was worried you wouldn't wake up this time," he told me, his voice scratchy and raw.

I took stock of myself. Breathing still hurt, and my chest felt tight, constrained. A peek below the blankets showed why. My wound had been treated and bound tightly, the band aids compressing my ribs.

"How bad was it?" My voice was pathetically weak.

"Your lung was punctured and you had a concussion, even with your advanced healing you could have died, Raven." He leaned forward, "why did you run off? Why didn't you wait for the rest of the pack?"

I shrugged, which really, really hurt. I couldn't really explain that I didn't actually have full control in wolf form. I'd come to understand that most weres were intertwined with their wolves, still able to make executive decisions even in wolf form, whereas my situation was a little more...separate. My wolf was strong, with her own personality and wants and desires, for us it was more like coexisting that being the same entity.

"I didn't want the shooter to get away," I told him.

"Which wouldn't have done us any good if you'd gotten yourself killed too. We couldn't even find you, you didn't leave a scent, we couldn't hear you or that...whatever he was, and..."

"Wait," I interrupted, my mind stalled on something he had said. "What do you mean get myself killed too. What are you saying, who was killed?"

I had hoped whoever was hit recovered, bullet wounds weren't often fatal for a werewolf, except if it hit the brain, and even then, we could sometimes survive. The wolves at the run were all people I knew, all higher up in the organization. Even if I didn't like some of them, I wouldn't wish death on them.

I didn't like the wary look that came over his face.

"Anthony," I growled, "who was killed."

He sighed, looking older and more tired than I'd ever seen him.

"I'm sorry, Raven, it was Rob."