the mattress, I rolled to the far side and dropped onto the floor. Marsten followed. We crawled into the hall, down the stairs, and to the back door, arriving just in time to duck behind the kitchen cabinets when we heard footsteps on the rear deck. The guard tested the door, peered in, then moved on.
“Quickly,” Marsten murmured. “They’ll be back in a minute. This is the safest place to break in.”
As we slipped out the door, I started pushing in the handle, to relock it when it closed. But Marsten caught my hand.
“We want them to know we came out this way,” he whispered.
Hunched over, and darting from bush to tree to garden shed, I led him across my tiny yard, and down the small hill to the woodland beyond. Marsten found a place for me to hide. He made sure I had my gun, and warned me to stay where I was, whatever happened. Then he gave me a card from his wallet, and told me if he didn’t return in an hour, I was to run to a public place, call the handwritten number on the back, and explain everything.
A moment later, he was gone.
I stayed where I was. As impotent as I felt cowering in those bushes, I knew if I tried to help, I’d more likely get us both killed. So I hid and I listened.
I listened as the soft lullaby of cricket and frog calls went silent under the heavy footfalls and guttural muttering of Tristan and his guards. I listened as those mutters gave way to orders and oaths. I listened as those trudging footsteps divided and turned into running feet. I listened as a scream shattered the night, a scream cut off by flashing fangs.
That wasn’t my imagination working overtime. I saw those fangs flash, smelled bowels give way, felt hot blood spatter my face, and the visions brought not a split second of chaos bliss. With every cry, every scream, every silenced pistol shot, I was certain Marsten had been hit. The death vision came twice, and still I heard multiple running feet and voices. My God, how many were there? How would he ever—
Another shot. Then the sound that broke my resolve: a piercing canine yelp of pain.
Chapter 13
I broke from my cover then, but I resisted the urge to run pell-mell toward the noise, toward the laughs of triumph. Instead, I gripped my gun tight and slunk through the shadows until I was close enough to see a flashlight beam cutting a swath through the dark forest. The beam stopped, and my gaze followed its path.
A black mound of fur lay motionless at the end of that flashlight beam. A guard stood beside the mound, gun pointed down.
Oh God. God, no—
Something flashed near the top of the heap, a blue eye reflected in Tristan’s flashlight beam. The eye rolled, following Tristan. I took another three steps until that dark mound became a massive wolf lying on his belly, his head lowered but not down, his ears and lips drawn back as he watched Tristan’s approach. The fur on Marsten’s shoulder was matted with blood. The guard had his gun pointed at Marsten’s head, and I couldn’t tell whether he was staying down because of that gun or because he was too badly injured to rise.
“Hope!”
Tristan’s voice rang out so loud and sudden that I jumped. Only the barest rustle of dead leaves gave me away, but Marsten’s ears swiveled in my direction. His black nostrils flared. Then he let out a low growl, and I knew that growl was for me. As clear a “get the hell out of here” as if he’d shouted the words.
“Hope!” Tristan yelled again. “I know you’re out there.”
Marsten’s muzzle turned sharply as the bushes across the clearing crackled. The top of a head bobbed from the darkness. Tristan waved for the guard to stand near Marsten.
“Hope! Don’t you think you’ve caused enough trouble tonight? Two men dead and another to follow? All because you couldn’t do your job and catch one man—a thief, no less. Isn’t that what you’d signed on to do? Help us put away scum like Karl Marsten?”
As Tristan tried to guilt-trip me into giving
“Quickly,” Marsten murmured. “They’ll be back in a minute. This is the safest place to break in.”
As we slipped out the door, I started pushing in the handle, to relock it when it closed. But Marsten caught my hand.
“We want them to know we came out this way,” he whispered.
Hunched over, and darting from bush to tree to garden shed, I led him across my tiny yard, and down the small hill to the woodland beyond. Marsten found a place for me to hide. He made sure I had my gun, and warned me to stay where I was, whatever happened. Then he gave me a card from his wallet, and told me if he didn’t return in an hour, I was to run to a public place, call the handwritten number on the back, and explain everything.
A moment later, he was gone.
I stayed where I was. As impotent as I felt cowering in those bushes, I knew if I tried to help, I’d more likely get us both killed. So I hid and I listened.
I listened as the soft lullaby of cricket and frog calls went silent under the heavy footfalls and guttural muttering of Tristan and his guards. I listened as those mutters gave way to orders and oaths. I listened as those trudging footsteps divided and turned into running feet. I listened as a scream shattered the night, a scream cut off by flashing fangs.
That wasn’t my imagination working overtime. I saw those fangs flash, smelled bowels give way, felt hot blood spatter my face, and the visions brought not a split second of chaos bliss. With every cry, every scream, every silenced pistol shot, I was certain Marsten had been hit. The death vision came twice, and still I heard multiple running feet and voices. My God, how many were there? How would he ever—
Another shot. Then the sound that broke my resolve: a piercing canine yelp of pain.
Chapter 13
I broke from my cover then, but I resisted the urge to run pell-mell toward the noise, toward the laughs of triumph. Instead, I gripped my gun tight and slunk through the shadows until I was close enough to see a flashlight beam cutting a swath through the dark forest. The beam stopped, and my gaze followed its path.
A black mound of fur lay motionless at the end of that flashlight beam. A guard stood beside the mound, gun pointed down.
Oh God. God, no—
Something flashed near the top of the heap, a blue eye reflected in Tristan’s flashlight beam. The eye rolled, following Tristan. I took another three steps until that dark mound became a massive wolf lying on his belly, his head lowered but not down, his ears and lips drawn back as he watched Tristan’s approach. The fur on Marsten’s shoulder was matted with blood. The guard had his gun pointed at Marsten’s head, and I couldn’t tell whether he was staying down because of that gun or because he was too badly injured to rise.
“Hope!”
Tristan’s voice rang out so loud and sudden that I jumped. Only the barest rustle of dead leaves gave me away, but Marsten’s ears swiveled in my direction. His black nostrils flared. Then he let out a low growl, and I knew that growl was for me. As clear a “get the hell out of here” as if he’d shouted the words.
“Hope!” Tristan yelled again. “I know you’re out there.”
Marsten’s muzzle turned sharply as the bushes across the clearing crackled. The top of a head bobbed from the darkness. Tristan waved for the guard to stand near Marsten.
“Hope! Don’t you think you’ve caused enough trouble tonight? Two men dead and another to follow? All because you couldn’t do your job and catch one man—a thief, no less. Isn’t that what you’d signed on to do? Help us put away scum like Karl Marsten?”
As Tristan tried to guilt-trip me into giving
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