The Abused Werewolf Rescue Group by Catherine Jinks Page A

that!’
    ‘You did on Monday night,’ he retorted. ‘This smells just like my bank vault does, after I’ve been knocking around in it for a few hours.’ All at once he bent over, his hands on his knees. ‘Mmph,’ he said, peering at the ground. ‘That’s interesting.’
    I was certain he’d spotted our paw prints, so I ploughed into the bush after him. The musky smell was much stronger beneath the canopy of palm fronds.
    ‘Look,’ he said, pointing. My heart sank. Even in the dim light, it was obvious that he hadn’t found any paw prints. Instead he’d stumbled on a scattering of feathers. ‘See that?’ he queried. ‘See the way they’re all stuck together in clumps? Dried blood makes ’em do that.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘So something’sbeen eating the ducks.’ He began to forge ahead, down a shallow slope towards the lake. Branches caught at his loose, tangled hair. They scraped across his bare arms and legs.
    Then he stopped, so abruptly that I almost ran into him from behind. I’d been distracted because I’d walked straight through a spider’s web and was still trying to peel it off my eyelashes.
    ‘Ugh . . . yuck . . .’ I muttered, before realising that I was right at the water’s edge. Over Reuben’s shoulder, I could see the fountain, the flags, and the function centre.
    I could also see Fergus’s paw prints. Reuben was gazing down at them.
    ‘Nice try,’ he said.
    ‘What?’
    He folded his arms and pulled a face. But he didn’t say anything else. He just turned and headed out of the undergrowth, a red flush slowly staining his olive cheeks.
    Damn , I thought. Damn, damn, damn .
    ‘What is it?’ I called after him. ‘Hey! Did you see these? What do you think they could be?’
    ‘You should know,’ he growled, crashing over dead leaves and dry sticks. ‘You put ’em there.’
    God, was that ever a sucker punch! I was floored. My stomach seemed to drop through the soles of my feet. I would have jumped in the lake and swum for it, if my phone hadn’t been in my pocket.
    But as Reuben kept retreating, my panic began to subside. I realised that he wasn’t searching for a blunt instrument. He really was marching away, before he totally lost his temper. Those prints had been the last straw.
    He was pissed off with me, big-time.
    For a split second I felt relieved. Then it occurred to me that pissed off doesn’t mean scared off. What was to stop him getting madder and madder and coming after me at a later date? Nothing. I had no defence. Unless I calmed him down – unless I lied my head off – he would turn into a ticking time bomb.
    ‘Hey!’ I yelped. ‘Wait!’
    When he didn’t even pause, I tried to close the gap between us.
    ‘Hey! Hang on! Ouch!’ A branch had slapped me in the face. ‘What’s the problem? What did I do?’
    Still no answer. By this time he had reached the path; I saw him silhouetted against the glare for an instant as he hesitated, glancing from side to side. Then he disappeared, swerving off to the right at a rapid trot. I figured he was making for the car park near the function centre.
    But if that was his ultimate goal, he had to deal with a few obstacles along the way. When I staggered out of the undergrowth, scattering leaves and twigs, I saw him rooted to the spot not half a dozen metres from where I stood. He was staring at a mangy-looking shrub, behind which two hunched figures were clearly visible.
    ‘Oh, man . . .’ The words popped out before I could swallow them. They weren’t very loud, though; I don’t think Reuben heard me. He was too busy intimidating my friends.
    Amin was certainly intimidated. I could tell by the set of his shoulders. Fergus, however, rose to the challenge. He must have made a snap decision to brazen it out, because he emerged from the undergrowth with a lot of noise and movement, as if to demonstrate that he wasn’t hiding from anyone. He wore a huge grin, and was fiddling with his fly.
    ‘Hey!’ he said. ‘It’s