The Strip by Heather Killough-Walden, Gildart Jackson

had steadfastly refused to let her go. But her dreams would cause her to feel guilty and, in the end, they were both worried about the effect it would have upon their unborn son. So, he allowed her to follow her heart. She was accompanied by Valentine and more than a few members of his pack everywhere she went.
    Somehow, they’d made it through that rather intense nine-month stage and Lily’s son was now safe with Daniel and Lily’s best friend, Tabitha. The infant had Daniel’s entire pack looking out for him. Lily felt very, very fortunate to be a mother with so many strong, loving, and able bodies to turn to for child care. How many moms had even one ?
    The least she could do was repay the world somehow.
    Right now, that meant helping Charlie.
    “There’s a Hunter out there who has it in for that woman, James,” Lily told her guardian. Her tone was no-nonsense. “If anyone in the world knows what that feels like, it’s me. And this guy is a hell of a lot worse than Allan Jennings was.” She shivered as she recalled her dream of the Hunter and how he’d touched Charlie. “Trust me. We need to intervene.”
    With that, James sighed heavily and let go of her wrist. He nodded and opened his own door, even as she opened hers.
    * * * *
    Charlie skidded to a halt when the strange scent reached her. It was a dangerous scent. Not like death, but a portent to it. Her breathing was incredibly steady for someone who had just run twenty blocks full steam. She barely felt tired as she hurriedly scanned the crowds on both sides of the street, searching for the source of the oddly different smell.
    And then she saw the woman and the man getting out of the taxi two blocks down. They were staring at her. Their eyes were unnaturally stark; the woman’s a bright, glowing gold, the man’s like molten metal.
    Not human , she thought. Werewolves.
    Her heart skipped a few beats and she almost whimpered. The bizarre but beautiful mark on her arm felt like it was heating up. She glanced down at it even as she felt the couple from the taxi begin to make their way toward her.
    “This isn’t happening,” she muttered, desperation flooding her slim form as surely as the adrenaline already coursing through her blood stream. Once more, her training took over and she bolted across the street, weaving between speeding cars and earning herself a few irritated honks and a crudely thrown finger.
    She ignored them all and shot down the nearest dark alley. I need to get back to the hotel , she thought frantically. But it was so far. Before she’d come to Las Vegas, she’d had no idea the city was actually so big. She’d thought it was just that one street, more or less, and then a smattering of restaurants.
    It wasn’t.
    I need to find a cab.
    And then she was cruising out the other side of the alley and a taxi was pulling up along the curb in front of her. Again, Charlie skidded to a halt. But this time, no one got out of the car. In fact, the back seat was empty. The taxi driver simply leaned over and yelled through the passenger-side window. “Hey, lady! I was told to pick you up an’ take you to The August!”
    Charlie gave him a quick once-over. He was an older man, probably in his sixties, and his accent had been Jersey. He looked tired, but eager to earn money. He had a wedding ring on his left ring finger and a picture of him with his family on the front dash board. Three kids, all grown up. Four grand kids.
    Charlie glanced once over her shoulder, caught the scent of werewolf again, and quickly came to a decision. She opened the back door of the cab and slid inside.
    The cab driver eyed her from the front seat. No doubt, he could see the fear in her expression. He expertly acted on it. “Fare’s been paid,” the man said as he pulled away from the curb. “But if you wanna give me a great big tip, I can go faster.”
    “Go faster,” Charlie told him, from the back seat.
    The man chuckled a little, shook his head, and stepped