Tracker: A Rylee Adamson Novel by Shannon Mayer

being walked by two nice young ladies. Probably sisters.
    He worked his way up and down the road twice before he finally understood what was bothering him. The smell of rot … as he’d told Milly, Agent Valley had smelled of rot when they’d spoken London. Maybe there was more to it than just working with a necromancer. Excitement flared through him and he picked up the scent with ease, tracing it to the peach-colored house at the head of the street, right at the intersection.
    When he approached the door, the curtain beside it twitched ever so slightly.
    Bingo.
    He glanced over his shoulder and the two witches walked swiftly to the left side of him.
    “It’s about time, wolf,” Milly muttered under her breath as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
    Pamela snorted at her. “You could have stayed home. We told you that you didn’t have to come.”
    Liam couldn’t stop the grin that crossed his muzzle. That was Pamela. Milly stepped to the side, out of the way so Pam could knock on the door, his clothes gripped tightly in her hands. Inside, there was a sound of feet shuffling. And the light click of a gun being loaded.
    Without thinking, he body-slammed Pamela against the wall as silenced shots popped softly, driving through the door where they’d been standing. Snarling, he leapt forward, taking the door out with his body in an explosion of wooden shards. Being part Guardian had its perks. Two more shots went off before he could see clearly, the bullets tearing through his chest.
    Liam looked up as the wounds healed closed, the shooter a young man with pimples on his cheeks. Loose clothes, baggy jeans and underneath the smell of death was a three-week-old case of body odor.
    “Oh, shit,” he squeaked, half-lowering the gun before seeming to realize he was going to need it again. Liam bared his teeth and took a step closer, the fur along his spine stiff with his anger.
    The kid took a few steps back; the scent of magic filled the air and then the gun was jerked out of his hand, seemingly plucked away by an invisible person. The kid’s jaw twitched and he looked past Liam to Pamela.
    “You stupid witch. Stay out of this.” Of course, that was when the kid lifted his hand and a black thread of something coiled from his palms. A supernatural using a gun against other supernaturals? Wasn’t there a rule about that kind of stuff?
    Liam didn’t wait to see what the kid could do. Leaping forward, he covered the distance between them with ease, and took the kid to the floor. Pimple face’s head smashed against the fake tile floor with a resounding thud and his eyes rolled back in his head. The black smoke, or whatever the hell it was, faded and drew back into the kid’s hands.
    Pamela sucked in a sharp breath. “I think he’s a necromancer, like Anne.” She pushed him with her toe. Sith/p>

    Liam took in a slow breath, couldn’t get past the stench of rot and knew this form wasn’t going to help him anymore. Breathing out, he let the change take him and within seconds stood on two feet. Pamela handed him his clothes as she turned her back.
    Without hesitation, Liam scooped up the fallen gun. If it worked in the hands of a supernatural, he wanted it. He tucked it into the back of his pants, a feeling of familiarity rolling over him. Sure, he could use a sword, but a gun was his weapon of choice, and always would be.
    Milly, though, had no such qualms. She watched him dress, her eye calm and assessing, but she said nothing. He forced himself not to hurry, knowing this was a power pull with her. She wanted to make him nervous, to put him off balance.
    “Not going to work, Milly,” he grumbled as he pulled his shirt over his head and slipped on his shoes.
    “What’s that, Liam?” Her eyebrows arched high, giving her a falsely innocent look.
    He turned his back on her and crouched beside the kid. Even in this form, the scent of rot was strong. “Pamela, can you lace this kid up, stick him so he can’t do