The Better to Bite(37)

I stared and I stared.

Then I heard the gunshots.

My blood iced even as I leapt to my feet. The blasts came again, thundering, echoing through the woods. I grabbed the wooden railing on the porch and strained to see through the dark.

An engine growled. My head whipped to the right, and I saw my dad’s car racing toward the house. Dust and gravel flew in his wake. The car shuddered to a stop, and he leapt out in the next instant.

“Get inside, Anna!” His roar. My dad did that—when he was scared, he tended to sound like a bear.

I inched back a few steps. “Dad, what’s going on?” Some hunters, that’s all. South Carolina had to be full of hunters, and just because I didn’t know when the hunting seasons started and ended—

“Mark Hamilton and a bunch of his friends are after the wolf.”

Mark Hamilton. Sissy’s dad.

“They’re drunk, baby, and I got a tip that they’re out shooting up the woods.”

Cause drinking and guns always mixed.

“Rafe’s dad—”

Ah, I guess that had been his tipster.

“—he said they’re tracking down from the Hamilton house. Damn fools. If they aren’t careful, they’ll wind up shooting somebody.”

I was in front of our door. My bare toes curled over the wooden porch.

He exhaled on a rough, frustrated sigh. “Stray bullets can hit anywhere. They know better.” He stepped closer to the porch and the light hit him.

I realized my dad had on a bright orange vest—and he was carrying a rifle.

“Go inside, now, and don’t come out until I come back.”

Wait. Hold up. “You’re not just going in the woods?” I asked him, heart racing. “Dad, they could shoot you!”

“And I’ve got to stop them before they hurt someone else!”

I grabbed the door knob. “You’re going in alone?” Bad, bad plan. Dad knew how important it was to always have back up close by.

A four-wheeler burst from the woods then. Deputy Jon Parker bent low over the handlebars, and his handsome face was locked in lines of tension. Jon was only a few years older than me, but from what I’d overheard before, I knew my dad thought the guy was the best deputy in the department. For my dad’s sake, I hoped he was right.

I noticed that Jon had on an orange vest, too.

“No,” my Dad said, “I’m not going in alone. I’ve got my deputies scouring those woods for them.”

Deputy Jon inclined his head toward me.

I eased inside the house. “Be careful!”

But he was already gone.

And I could hear the retort of gunfire.

Gunfire…and the howl of wolves.

I hurried inside and slammed the door shut behind me.

***

A long, mournful wail jerked my attention from the Trig book on the kitchen table. Who was I kidding? I wasn’t into Trig right then. I kept peeking out the window and hoping to see some sign of my dad.

So far…nothing.

The howl had me rising and creeping once more to the window. I pulled back the curtain and peered outside. I didn’t see anything.

I turned away.

Seconds later, something slammed into the front door, and I gasped.

Hard, heavy. The whole house seemed to shake with the impact.

Very, very slowly, I turned back around.

Once more, I looked outside, but I couldn’t see anything. From this angle, I wouldn’t be able to see what was on the other side of that door.

I crept toward the door and risked a fast glance out of the peephole.

Nothing.

But…

I could hear a faint scratching. Like nails, digging into the wood.

I jumped back, then I turned and ran as fast as I could for the closet in my dad’s room.

I knew my dad. Knew how he thought. Knew where he hid his weapons. It took me about three seconds to shove a chair into his closet and climb up on it to find the back-up gun he’d tucked onto the top shelf.

Dad had taught me to use a gun, and I really was a very good shot. I loaded the bullets, climbed down, and carefully inched back toward the living room.

I heard the scratches instantly. Scratches and a low whine.

An animal in pain. Possibly dying. But weren’t those the most dangerous types of animals?

I didn’t open the door. “Get out of here!” I yelled, hoping my voice would scare the beast away. “Just get out of here!”

I didn’t hear the sound of fleeing feet, but I did hear… “Anna.”

My name, so soft, barely slipping past that locked door.

Then… “Help me.”

Not an animal. Oh, crap. I kept my hold on the gun and fumbled with the lock. I jerked and twisted and the door creaked opened, not too much. Just a few inches.

The porch light fell on his dark hair.

“Rafe?”

He was lying on his stomach, with his arms outstretched toward the door. He was naked, totally naked, and blood gushed from wounds on his back.