I dropped to my knees. “Rafe! What happened?” But I knew what those wounds were on his back. No way could I mistake gunshot wounds, not with my dad’s job.
He grabbed for my leg, and that was when I realized something was very, very wrong with his hands. Because he didn’t just have hands. Long, thick claws—actual freaking claws—burst from his fingertips. Claws like an animal would have. Not fingernails like a human should possess.
I stopped breathing.
His head lifted, and he looked up at me. His face…it was different, too. His cheeks were sharper, his jaw longer, his whole face thinner. And his eyes weren’t blue anymore. They were bright yellow. Glowing.
The wolf’s eyes.
“Help…me.” The voice wasn’t his. That hard, desperate grating seemed more like an animal’s growl than anything else.
His claws were wrapped around my knee. His eyes burned into mine. His blood dripped onto my porch.
I lifted my gun and pointed it right between his eyes. “What are you?” But I knew—I knew.
He stared back at me with a wolf’s eyes.
Voices shouted in the distance. More gunfire echoed.
The hunters had nailed their wolf. Did they even realize it?
“Not me,” he grated out with that broken voice. “Didn’t kill…anyone.”
“What. Are. You?” My hands were sweating, but my hold on the weapon was rock-steady.
His lips pulled back as he grimaced in pain, and I got a good look at his teeth. His canines were long and sharp—longer and far sharper than they’d been before.
The better to—
“Please.” His head fell onto the porch as his body began to shudder.
My gaze darted to the darkness of the woods. Crap, crap, crap. “If you so much as try to bite or claw me, I will shoot you.”
But Rafe wasn’t talking. His body shuddered and twisted and as I watched, the claws began to recede and normal fingernails slid into their place.
The voices were coming closer. Those shouts were so much clearer now.
Not just voices. Dogs. Barking, yapping dogs that were tracking—Rafe?
Gritting my teeth, I kicked open the front door. I put the gun down—had to do it—and then I grabbed Rafe’s arms. The claws were completely gone now. Thank goodness.
Werewolf. He’s a freaking werewolf.
I yanked. The guy didn’t move. He weighed a ton.
I yanked again. There we go. Now we were moving a few inches. I pulled some more. More. His body slipped over the threshold.
I heaved and yanked and tried not to think about the extra damage I was doing to him. The hunters were too close now. The dogs sounded frantic as they followed the scent of blood right to my doorstep.
There wasn’t any time to waste. As soon as Rafe was clear of the door, I grabbed for the gun, lunged over him and landed on the porch. I reached back with my left hand and slammed the front door shut behind me.
Taking a deep breath, I jumped up, swung out with my fist, and shattered the porch light.
Instantly, I was plunged into darkness. I bounded down the steps.
The dogs snarled and barked.
Come and get me.
Lights burst from the woods as the hunters swarmed. A few of them had flashlights, and they directed them right on me.
“Call off your dogs!” I screamed because those dogs were making a beeline right for me—I had Rafe’s scent on me—and for my house. My house…where all of that nice blood covered my porch.
Don’t let them shine the lights up there. Don’t let them see.
There were four hunters. All armed with rifles. They could see me since I was in their bright pool of light, but I couldn’t tell a thing about them.
Two men hauled the dogs back.
“Girl, you shouldn’t be out here.”
I knew that voice. Sissy’s dad. His voice still shook with grief and rage.
“This is my home,” I said. The gun was hidden behind my back. For now. If one of those snarling dogs charged at me, the gun would come out. “You’re the ones who don’t need to be here! My dad is looking for you and when he finds—”
The familiar grind of an engine reached my ears, and I almost sagged in relief. Seconds later, the four-wheeler burst from the woods. “Dad!”
He leapt from the four-wheeler and jumped in front of me. “I damn well know you are not pointing your weapons at my daughter.”
Another four wheeler burst onto the scene, its bright lights bobbing. Deputy Jon’s radio crackled as he called for backup.
My dad’s weapon was out, and I knew he had it aimed right at Mark Hamilton. “Drop your guns—now.” His lethal order.
“I-I…the wolf—”
“Drop them or I’ll be the one who starts shooting.” My dad’s voice was flat and cold, and I shivered.