“I’m looking out for her.”
“As much as I hate to admit it, I’m glad. But you’d better let me in on this. My dad’s contacted two ex-cons, extortionists, murderers, although they weren’t convicted on the last count since the DA’s office couldn’t locate enough evidence. Believe me, they wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate you. I told my dad you’re good for Tessa’s protection. But he was so mad about the rifle and everything else, he wouldn’t listen. I’ll help you.”
“If you didn’t kill Bethany, I’d say you don’t really have it in you.”
“Maybe, maybe not. You’ve solicited that idiot Rourke’s help, and he definitely won’t be able to protect her.”
Hunter glanced back in the direction of the house. “All right, but make sure your dad is agreeable. Let him know we’re in on this together. You get yourself killed, I don’t want your dad thinking I’m the one who did it.”
Ashton bobbed his head up and down. “Okay. You got it. Are you sure you don’t want me to stick around a little longer? What if the guy’s out here?”
“He probably is. But I don’t want your ass out here until your dad agrees. All right?” Hell, when had Hunter become such a damned softy? He ought to have thrown the rotten cuss over the cliff with his new rifle.
“Yeah, agreed.” But Ashton looked like he wanted to stay.
“Now, Ashton. You don’t want to see me when I’m really pissed. Your dad might have mentioned I’m an ex–Navy SEAL.”
“Yeah, yeah, he did.”
“Well, we’re trained to eliminate any threat no matter how small, so just remember that. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be back.”
“Not before tomorrow. And come to the front door of the house, only if you get your dad’s okay.”
Ashton vigorously nodded and waited for Hunter to move out of his way since he had his back wedged up against the pine tree.
“Be back tomorrow,” Ashton promised.
Hunter shook his head and stalked off in the direction he smelled the gray’s scent. The stalker was back and had probably listened to their whole blasted conversation. Hunter should have thrown Ashton over the cliff, if for nothing better than to prove to the gray he wasn’t a damn pushover.
The doorbell rang and Tessa looked at Rourke, both of them standing in front of the fire, rubbing their hands, trying to stay warm. Tessa didn’t think the stalker would come to the front door. Maybe the sheriff had returned? Or perhaps he had sent some of his minions to rough Hunter up a little. But in front of witnesses? Probably not.
She headed for the front door, but Rourke bolted in front of her and grabbed her arms, his gray eyes wild. “What if it’s him—the stalker?”
“What if it isn’t?”
“I’ll check.” Rourke released her, hurried to the door, and peeked out through the peephole. “No one there.”
Before she could tell him not to open the door, he unlocked it and swung it wide. “Holy crap!”
Rourke jumped away and tried to shut the door, but something knocked him flat on his back. Tessa stared at the large, pale gray wolf as he stood next to Rourke lying unresponsive on the floor. The wolf turned his attention from Rourke to Tessa, his amber eyes feral. In disbelief, she stood frozen in place. He… he was the same one who lunged for her in California?
Couldn’t be.
Heart racing, she dashed for the fireplace and grabbed the cast-iron tongs. The wolf leapt halfway across the living room, barely missing the coffee table, and landed only feet from her. She swung the tongs at the animal’s head, connecting with his nose in a loud whap, and the tongs flew from her grasp. He yelped and shook his muzzle.
She dove down the hall and reached her brother’s room, the blood pounding so hard in her ears she couldn’t hear the wolf following. But as soon as she grabbed the door and tried to slam it shut, the wolf lunged. Like a replay from the incident in the woods in California, the animal snarled and snapped, only this time he blocked her from shutting the door.
“Tessa!” Hunter yelled from the living room.
“I’m in here, Hunter! Watch out for the wolf!” Except she was the one still fighting with the wild beast, his paws against the door, his teeth snapping at her.
“I’ll take care of it.”
The wolf turned its head and she knew he would attack Hunter next.
“Stay there. Don’t come out until I holler it’s all clear,” he shouted.
She slammed the door closed. “Hunter, be careful! The wolf’s probably rabid.”
What if it bit Hunter? And what about poor Rourke?
Furniture crashed. Her heart jumped. Growls sounded. She raced through Michael’s room, searching for a weapon.
More crashing noises. More growling.
“Hunter?”
Hunter tore off the field jacket and then kicked off the sneakers as the wolf slinked around the sofa, snarling at him. Thinking to kill Hunter as a human? It would be easier for him. Hunter jerked off the sweats and hurried to shapeshift. The gray was dead meat. Rourke was out cold, thankfully, and Tessa couldn’t see Hunter’s new look, standing as a wolf, waiting for the stalker’s approach. He just hoped to god she stayed put, but he didn’t trust her one bit.
The lupus garou skirted around the overturned table, the brass lamp on the floor, the bulb shattered. He inched forward, slowly, cautiously, his tail straightened, his eyes focused on every movement Hunter made, from the twitch in Hunter’s ears to the tautness of his tail. The gray’s nose was bleeding and Hunter made the connection with the bloodied fireplace tongs. Tessa. He was certain Rourke hadn’t used the tongs on the gray and then fallen by the door.
Had the stalker listened to Hunter’s conversation with Ashton before he approached the house? Attempting to judge Hunter’s strengths and weaknesses? Hunter hadn’t thought he’d had much in the line of weaknesses when it came to human dealings. Then again, maybe he didn’t usually come into contact with them. He couldn’t recall.
Hunter surveyed the furniture in the way, hampering their ability to fight well. He needed to get the wolf out of doors, away from the humans.
The wolf snarled and then charged. Hunter swiftly retaliated. Both growled fiercely and struck with such force, neither made any headway. They dropped back to their pads and separated.
Hunter hoped Tessa didn’t hear all the noise they were making, or she would be trying to figure out why there were now two wolves, but the instinct was so inborn, he couldn’t stop it. Growling was like a war yell for a fighter in battle—a need to frighten the enemy into submission or inaction, and he would use every means necessary to eliminate the threat.
The gray was an equal match in size and agility. In his wolf way of thinking, Hunter was glad he had a worthy advisory, which would make it that much sweeter when he destroyed him. The two clashed again, their powerful jaws snapping, their teeth connecting. Hunter tasted both his blood and the gray’s.
They landed on their paws, their chests heaving. They truly were matched. But Hunter couldn’t work him toward the door. The lupus garou probably wanted to stay near the woman he intended to claim.
The gray dove in again, biting at Hunter’s neck.
Hunter tore the gray’s cheek, exposing the muscle. He yelped, retreated, waited. Hunter charged him, grabbed for his throat, but the lupus garou turned, and Hunter bit him in the flank instead. Another yelp.
Rourke groaned.
The distraction caught Hunter off guard, and the wolf went for Hunter’s throat again. Hunter shifted the weight of his body to avoid the wolf’s bite and ran into the damned leather footstool. The stalker’s teeth sank into his shoulder. Pain radiated through the wound. Hunter growled.
Rourke moaned.
The wolf glanced at him as he began to stir, and then the stalker leapt toward the door. With another bound, he was outside.
His shoulder bleeding and hurting like hell, Hunter bolted after him. This ended, tonight.
Rourke weakly hollered, “Tessa? Tessa?”
Her nerves wired, she opened Michael’s bedroom door and peeked out. No more growling. “Hunter?”
No reply.
Irritated she couldn’t find a weapon in Michael’s bedroom for protection, she called out, “Rourke, are you all right?”
No answer.
Her spine tingling with apprehension and feeling vulnerable without a weapon in hand, she crept down the hall toward the living room.
The place was deadly quiet except for the wind blowing through the open door. She feared the worst— Hunter was dead or unconscious and the wolf was waiting for her. The adrenaline in her system was running high, her heart pounding hard. If she could get to the fireplace tongs or the poker…
She peered into the living room. No sign of the wolf. Both brass lamps had crashed to the floor. Blood was spattered throughout. Tan, pale, and darker gray fur clung to the edges of the couches and love seat. Rourke had again passed out by the front door. The clothes Hunter had been wearing were strewn all over the place.
She gasped, her hand to her mouth, her eyes tearing up. The wolf must have killed Hunter and dragged his body off. But what if he hadn’t? Then again, what if the wolf came back? She grabbed the fireplace poker and rushed to the door. Except for drops of fresh blood on the porch, she didn’t see anything in the blowing snow.
“Hunter!” she screamed. If she’d had a gun, she would have gone after the wolf and shot it.
Rourke groaned, and she quickly closed and locked the front door. “Rourke, Rourke, wake up. I… I think the wolf killed Hunter. But if it didn’t…” She wiped tears from her cheeks. “Rourke! Wake up! We need to save Hunter.”
The gray was racing through the woods as fast as he could while Hunter kept track of him in the blowing snow. Where the hell was he fleeing to? Maybe a getaway vehicle. He had the tenacity of an alpha. Yet some of his posturing, like escaping through the forest, indicated he was more of a beta. It didn’t matter what he was because the gray served as a threat to Tessa either way.