Chapter 7

As she rounded the last corner, Amara could finally see her apartment building. She thought she would feel relief, but instead, her sense of urgency only strengthened. She began to walk faster.

From somewhere behind her, a low growl echoed off the street. Amara froze. She knew that growl. She would recognize it anywhere. It was the same growl she heard in her nightmares when the wolf was trying to rip her throat out.

Terror ripped through her, propelling her forward; faster, faster. Amara broke into a run. Her heartbeat pounded like a war drum against her ribs. The rushing sound of her blood roared in her ears. The pounding of her feet as she charged down the street was nearly deafening.

But she could still hear the wolf gaining on her. Or were there two?

Twenty more feet. Fifteen. Five. Up the steps to her door. Frantic now, Amara felt the panic attack coming on, and she dug into her purse for her keys, cursing the fact that she basically lived out of her purse and could never find anything.

There!

Victorious, Amara’s fingers clamped around her house keys. She tugged them from her purse and tried to find the right key to insert into the lock, but she couldn’t manage to do it. Her hands were shaking so badly that the bundle of keys on the keyring slipped from her hands and fell into the bushes beside the stoop.

For one split second, Amara squeezed her eyes shut. The Universe could not be that cruel.

The wolf’s deadly growl was so close, Amara imagined his muzzle right up against her neck. Slowly, she turned, bringing the knife up in front of her. Right before her mind went blank with shock.

It was the same wolf. And he was huge, at least twice the size of a normal wolf. Behind him stood a second one, tan. Waiting.

How? her mind screamed. Did wolves even live that long? Was that even possible? He didn’t look that old, she admitted. Maybe it was a different wolf. No. It was the same one, of that she was certain. But that was impossible. The last time they had met had been a decade earlier. Yet, there he was; the same look of hatred and thirst for blood that she remembered in his tawny brown eyes.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she told them, her voice quaking. Oh, how she wished she could be stronger than she felt. Defiant, Amara dropped down into a fighting stance. “You don’t scare me.”

The first wolf made a choking noise deep in his throat. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he was laughing. Wolves didn’t laugh.

Amara switched the blade to her other hand and wiped her sweaty palm on the leg of her jeans. Now was not the time to freak out. This is what she had been training for all these years. Revenge.

The wolf stalked toward her, each footstep slow and deliberate, as if he was toying with her. He was enjoying her fear. What an asshole.

Keep it together, Amara.

The wolf ran his long, red tongue over his jowls, exposing sharp, pointed, yellow teeth.

There was nowhere for her to run. There were two of them; they would get her no matter what she did. And if that russet wolf had it his way, she wouldn’t live through it this time. She could see it in his eyes, he wanted to kill her. She was going to die. And he was going to love every single second of her death.

If only she could get to her keys.

The wolves stalked forward, taking calculated, even steps. Then suddenly, a third wolf howled in the distance. There were three of them.

The two wolves froze. One glanced to his left, down the darkened street, but Amara didn’t wait to see if the third wolf was down there or not. She took her chance. Grabbing hold of the post with her free hand, she swung herself off the porch like she had done in pole vaulting in high school. She landed in the bushes below.

The russet wolf charged. One massive paw slapped across her back, his claws catching the material of her coat. Amara fell forward, her hands slamming down onto mulch and cement, catching her weight. All the air shot out of her with a whoosh, and she wheezed, trying to breathe again.

And then her attacker was gone.

Picking herself up, Amara gasped for breath, drinking it in like water. She stared at the scene in front of her in disbelief. The three wolves were tearing into each other in the middle of the street. The russet-colored wolf was on his back, jaws snapping at the black and silver wolf that was pinning him to the ground. Black and silver? It was like a repeat of the night ten years ago. The tan wolf was trying to get in between the two. Growls, barks, and yelps filled the night as the canines fought over Amara’s life.

It was a full minute before she came to her senses and began frantically searching for her keys in the bushes. Behind her, she could hear one of them whimper in pain, and she prayed it wasn’t the black and silver wolf who had been hurt.

After what felt like ages, Amara’s fingers clamped down on metal and she pulled her keys from the dirt. As quickly as she could, she clambered to her feet and raced up the steps to her door. Forcing her hands to stay steady, she unlocked the door, slamming it behind her.

What she wanted to do was pretend none of this had ever happened. She wanted to feel safe. She wanted to lean back against her door with one hand pressed to her racing heart, and stay there until all she could hear outside was silence.

But she couldn’t do that. The black and silver wolf—her wolf, as she’d come to call him—had saved her life. Again. There was no way in hell she was leaving him out there alone, outnumbered, while she hid inside like a coward.

Running into her bedroom, she went to the gun safe in her closet, spun the combination, and took out her father’s double-barrel shotgun. With movements that spoke of years of experience, she reached into the box of shells and loaded the gun, loving the click and clang of metal telling her the shells were in the chamber.

That was her wolf out there. Her protector. This was the second time that he had saved her life. Now she just hoped she was in time to save his.

Throwing open her front door, Amara stepped out onto the sidewalk and fired a warning shot in the air. Lights came on in the house across the street, but no one opened the door.

All three wolves froze. To her horror, the russet’s muzzle was covered in blood, his teeth at the other wolf’s throat. There was murder in his eyes.

Amara levelled the gun at his head, pleased to see fear for the first time. Beside him, the tan wolf cowered. She would pull that trigger. And they both knew it. “Get away from him,” she snarled, empowered by how cold she sounded. The two wolves only growled. Amara cocked the gun. She enunciated each word, somehow sure he could understand her. “I said, get away from him. Now.”

Glaring at her, the russet wolf released his adversary. He and the tan one began to slink away. When they were twenty feet down the road, they finally disappeared into the shadows.

The black and silver wolf slumped to the ground, blood flowing freely around his neck and hip. His dark, haunted eyes were full of pain.

Amara stood where she was for the space of a heartbeat. Then she set the gun down and went to the wolf. She hesitated for a moment more, before gently rubbing a hand over his fur. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice soft. “You saved my life. Again.” She raised her hand to her face. There was blood everywhere, and she wasn’t sure if all of it was his. He’d started to shake. “Well, shit. I need to get you inside. Sit tight, handsome,” she soothed, not wanting to be away from him. He had a nasty gash that spanned all the way across his left hip. It looked like it needed stitches. “I’ll be right back.”

Amara dashed inside and stowed her weapons just inside the door. If the other wolves came back, she was going to be ready for them. And she wasn’t going to let anything happen to her wolf.

Retrieving a blanket from the hall, she ran back outside. She had no idea how she was going to lift him, but she knew she had to try. But he was nowhere to be seen.

“What the hell?” Amara murmured into the silence. The wolf was gone. But how? How had he gone anywhere, all torn up like that? Dashing back into her house, she grabbed a flashlight. Maybe there was a trail she could follow. He couldn’t have gotten far.

Sure enough, there was a blood trail from where he had lain, leading into the woods that bordered her house. She searched for a few minutes, until finally her fear and caution got the best of her. She wasn’t going to find him tonight. And, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was terrified the other wolves would return.

“Sorry, buddy,” she whispered into the night. It was silly, and he probably couldn’t hear her…but just in case. “Thank you.” Turning on her heel, Amara made her way back, pausing at the door to glance out into the woods again. She just hoped that, wherever he was, he was safe.