Hunt Me! (I Crave The Chase) - Page 187

“It’s okay,” the wolf—who I could only assume was Butters, Mutt’s older brother—said. He held his big hands out placatingly, his eyes soft and warm and full of understanding. “It’s okay.”

“It’s fucking not,” my voice snapped. “You have to get out of here.”

“Come with me—” Butters reached for me, and I didn’t push him off. I couldn’t. Because visions of injured Mutt assaulted my senses again and I tipped over the side of the bannister to throw up again.

His big warm palm rubbed my back, a soothing rumble buzzing through the air. This time when I glanced up, his ears were flattened back, worried.

“Why are you—” I tried to catch my breath, spitting over the side of the bannister, before grabbing the hem of my shirt and wiping my mouth. I could hardly breathe. My knees were weak, and black spots swam around me. “Why are you here?—”

I didn’t want to know.

I didn’t want to know.

Because I got the feeling I already did.

“I’m looking for Mutt.”

“No.” My voice broke. I fell to my knees on the wood, heart skittering. “No.”

“Theo’s around back—we split with Jules and Harry.”

“Fuck.” I couldn’t breathe. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m—”

“Jeffrey?” The front door pushed open. And within two fucking seconds—we were fucked. Completely fucking fucked. Like a total idiot, Butters transformed, his wolfskin bursting free, his clothing tearing and falling in tatters to the floor as he jerked in front of me. Yellow fur decorated his body, his tail tucked between his legs, his ears flat. He snarled, and Nieve stumbled back inside, a wicked grin on his face.

“Fuck.” He’d just bought us a minute while they gathered silver bullets—but that wasn’t enough. Wasn’t fucking enough. “Go, go, go, go.” There wasn’t time for my panic. So I shoved it aside, knees weak and wobbly as I forced myself up, grabbed a fistful of Butters’s fur and yanked him toward the steps.

He made a confused sound. Probably because he was the stupidest person alive—and had no idea what he’d just done.

Werewolves were protected as a whole.

The only exception to that was feral alphas—aaaaand those who had actively attacked a human. And Butters had done just that.

This was open season.

At a fucking hunting cabin.

“Go, go, go, go—” I jerked him down the steps, and he followed, huge hairy body brushing against my belly as we stumbled. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

I should’ve brought my gun inside.

Should’ve brought it with me?—

What had I been thinking? The car beeped as I unlocked it, jerking Butters behind the bumper as I yanked the hatchback’s trunk open and scrambled inside for something—anything.

There was no time to run.

No choice.

I grabbed the gun I’d placed there, checked the barrel was full, and shushed Butters’s whining.

The front door to the lodge opened. A quiet creak. They couldn’t see us behind the car, but that would only last for so long. All they had to do was walk across the porch and?—

I only had a second to get this right.