Hunt Me! (I Crave The Chase) - Page 192

Maybe I really was a self-sacrificing, wolf-faced asshole.

Every so often I’d hear Harry mutter something about me being “an idiot,” but I ignored him for the most part. Though my wolf ached to be with them, outside the cage, curled up like pack one last time. There were bars between us though and that felt fitting. In a way I was grateful too—because the pull of the moon was stronger than ever with my emotions so heightened, and I was dangerous.

It was why I’d called the hunters in the first place.

My skin itched. It itched and itched and itched.

That was, of course, when things got worse.

Way worse.

Because a hunter came into the room—and before I could see him, I could smell his fury-anger-frustration. He stormed across the hangar toward a large black vehicle. Harry opened his mouth—probably to try to out me as a liar to the man, but there was no time. Because just as soon as the first hunter entered, a handful of others did as well.

They smelled panicked.

Panicked.

And none of them looked at me.

So I knew it wasn’t my fault.

What could be more troubling than a feral alpha?

I swiveled toward them, listening intently as they spoke.

“Four of ours are down,” the man spoke almost frantically. “Fucking idiots didn’t have backup.”

“What happened?”

“Jeffrey Evans. That’s what happened.”

I jerked, slamming into the bars, my head spinning. Jeffrey Evans. Jeffrey Evans. That was—that was Jeffrey’s other name wasn’t it? The one he’d told me about? Why was he out on his own? What had he done?

Fuck.

This was why he needed me with him at all times.

I should be with him.

I should be protecting him.

I promised.

“Two rogue wolves loose,” the guy added. “Better load up on silver bullets.”

“Jeffrey Evans?” the guy echoed, jerking the front door to the vehicle open. He slid in, and the others began piling into the back. “Are we sanctioned to shoot to kill the kid?”

“No need,” the first guy said.

My ears were ringing.

“No need?” guy two asked, confused as the door slid shut with finality.

“He’s already dead. Nieve called it in right before he bit the bullet.”

He’s already dead. He’s already dead. He’s already dead. He’s already dead.

He’s already dead. He’s already dead. He’s already dead. He’s already dead.