Page 19 of Last But Not Leashed

The tiger’s roar thundered, and he didn’t sound too far behind me. Either he’d gotten hit and refused to stop chasing me or the vampire had gotten steamrolled. If the vampire had gotten smacked, I wouldn’t feel too bad about it.

He’d probably get back up without too much of a fuss. It’d just take a few blood donations and time.

Later, I could inquire about the vampire’s fate and apologize for running him out into traffic while he was hopped up on a bat-winged blight’s rage-inducing glitter. I’d even be nice and offer a donation, although I wouldn’t let him take it directly out of my veins.

I had a guilty conscience, not a death wish.

The tiger roared again, and I plowed across the rest of the highway and began my search for a suitable place for running an enraged tiger in circles until one of us collapsed or he caught me.

The distant howls of wolves offered some hope I wouldn’t have to handle the tiger alone—assuming the wolves were part of my pack. Those who spent more time with the pack could identify each other by their howls. I couldn’t.

If Jerome found out, he’d insist on some variant of cruel and unusual punishment to change that, likely in the form of a pack sleepover party.

Maybe letting the tiger catch me would be a mercy.

Where had I gone wrong with my life?

With no other choice, I ran and hoped for the best.

Without magic rage dust goading me, it came as no surprise when the tiger caught me by the tail, sank his claws into my rump, and slammed me to the ground.

Ouch.

I rolled, shifted to my hybrid form, and snagged the tiger’s chest, brought my feet into play, and tossed him off. Flipping onto my stomach, I rose to a crouch, showed off my long, sharp teeth, and barked a warning.

The tiger staggered to his paws, shaking his head.

Since everyone was convinced I packed a punch, I balled my hand and clobbered the tiger between the ears until he flopped on the ground with a groan. To make certain he stayed down, I sat on him. “Bad tiger.”

Someone clapped, and I growled, seeking the source of the sound.

The bat-winged blight flitted through the trees and hovered just out of my reach. “You run fast. You hit hard, too. No wonder you’re worth so much. Rumor on the wire says you have a good female, too.”

A nicer man would’ve given a little warning—or refrained from violence. I jumped, lashed out with my clawed hand, and smashed the bat-winged blight against the nearest tree. I’d start with the menace’s wings, plucking them out and grinding them to powder so he’d never bother anyone, especially me, ever again.

The little bastard dropped to the ground, and I pounced, pinning my prey between my paw. Ethel would either praise or kill me over what I was about to do, but I no longer cared.

By the time I was done, I’d be using the bastard as a toothpick. I flexed my free hand and eyed his wings. “I was hoping for my chance to do this, you glitter-winged menace.”

He screamed.

Chapter Six

The tiger stole my toy, and we fought over it, unleashing our nastiest snarls and roars. My toy no longer made noise, but it smelled like candy, and it shimmered whenever I smacked it against hard objects, including the tiger’s head.

Maybe if I hadn’t smacked the tiger with my toy, he wouldn’t have stolen it. I grabbed my toy out of his mouth and pulled. “Mine.”

The tiger refused to let go, and my toy snapped in half. “Damn it, you broke it.”

No longer intact, it wasn’t as much fun to play with, so I slapped the tiger with it before abandoning it. Spitting out the other half of my toy, he roared.

I shifted to my full wolf form, growled, and pounced, snapping my teeth at him without biting.

“What the hell is going on here?” a familiar, female, and infuriated voice demanded.

I scrambled away from the tiger and slapped my paws over my half of the toy so it wouldn’t be taken from me.

“Dale!”