Page 58 of Dark

Pebbles scattered underfoot as I scrambled under a line of barbed wire fencing. A gust slammed into me, the wind shifting. A savage growl broke through the night hum of cicadas, followed by a quick, sharp whine. Throwing on a burst of speed, I exploded through the trees.

Shadowed forms writhed in a twisting knot of teeth and fur. The huge brindle male we'd chased out by the highway flashed fangs, eyes wild. West took him to the ground, snapping at his throat. Writhing, the Feral bowled him over. I thundered up a short granite rise, nearly there. Hayden rushed in, fangs bared.

The larger wolf seized Hayden in iron jaws, flinging her across the clearing. Snarling, I slammed into the side of his head. He yelped. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc. I came away with half an ear in my teeth. Seizing the opening, West lunged, managing to score the Feral’s neck with his front claws. The larger wolf whipped around, driving him back with swift, sharp bites.

I snarled. Teeth bared, Hayden moved in, getting within inches of the brindle wolf’s ankles before he chased her back with a warning snap. She barked, violet eyes glowing in the dark.

Guess we forgot to go over the 4-1-1 on that one. Wolves didn’t normally bark past the puppy stage. Or maybe she just didn’t care. It was almost cute. Not that I had time to think about that now. I sent an image of those fat chocolate muffins she loved, a whole line of them forming a gingerbread trail back to Brody and the others where it was safe. And then another mental picture of her tucked in my bed chewing on the remote while Game of Thrones played in the background.

Snarling, Hayden bared her teeth my way, meaning clear. Quit distracting me.

Slowly, inexorably, the three of us took up position around the Feral. The edge of Bluff Point loomed, forming a natural cut off point, its impossible drop guaranteed to kill or maim anyone stupid enough to risk the jump, just as it had when West, Dally and I had tried it all those years ago.

The brindle wolf cowered down in the grass. Right. Like flattening himself on his belly like the world’s ugliest carpet sample would really make us forget he’d just tried to roast Hayden into shish kebabs. A growl rumbled in my throat.

Whining, the feral wolf bolted for the edge.

In a flash, West shifted. “Wait, no!”

The wolf staggered to a stop, ears pinned back. Keeping my eyes on the Feral, I circled around to Hayden, who was hunched and shaking, trying to shift back. I pressed my mouth to my wrist, opening the bond, and with a sharp crack, the small black wolf disappeared.

“E-Ethan.” Her teeth chattered.

I swept her up in my arms, brushing her hair off her shoulders. Teeth marks scored the back of her neck. Marks that weren’t mine. Marks he’d forced on her. I bared my teeth, vision swimming with rage.

“I’m okay.”

“He took you.”

“As if. I went after him.” She pushed against my chest until I let her down.

“Went after him?” Because of course she had. This was Daisy. She drove a Volvo held together with duct tape because Smurf-blue death-traps were her spirit animal. Her breakfast consisted of Mexican Cokes and chocolate muffins. Let me check in with Ethan before going all Slayer on some guy was so not in her vocabulary.

“Not that this isn’t highly entertaining,” my brother said dryly. “But look.”

As one, we turned to stare at the man crouched at his feet.

His faded jeans hung off him in rags, a t-shirt from Chuy’s down in Austin so ripped and crusted in dirt it was barely recognizable. Bite marks and scratches marred two sleeves of badly mangled tats. All self-inflicted. Pretty common among Ferals. A lot of them turned to coping behaviors when there wasn’t anything else around to bite. Long greasy hanks of dark hair looked as if they hadn’t been cut or washed in months, the ends tipped with blue. Best guess put his change nine months back, maybe longer. Dude looked barely older than we were. If he hadn’t been trying to kill Hayden, I could almost have pitied him.

Almost.

“Look at his ankles and wrists.”

Hayden sucked in a breath. “Is that from—?”

“Silver.”

West nodded. “Someone’s been holding him prisoner. Question is, who?”

She caught my arm, frowning when her fingers closed over my wrist. And for one terrible moment before her eyes slid up to mine, they flicked to the Feral. And I wondered if she was picturing me lying there. A wasted sack of bones. Scarred beyond recognition. Beyond saving.

But we weren’t doing this. Not here. Not now.

West jerked his chin. “Hey, man—”

The Feral bared his teeth. “Stay the hell away from me, freak.”

So much for playing nice.