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Ryder jerks to a halt and whips his head around behind us.
“What is it?” I ask, my heart immediately exploding in my chest.
His brow is furrowed, and he tilts his head back and sniffs the air like a bloodhound. “Shit,” he groans, at the same time that I hear something crashing through the brush toward us. “I was really hoping I was wrong.”
“Wrong? About what?” I ask breathily.
“About the things that broke into your house,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “And have now tracked us here.”
Terror spikes through my chest.
“Hell hounds,” he finishes. He grabs my hand. “Run!”
