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CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The explosion had wokenthe few human neighbors close to the market and feed store. The lights inside several houses came on. A few people came out to stand in their yards. Hypnotized by the flames coming from the market, they barely glanced at the skinny, black wolf that hadn’t bothered to hide as he ran past them.
Didn’t the San Francisco Alpha teach his pack anything?
After shifting to my wolf form, I stayed in the shadows, weaving in and out behind houses and between trees and shrubs. Pursuing the rogue was no problem. I’d run Beartooth Mountain all my life. I could easily keep this pace up for days.
There wasn't a need for that. The rogue would run himself out. Then, he’d die.
The distant sound of a fire engine siren filled the air. The flashing red lights lit the sky a few miles away. Unfortunately, much of the market would burn to the ground before the fire engine arrived.
As I ran, Seff’s calm energy slid through our bond. They must have found Gunner safe and alive.
Decker?
No. Don’t. There’s no saving him. Just focus on the rogue.
And I did. The disgusting odor coming off him made it easy—singed fur, burnt flesh, blood, the tangy smell of gasoline that had nothing to do with the type of fuel he’d used to set off the blaze. He smelled of desperation.
He never looked back, just kept running as if he knew exactly where he’d meant to go. Several miles later, we were out on a lonely two-lane road. White split-rail fencing lined the road on the right and barren winter-brown rolling hills on the left. Beyond the fencing, perfectly spaced rows of leafless, skeletal trees flashed past like an old-time movie reel. I’d caught sight of a few small native wolves keeping pace with us as they darted silently in and out of the tree trunks. I moved to the middle of the road, staying far enough behind to taunt the rogue. It was working. His steps had faltered several times, and his head swiveled from side to side.
Injured and worn out, the rogue stumbled and wheezed.
Time to end this.
Picking up my pace, I closed the distance between us.
I was less than ten feet behind him when massive black wrought-iron gates came into view, marking an end to the white fencing. I recognized these gates. My Uncle Kern and Aunt Elena had driven us past these many times when we visited. This was the entrance to Gunner’s ranch.
I glanced back at the barren trees and remembered it was a pecan orchard.
The rogue’s path changed abruptly as he swerved toward the opening.
I huffed out a laugh. The rogue was a fool if he thought he could lose me.
As I raced through the gates, bright headlights traveled over the rise behind me and lit up the road.
Seff.
Should I wait for him?
Just when the thought crossed my mind, the rogue slowed, then spun in a circle as if he were lost or...disoriented. When he stopped and faced me, his entire body shook as he bared his teeth—ready to fight.
No waiting.
No mercy.
Bolting forward, I took on my Breeder form. In one leap, I flew over him, twisted in flight, and sank my teeth through skin and muscle, deep into his spine an inch above his boney hips. He yelped as his vertebrae splintered. Blood filled my mouth, the taste...nasty and...wrong.
I rolled, taking his body with me and slamming him down on the ground, knocking the air from his lungs and smacking his skull on the hard-packed dirt. I bit down harder, crushing his spine in my jaws. Blood filled my mouth. The rogue whimpered, his front paws paddling in midair in a frenzied attempt to dislodge my fangs.
I wanted to let go. I didn't feel pity for him, but there was something wrong with him. His blood tasted contaminated.
Dear gods!
I released him and stepped back. The rogue’s entire body convulsed as if he were having a seizure. Poison.
