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Well, a bear trap on each of their legs was a good method of teaching such things. Right?
“Quick, boys. We’ve got it!” shouted one of the hunters, his face etched with excited rapture. Without paying her any more attention, they chased after it, cocking their rifles and shouting in glee.
As they disappeared, Lacey’s feet automatically raced after them. She needed to know whether the animal the trap had snared was natural or shifter. Mind you, it would just be her luck to come all this way, trek for hours through woods she didn’t know, only to find it being a normal wolf.
Racing through the trees, a branch swung at her head, narrowly missing her eyes. The guys may look out of shape, but they could run faster than what they appeared. Lacey mentally noted that when she got back, she needed to invest in a better cardio routine. A physically slow PI wouldn’t solve cases.
Lungs burning, she skidded to a halt a few minutes later, just a few feet behind the men, nausea threatening to burn her throat.
A beautiful wolf lay on the ground twenty feet from where Lacey stood. Blood soaked its white fur a grisly crimson colour, pooling onto the forest floor as if it were a libation. Its startling amber eyes blazed with agony, its muzzle pulled back in pain, showing glistening white teeth.
Horror flowed through Lacey’s veins as her eyes travelled down and the cause for all the blood materialised.
A bear trap encased one of its rear paws in a vice-like grip, the metal poking through the tops of its flesh.
All around her, the hunters hollered and jeered, their glee evident. They’d managed to snare the beast. For them, it was a cause of celebrating.
But Lacey couldn’t join in with them. This wasn’t hunting. This was just torture, pure and simple.
She couldn’t stand hunting, but growing up where she had, it had been part of daily life. Hell, even her own father would go out into the woods and bring back venison that feed the family for a month. But his kills, like everyone else’s in towns, were clean, and straight to the heart, designed not to cause any lingering pain to the creature. Hunting was a means of survival, perhaps a little sport, but you did it with care, with consideration.
There was no care, no consideration in what her eyes were taking in right then.
Especially since she could tell that this was no ordinary wolf.
She’d found a werewolf. Whether it was Mace or Kari, she couldn’t be certain. Shifters lived throughout the country, from the big cities to mountain towns, and even the swamps of the Everglades. It could’ve been anyone. But those large amber eyes, that larger than normal size, and the faintest trickle of energy floating on the wind from around the creature, marked it for what it was.
She’d known werewolves in Nathan’s pack, or Sam’s pack considering he was their alpha after his brother died years before, who’d chosen to remain in wolf form for their entire lives. According to Nathan, changing back to human took a lot of persuasion after a significant amount of time. It was easier in many respects to stay as a wolf. After a year or two, some found they couldn’t. Whatever magic forced them to shift forms once left them, and they had no choice but to stay on all fours for the rest of their lives. Lacey couldn’t deny she’d wished to experience the change, but there was no way in hell she’d want to be a wolf forever. She’d miss cheesy fries too much for that.
But maybe Mace and Kari had done the same. It might have explained why finding them had been so difficult. Being in wolf form gave them plenty of advantages: they could move whenever they like and not have to worry about things like transport; they could hunt for food, saving money on groceries; and there were always plenty of places to hide in when the rain and snows came.
But that wouldn’t help with whatever they’d stolen from Sam.
What could be so important that the alpha of the Bluestone Claws would seek help from a human PI to get back?
The pain-laced whimpers of the creature in front of her forced her out of her reverie.
“Kel, shoot it,” someone ordered.
Lacey’s head whipped up at lightning speed, panic tearing at her soul. Her feet tore over the ground at the nearest hunter. Pulling back her fist, she let it rip towards his face. Pain blossomed throughout her knuckles as they collided with his cheekbone, racing down her bones to her wrist as blood spurted out her flesh.
Fuck, that’s going to leave a bruise in the morning.
Grunts echoed through the air as a hand yanked her backwards, sending her sprawling on the floor, twigs biting her backside as she skidded to a stop only a few feet away from the still wolf.
The guy with the baseball hat towered over her, anger flashing within his icy eyes. “Do that again, you stupid bitch, and I’ll shoot you myself.”
Lacey opened her mouth, ready to scream and throw herself back at them to stop when she caught sight of a figure standing only a few feet behind the white wolf, the tremble in its limbs evident as blood continued to ooze out around the spikes in the trap.
Him, she whispered to herself.
Mr Gorgeous.
Brandishing his own rifle in their direction.
Wearing the same clothes from earlier, shadows danced dangerously across his face, painting his features in menace and rage as he glared at the group. “Get the fuck away from the wolf,” he growled, his tone matching his face.
Curses blistered the air, along with the sound of guns clicking. Lacey had never been fond of guns. Knives, swords, knuckledusters, she’d take them all, but guns? No thanks.
