Carrigan would find her and would drag her back to his pack.
She pulled herself together, shunning the part of her that wanted to give up, and sat up again. The wire was slick with her blood as she bit at it, getting her fang into the loop again, twisting her body at an awkward angle in order to make another attempt at loosening it.
Only she locked up tight as she heard a noise in the distance.
Her ears twitched, flicking back and forth, her senses reaching out in all directions as her heart laboured and fear mounted inside her. Was it Carrigan? One of his men?
The warm night breeze swirled around her, carrying the scent of pine needles and damp dirt.
And male.
But the rich, earthy scent wasn’t one she recognised.
Callie looked at the wire looped around her right leg, dread pooling in her stomach. Was it the hunter come to claim his prize?
Panic seized her, fear that she was going to end up stuffed and mounted on display, or worse, her skin spread out as a rug before a fire, flooding her. She bolted into action on instinct, yelped as the wire pulled taut and cut into her flesh, reminding her she couldn’t escape. Her instincts went haywire as fear rolled through her, bringing her primal ones to the fore. In her current form, it meant her wolf ones. The instinct to survive had her wrestling against the wire and no matter how hard she tried to shut it down, she couldn’t calm herself enough to convince herself to stop trying to escape something that was inescapable.
The scent grew stronger, filling her lungs as she heard soft footsteps approaching her, and a strange calm came over her, eased her fear enough that she could think straight and wrest back control from her primal instincts. She didn’t question it, just attacked the wire again, biting at it and shaking her head, loosening it.
And it was loosening.
Callie could almost taste her freedom.
A pair of heavy black boots stepped into view.
She locked up tight, fear drumming through her veins, her heart thundering as she slowly lifted her gaze.
Taking in the mountain of a male who was striding towards her with grim purpose.
Not a wolf.
Not a hunter either.
This towering brute who looked as if he was darkness made flesh in a black fleece that stretched tight over an impossibly broad chest and jeans that hugged legs like tree trunks, with his dark hair cut close to his scalp to reveal a deep scar that darted from his left temple to the crown of his head was something else.
And the look in his cold, emotionless pale blue eyes said he wanted to kill her.
Chapter 2
Rune seethed as he trekked through the darkness, swiftly navigating the dense forest that covered the sloping sides of the valleys. He didn’t slow as he reached a practically sheer wall of dirt, kicked off and scaled it, his heightened vision allowing him to easily pick out roots and trees that clung to the steep cliff.
When he reached the top, he paused and tilted his head back, sniffed the air to catch the scent of the one who had dared to set foot in his pride’s territory.
A wolf.
He growled through his fangs, blood on fire with a need to find the one who had howled, revealing their position close to Black Ridge. Anger churned his gut, had dark fur sweeping over his hands as he fought the urge to shift, as he battled the fierce hunger to fight.
A damned wolf.
His feet squelched in his wet boots as he stomped forwards, a bear on the warpath, determined to find the shifter and deal with them. His mood soured further as the damp lower half of his black jeans chilled and clung to his legs, irritating him with every step he took. He blamed the wolf for that too. He hadn’t had time to remove his boots or roll up his jeans in order to cut through the creek that flowed through the heart of the clearing his pride called home.
A clearing that stood at the centre of their territory.
A territory this wolf shouldn’t have set foot in.
When he found the one who had strayed into his territory, they were as good as dead.
None of their kind set foot on Black Ridge land and lived to tell the tale. He made sure of that.
Some dim, distant part of him screamed at him in a muffled voice that sounded as if it was far away or heard through layers of glass, telling him that he couldn’t kill this wolf and he needed to rein in his dark desires.
His thoughts trod grim paths and he struggled to shift them to lighter ones as he stormed onwards, tracking the faint scent of fear and fur, his senses stretching around him, sharp enough that he could detect the heartbeats of even the smallest creatures in the forest. Those senses had been honed over the decades he had been a captive, locked onto anything that moved, just in case it meant to attack him. He had trained himself well, had taken great pains to make himself as sharp as a blade and as swift as the wind.
Had done whatever it had taken to survive.
He had never been a killer.
But gods, they had made him one.
Rune flexed his fingers and clenched his fists, paused to scent the air again as he picked up on a distant heartbeat.
The wolf?
Rather than launching in the direction he could feel the wretched beast waiting, he took a moment, drawing down great gulps of air to calm himself and steady his racing heart. There were no good wolves. In his opinion, none of them were to be trusted, all of them lacked a moral compass, and they were all out for themselves.
Saint believed differently though.
His alpha wanted the wolves who ventured too close or into Black Ridge territory to be driven out of it rather than slain. Saint had laid down that law after Rune had killed a wolf that had strayed onto the pride’s property. In the years since then, Rune had managed to rein in his dark urges and had obeyed Saint and hadn’t killed any more wolves.
But there had been a few close calls.
Sometimes, his past rolled up on him, stole control and made him react, that instinct to survive kicking in. It was him or them, and he always picked him.
He had a gut feeling that tonight was going to be one of those nights where he found it hard to resist killing. That darker part of himself was still snarling and growling, wanted him to deal with this wolf by spilling blood, and it was hard to rein it in and bring the quieter voice into focus, listening to it instead.
He had heard the howl when he had been at a celebration, surrounded by his pride and their latest addition. Knox and Skye were freshly mated, and the thought of a wolf being near her or any of the females that had recently joined their family had his mood running dark.
Dangerous.
The need to ensure Skye and Cameo, and even the little cougar female, Holly, were safe was strong, had overpowered him at times as he tracked the wolf, filling his mind with pleasing images of their broken carcass at his feet and their blood on his hands.
That same protective streak had seen him running along the creek for a good distance of his trek, using the water to cover his tracks and his scent, ensuring Maverick couldn’t follow him. His friend meant well, only wanted to protect him too and make sure he was all right and handled things without losing his head, but Rune couldn’t let him near the wolf.
The need to protect Maverick wasn’t the only reason Rune had done everything in his power to lose him though. Deep in his heart he knew that Maverick would try to stop him from killing the wolf and Rune couldn’t allow that.
Not this time.
If he killed the wolf, they couldn’t hurt the females.