Hunter's Heart: Wolf Shifter Romance (Wild Lake Wolves Book 5) (2 page)

“You are in no condition to go back out there,” I
said, my wheels already turning hard. An easy hit. Dad had taken me on a few
over the last couple of years. He worked fast and clean. Nothing fancy. The
Harlan brothers may be douchebags, but they served a purpose. They, along with
my father, helped keep the werewolves over the state line where they belonged.
Dad took one or two contracts a year. More than enough to cover what the income
from the salvage yard didn’t. Except for now. Now, he was in real danger of
losing everything.

“Jessa,” my father said, drawing out his syllables.
He knew exactly what I was thinking. “No.”

“Yes,” I took the Nine from him and slammed the
magazine back in. “KOA off County Road 14. He got a tent pitched or a camper?”

“Jessa. It’s too dangerous.”

My grandmother sank down on the couch next to him
and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. I knew that look. A hint of a smile lit
her brown eyes. “Thomas,” she said. “She’s ready. You’ve trained her yourself.
It’s what your father and I raised you to do. Do I have to remind you what can
happen if a rogue wolf sets loose on this town?” She wasn’t obvious about it,
but her braid fell to the side, exposing the long, deep gashes from old scars
across her neck.

“That’s settled,” I said. “Show me your book.”

Dad grumbled, but he knew he was no match for Grammy
and me. He pointed toward the kitchen table, the strain of the effort creasing
his brow. I crossed the room in three long strides and picked up the thin file
folder he’d left there. Bracing myself with a hard inhale, I opened the flap.

Tiny hairs prickled along the base of my spine as I
stared into the face of my target. Derek Monroe. Such a normal sounding name
for a killer. His face stared back at me from a blown up color photograph. A
candid shot taken with a high-powered zoom lens.

Derek Monroe was handsome. Rakishly so, with a thick
mass of wavy brown hair parted on the side. His amber eyes stared straight
through me on the page, making my heart skip its rhythm. He leaned casually
against the side of a brick building, light coming into those piercing eyes,
making them glow almost. He wore a simple white t-shirt stretched taut over
hard muscles. Jeans with a shiny silver belt buckle and black motorcycle boots.
The man could have been a model in one of those whiskey ads rather than the
brutal killer I knew he was. That
all
werewolves were. And this wolf was
battle hardened. A cruel scar cut a jagged path through his left brow and along
his cheek. He took my breath away.

“This him?” I asked past a dry throat.

Dad nodded. “I’m not so sure about this, Jessa. We
talked about you taking your own contracts, but not until you finish college.”

“I know what I’m doing, Dad. I learned from the
best. If you think you’re capable of doing it in your condition, this should be
a walk in the park for me. Right?”

He gritted his teeth but gave me a slow nod. “But,
be careful. Don’t take chances. Don’t get anywhere close to him. Pick a
position upwind and wait for your shot. If you don’t get one, you come home.
The hell with the Harlans.”

I nodded. “Right. The hell with the Harlans. I’ve
got this though, Dad.”

I came back to his side and gave him a kiss on the
cheek.

“Be careful,” Grammy said as I stood in the doorway
of her trailer.

I gave them each a salute as I opened the door. Then
I walked through it toward the worst thing that happened to me that day.

Chapter Two

Banchory, Ohio. I’ve lived here all of my life. A
sleepy little town, population 1,243, nestled in a wooded valley along the
banks of the raging Ohio River. We’re two miles and a suspension bridge away
from Kentucky on the south side. No Man’s Land. Literally. Werewolves don’t
belong here. I’ve heard they have territory to the far north in Michigan and
Canada. But the ones down here, they’re supposed to stay on their side of the
damn bridge. It’s the law.

This guy, though, Derek Monroe. Just
being
in
Ohio made him a threat. There was no good reason for it other than to start
trouble. My father worked to stop that trouble and usually succeeded. Even
local law enforcement knew to call on Tinker Lyle when they found wolves
behaving badly.

I stepped into my trailer and suited up. Night gear
for this job. Black stretch pants, boots, a black turtleneck and grease paint.
I tied my long, straight, blonde hair back into a top knot and tucked it under
a black knit cap. One last touch, I sprayed scent killer all over my body and
put Dad’s nine in the shoulder holster he’d given me on my eighteenth birthday
two years ago.

I was ready. I said it in my head as much to convince
myself as anything. I
was
ready. Dad took me on hunts since the day I
turned twelve. Grammy insisted. She said every woman in this family would know
how to defend herself against werewolves if it was the last thing she ever did.
You see, long ago, Grammy hadn’t been so lucky. A pack of wolves hurt her very
badly in ways she still wouldn’t tell me about. Whatever it was, I saw the
echoes of it every time that haunted look clouded what otherwise would have
been a smile. I saw the edges of those scars around her collar. I’d never seen
the full extent of them, but knew they made her stiffen when she turned at the
waist sometimes. No pictures existed of her in a bathing suit when she was
younger. Some secrets she kept well hidden.

The KOA campground was just three miles away on the
opposite side of the overpass. I parked on the shoulder of the road about a
quarter mile away. At just past dusk, the camp was mostly quiet. Wednesday
night, most of the campers wouldn’t roll in until Friday. Still, on a warm June
night, I saw a few glowing campfires around Fish Gut Pond at the center of the
park. A local name that kind of stuck.

Shielding the light from my phone, I tapped it to
pull up the picture I’d taken of Dad’s file on Derek Monroe. He drove a black
Ford F-250, Michigan plates. It crossed my mind I had a customer looking for a
few parts. If things went well, I’d send one of the high school kids Dad
employed out here to do some recon later on the vehicle.

Derek Monroe’s rugged face stared back at me from my
phone screen. Hard. Handsome. Deadly. He was here somewhere. I stuffed my phone
back in my pocket and headed for the parking lot. Monroe’s truck was easy to
spot. It was the only one shiny and clean. Heart pounding, I took a chance and
looked inside. The thing looked new. No crumpled papers in the cup holders. No
coiled charging cables in the cigarette lighter.

I ducked down and scanned the tents. Dad said
Monroe’s was silver and blue, staked at the northernmost edge of the
campground. I saw it right away. No shadows or lights. Either Monroe was inside
sleeping, or he’d gone off to hunt.

My heart thundered in my chest as I cut a wide
perimeter, staying hidden behind the trees. I found the perfect place to hide
and wait. Pine trees lined the eastern edge of the pond. I wedged myself
between two of the fattest. The branches tickled my nose, but from this vantage
point, no one would see me unless they were looking. Maybe not even then if I
shielded my eyes.

I waited. No movement from the tent. After a while
it became clear Monroe wasn’t in it. Since I could still see his truck in the
lot, it meant he was out somewhere on foot. Probably hunting. I just prayed he
was out there looking for game instead of people. We hadn’t had a wolf attack
out here in over a year. Though the last one had been grizzly indeed. One of
the Kentucky wolves went on a rampage, stalking students at Banchory Community
College until my father put him down. Four people died. A tragedy. But it could
have been so much worse.

My blood began to boil thinking of all the things
Derek Monroe could be up to in the dead of night. What on earth was he doing
down here, so far away from his northern pack? There could simply be no good
reason for it. Either he’d been run off, or chose to leave. But wolves just
don’t live on their own unless they’re forced to.

I checked my watch. It was just past nine. Plenty of
time. Proof of death. That’s what the Harlan brothers needed. Until now, I
hadn’t quite thought through what that would mean. I had a sled in the car. I
could drag Monroe’s dead body out of here by myself if I had to. The only
problem would come if he didn’t shift back to his wolf the moment he died. Most
of them did, but with my luck, he’d be one who didn’t. That would be a hell of
a lot harder to explain to anyone passing by. If I had to, I could call Gunther
and have him meet me out here. Let him figure out what to do with Monroe. He
could hang his head for a trophy for all I cared.

Then what? The Harlans would know my father wasn’t
fit to do the job tonight. It would weaken him in their eyes. It wasn’t a
complete disaster. It just meant that after tonight, I’d have to plan on taking
a more active role in the bounty hunting side of the business. I was okay with
that. As long as it was no more than one job a year. Two would be enough to pay
the rest of my tuition. I went part time, trying to get a business degree. I
wanted to go full time, but so far, there had always been something to get in
the way. Grammy’s health. Slow business at the yard. Lack of funds. I could
take a loan, but that’s not how Lyles did things. We paid our way and that was
that.

Something moved in the trees about two hundred yards
out. I raised my binoculars to get a better look, but the light was too dim. I
should have brought Dad’s NVGs, but the things were clunky as hell and didn’t
work half the time. Another thing on Dad’s list to tinker with.

Then, I saw him.

His golden wolf eyes flashed like beacons, making my
heart stop. He looked my way but past me. He came slowly, loping with his tail
swinging from side to side. A casual gait. He panted with his tongue hanging
out to the side.

Derek Monroe’s wolf was beautiful. I can’t deny it.
Sleek, gray fur, powerful muscles that rippled through his back and haunches as
he took each step. He stayed close to the tree line and in the shadow of the
moon. What few campers there were could never see him this far out.

My heart fluttered as I struggled to take even
breaths. Slowly, I reached over and unsnapped my holster. There was time yet. I
could wait. He went to the edge of the pond and dipped his head low to lap up
the cool water. A twig snapped to the south. Monroe lifted his head and pricked
his ears, but then went back to drinking.

Wait. Not yet. The urge to take aim and shoot coursed
through me, making my head pound. But in wolf form, there were too many ways I
could miss. Though he was big, actually the biggest wolf I’d ever seen, he
would still make a better target after he shifted. Softer skin. Softer skull.
Less room for error.

I tucked myself as far back among the pine branches
as I dared. Their sickly sweet aroma made me almost lightheaded. Then, Derek’s
wolf turned back toward the tent. He took one step. Two. Then he stretched
himself long, digging his front paws into the ground while he raised his tail
high.

I heard it. Bones breaking then reknitting. Flesh
swelled beneath his silvery fur. I froze, in awe of the power of his shift. I’d
never seen one this close before. The air around me seemed charged with
electricity and magic. But, this was no magic. This was brutal, deadly force.
The creature before me would kill if I didn’t act first. I could never forget
that. His paws stretched, grew long, then strong, beautiful hands with corded
veins clawed into the ground, bracing as the rest of his body was reborn.

He rose. One leg with powerful thigh muscles, bent
at the knee. He took a step, stretching his spine and filling his human lungs
with cool, crisp air.

Derek Monroe in a photograph was one thing. In
person, he was breathtaking. Gorgeous. Magnetic. I found myself wanting to hear
him talk. His voice would be deep, sending vibrations of pleasure through me. I
just knew it.

I closed my eyes. Something came over me. It was the
magic of the shift. It held some thrall over me, but the instant I couldn’t see
him, I came back into myself again and remembered why I was here.

My fingers closed around the trigger of my weapon
and I squared my shoulders. He didn’t see me. His eyes narrowed as the wind
shifted. He was naked. Potent. His broad chest glistened with the sweat of
exertion. His manhood swung heavy and I couldn’t help staring. Such a beautiful
creature. But lethal. And his presence here threatened all of us.

I took aim. One shot. Straight through the heart. He
wouldn’t die instantly. His wolf strength would keep his heart beating at least
at first. But my toxin-laced bullet would paralyze him, retarding the natural
healing his body would struggle to do. One more shot would finish him. Head. Or
heart. My choice. My job. My life.

I let my breath out and steadied my hands. At the
last second, our eyes met, and Derek Monroe understood. His wolf eyes flashed gold,
but it was already too late. I squeezed the trigger. Just a quick pulse from
the silencer and I hit my mark. Strong though he was, even wolves can’t outrun
bullets.

I walked out from my sniper’s nest in the trees.
Derek’s step faltered, but he didn’t go down. A great wound opened above his
left pectoral muscle. Shit. I pulled too hard to the right and missed his heart
by a good four inches. His howl of pain cut through the air. I felt it in my
soul as well as heard it with my ears. It nearly brought me to my knees.

Even without a heart shot he should have gone down.
He should have crumpled as the toxin short-circuited the electrical impulses
from his brain to his muscles.

He didn’t go down.

Instead, our eyes locked. His filled with wild rage.
Human still, his wolf flared to life behind his eyes and looked at me with
deadly intent.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. He shouldn’t
have been standing. He shouldn’t have been able to move. But, he did.

Werewolves are fast, you see. Not faster than
bullets. But faster than a trigger finger. When I raised the gun a second time
it was already too late. Derek Monroe came at me with lethal speed. Before I
got a shot off, that final, worst thing happened. His fingers closed around my throat
and everything went black.