Sadie Hart (27 page)

“I’m here,” she called out again, fisting her
hands at her sides. Her palm brushed the butt of her gun when a
voice finally answered her.

“Bosley?”

“In the car, windows cracked. I’ll trade him
for Caine and the Carsons.”

A sharp laugh sounded, broken and brittle.
“No. I don’t think so. Put your weapon on the ground, and your
backup piece as well. Leave them by your car.”

Her body jerked at the sound of the Hunter’s
voice. Dean Winters. The knowledge of his name gave her power, made
her stare into the shadows stretched between the trees, searching.
He laughed, a dark, rusty sound that grated along the nighttime
quiet spilled out of the air. “Now, Holly.”

A low grunt sounded from the forest line,
followed by a pained hiss, and Ollie recognized the man behind it.
Caine. “Okay,” she called out, taking a step back towards her car.
With one hand lifted to show she meant him no harm, she used the
other to slip her gun from the holster and slowly lowered it to the
ground.

Her tongue made a wet line over her lips.
Facing this man unarmed wasn’t her smartest idea, but she couldn’t
let him hurt Caine. No more than he already had. You know him, a
small, niggling voice in the back of her head reminded her. She
lifted her pant leg and withdrew her backup weapon, leaving them
both in the moon-touched grass by her feet.

Both hands raised, she stepped closer to the
forest, toward the sound of Caine’s ragged breathing. There was a
scuffle from the forest line and she saw a shadow move, and a
second shadow struggle before yelping in pain.

“Follow.” That one word held all the weight
of a command, one she didn’t dare disobey.

“Okay. Just don’t hurt him. And what about
Bosley, you don’t want to leave him in the car.” Ollie headed
towards the scuffle, using her nose to track the two men’s scent as
the Hunter dragged Caine deeper into the forest.

“It’s cool out. He’s fine.” Caine grunted
again and her heart squeezed. Please don’t hurt him. She picked up
speed, hoping to close the distance between them, when Dean
laughed. A thick, throaty sound.

“Not too fast,” he called out. “I’ll shoot
him.”

“And then what?”

“I shoot you and go back to my regularly
scheduled entertainment.”

Ollie swallowed back the familiar lump of
fear in her throat. He still had other hostages, still had a woman
and child they needed to save. Even if she were willing to risk
Caine’s life to try... She slowed her pace, careful to keep her
distance. “You can’t get away with this, Dean.”

A growl snaked out of the darkness, low and
menacing, and Ollie jerked to a halt. Caine grunted from somewhere
in the darkness, and her eyes strained to see what was happening. A
faint glow of light appeared in the forest, breaking through the
shadows, and Ollie took a cautious step towards it. Then another.
She recognized the area now, the old, broken down forts she and
Brandt had played in long ago.

The same place Caine had taken her for their
first date.

Her heart squeezed. So. The Hunter had been
there that night, too.

“You have a choice,” Dean whispered as she
stepped into the light. “Cooperate and you can save everyone but
yourself.”

His wolf-bright eyes met hers, and Ollie
recognized the thrill in them, the excitement of a hunt running
wild in his blood. He was ready, eager. “Run,” he whispered and her
heart picked up speed.

Ollie shook her head. “No.”

He needed her to run, needed to chase her.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction now, not after everything.
Her gaze skimmed down to Caine and fresh panic pricked at her
heart. The black barrel of the gun pressed into Caine’s temple,
hard enough she could see him flinch as Caine held her gaze. He
shook his head, just the barest inch, but she knew what he wanted.
Don’t, his eyes screamed at her.

The Hunter slid his finger down over the
trigger. “Run.”

The scent of rot filled the air, burned at
her nose. Blood stained the front of Caine’s shirt, leaving a
coppery tang in the air, one that melded with the metallic scent on
her tongue. She could smell the silver working its way through his
body, eating through his veins. Exhaustion had left dark circles
under his eyes.

“Don’t,” Caine whispered, pleading. He knew
as well as she did what running meant, and in the end the Hunter
could still choose to kill them all anyway. Giving him the hunt he
craved, it might not make one damn bit of difference.

But he’d already killed so many, broken into
her home, made it personal...

“Run or I’ll kill him and go on with my
original plans for the evening. I still have a hunt waiting.” Dean
Winters looked up, excitement burning in his eyes. “You two are
nothing to me. Run or don’t. Die or don’t. I’ll have fun either
way.”

“This kill won’t mean anything.”

The gun pressed harder into Caine’s temple,
drawing a pained hiss out of him. The Hunter cocked his head then
pulled the gun back, just enough to angle it down Caine’s back.
“What if I just hurt him more? Let him bleed out.”

“He needs me to run. You know this,
Ollie.”

“Holly,” Dean chided, his voice thick with a
laugh. Mocking. “I don’t want him to run at all. I want you to run.
He’s just the bait. Disposable.”

The gun cracked, a sharp burst of sound that
made her cry out, step closer, but the gun was already pressed back
against Caine’s head. Caine’s breathing had turned ragged, low,
shallow gasps as he tried to breathe through the pain. A fresh line
of blood trickled down his shoulder. Dean glanced up at her, solely
the Hunter. Any part of the man that had been good, that had been
able to waltz his dog into hospitals and act friendly, was all gone
now.

Evil stared back out at her as his lips
curled into a feral smile. “Again?”

“No,” she whispered, her eyes on Caine.

His lips were pale, too pale. Heart twisting,
she took a step back. “You kill him and I won’t run. I will sit on
the ground out there and make you shoot me without ever moving a
goddamn muscle.”

Dean curled his lips back and she took
another step away. Her gaze darting to Caine’s, his eyes nearly
lost to shadow. Heart pounding, she knew what she had to do, but
she couldn’t run blindly. Couldn’t let fear get a choke hold on
her. He’d come after her, his wolf half fast enough to give her a
good chase. But Ollie knew him. When he caught her, he wouldn’t
fight fair.

“But if you want a chase,” she whispered,
“come and get me.”

She lurched backwards a step just as Caine
launched upwards, ramming his shoulder in the Hunter’s midsection.
The gun fired, a sharp crack of sound in the night, and Ollie
lunged for the two of them. She caught the barrel of the gun,
grabbed for his wrist, but Dean had already let go. He slipped into
the lean, black form of his wolf and disappeared.

“Go,” Caine said and she didn’t hesitate.
Slipping the gun into her holster, Ollie tugged her dog half out
and charged after him.

For the first time, they had a shot at
catching him. The long, lean form of her Irish wolfhound tore
through the forest, digging into the ground with every stride as
she raced after the fresh scent of wolf. He was veering back for
her house and the guns. Panic poured speed into her muscles,
desperation goading her to impossible speeds.

A growl rumbled out of her, dark and furious,
and she broke through the treeline with the flash of his black tail
still in sight. He skidded to a halt in front of the cars, turned,
and she was there, plowing into him. Her jaws snapped out, teeth
catching in the thick muscle of his shoulder, and Dean tore free,
bolting back towards the woods. His eyes flashed white with
panic.

The Hunter had become the hunted.

Chapter Twenty-One

Caine
watched her go, breath ragged as he lay there slumped in a pile of
leaves, dirt smudged over his face. Dizzy from both the blood loss
and the pain, he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and go
to sleep. No. He shook his head, jerking himself awake. Ollie might
have been armed, but that didn’t mean a damned thing. The Hunter
hadn’t killed for this long, not so many shifters, without being
good at it.

He’d know these woods, every bit as well as
she would.

And he’d already have a plan. The only
difference now was he wouldn’t be the one doing the chasing for
long, if he knew his Ollie. Caine forced a slow breath out between
his teeth, focusing through the pain. He needed to get loose, get
his feet under him.

His head swam as he wriggled, trying to test
the knot. Fuck, but he wasn’t sure he could do this. The world felt
foggy. Memories blurred with the pain. Couldn’t even remember how
many times he’d been shot. With a grunt, Caine twisted, rope
scraping over his wrists, but it lacked the telltale burn of
silver.

Not that the Hunter had needed a silver rope
to keep him down. He’d lost too much blood, had too much silver in
his system already. There was no way he’d be able to shift, not
now. He’d be lucky if he lasted the night. Less, if he kept
wiggling about like a damned fish. Caine changed position, using
his hips to scoot him across the ground. The sharp bark of a tree
scraped over his knuckles and relief flooded him.

Something he could use.

The bark was rough against his arm as he
rubbed the rope against it. Muscles straining, he worked his hands
back and forth until his vision blurred and he hovered the edge of
darkness. Just breaths away from blacking out. “Easy,” Caine
murmured, trying to keep himself calm, to beat back the desperation
clawing to get out.

Ollie was out there alone, facing a monster.
She needed someone at her back. Someone, even if it wasn’t him. At
least let me get to a phone. Brandt would know what to do. Her
pack, her partner, Sawyer.

Once the dizziness had subsided, Caine
started again, raking his hands back and forth, waiting for the
rope to catch on something, to break. To give him the one chance he
needed.

***

A thrill slid down her spine, settling her
into a smooth, effortless run. This, some ancient part of her brain
whispered, was what her dog-half had been bred for. The hunt. The
chase. A wolf’s heady scent filling her nose as she bore down on
him, inching closer stride by stride. As fast as he was, Ollie was
faster. Her long body swooped over the ground, and she worked even
harder to close the distance between them.

He darted into a thick scrub of bushes, the
forest undergrowth harder to wiggle through, but Ollie managed,
letting the thorns scrape through her coat. The moon’s soft rays
hung like ghosts amongst the branches, faint. The canine’s added
night vision allowed her to see Dean’s dark silhouette vanishing
into a thick copse ahead, and Ollie charged after him.

Her paw hit the ground before her nose swiped
through the branches, a sudden chill raising the fur down her back
as her hackles lifted and a growl rumbled low in her throat. She
recognized the danger a moment too late. Wrenching her weight back
onto her haunches, she threw herself back, trying to get clear. The
Hunter slashed out with teeth, crunching down on the ruff of fur
around her neck. She yelped, twisting to break free.

Together they spun, wrestling in the dense
vines and weeds surrounding the forest floor, filling in the
distance between the trees. It was hard to maneuver, her long legs
stumbling over odd branches. Dean circled her, bone-white teeth
bared in the moonlight. He snapped at air, the movement so quick
she reacted without thinking, jerking backwards. A hind paw slipped
on a rock and her back legs collapsed under her.

The split second was all he needed.

He lunged, all teeth in the middle of a
night-black face, gold eyes on hers. Her head twisted, to meet
teeth with teeth. Her jaw skidded along his, only to feel the sharp
nick of pain as her lip sliced open. His body slammed into her,
sending her crashing to the ground. They writhed and struggled
together. The Hunter searching for a kill bite, Ollie trying to get
her feet under her. She rolled, belly up, and he lunged for her
throat.

Now.

She shifted, the sudden change in bodies
throwing off his aim. Her hand moved for her gun automatically,
slipping the holster lock down, and she was wrenching it loose when
Dean shifted back. He slammed his hand down over hers, pressing the
gun back into the holster and using his weight to keep it
there.

Ollie twisted, scissoring her legs around his
waist as she tried to roll them both. He was bigger, stronger.
Without the advantage of surprise, he could win in close quarters.
Dean twisted and his elbow rammed into her throat, pressing down.
Ollie fought against the weight, thrashing, trying to breathe.

Fear catapulted through her, and she turned
wild, bucking and squirming, desperate. Dean grinned, suddenly
predatory. His eyes told her he’d won, that she was going to die
just like everyone else. Defeat clawed at her throat as her lungs
burned, aching for air. He leaned in harder, and all Ollie could
see were the victims. Rosalie’s desperate gaze before she’d fled
the shack. The dead bodies left carelessly in the woods, discovered
sometimes weeks later.

Claire Rawson’s laughing smile.

The desperate guilt that had woven her and
Caine together, the desire to save a woman they’d both known was
going to die. Her mouth worked, trying to drag air into her lungs,
but she couldn’t. She was going to die, just like the rest. Ollie
looked him in the eyes, and for the first time, saw the joy. The
all-consuming triumph as he stared down at her.

Was this the face all those victims had seen
right before he’d snuffed out their lives? Would it be the last one
she saw? Ollie squeezed her eyes shut. No. Instead she pictured
Caine, Nana, Brandt, Star...the litany went on and on. And every
single one that flashed through her mind galvanized her. They’d
never let her give up. Never let her let him win.