Rebecca York (36 page)

The wolf could feel his heart pounding, his adrenaline pumping as his body tensed to strike. Once the thought of attacking entered his mind, the savage need to hunt gathered inside himself.

He was in back of the guard, and the man was focused on his victim, sure that a lone woman in the woods wasn't going to get the drop on him.

He pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Hands behind you," he ordered.

With a snarl, the wolf sprang forward, leaping on the man's back, taking him down. The handcuffs clanked to the ground. And the guard's finger squeezed the trigger of his gun.

As the wayward shot rang out, the wolf went for the gun hand, chomping down until the man screamed in agony and fear as he lost his grip on the weapon.

The woman screamed as well, but she didn't stay around to find out what would happen next.

She turned and ran, sprinting through the woods as other guards came pounding toward the sound of the shot.

Before the security force could catch him, the wolf leaped up. Snatching up the camera strap in his teeth and pulling it free, he dashed after the woman, his body bracing for the thud of a bullet piercing his flesh.

But he was lucky. The guard was in no shape to fire his weapon, and the other men were too far away for an accurate shot in the dark.

The wolf disappeared into the darkness, following the woman's scent, the camera thudding against his chest.

"What the fuck?" he heard someone shout.

"Get the damn girl," another voice gasped.

"And the dog."

He kept moving. He couldn't see the woman now. But he could hear her crunching across dry leaves, desperate to get away from the men with guns.

And from the creature who had come to her rescue. He knew that as well as he knew anything else.

She was in good shape; she could run fast. And she must have made sure of her escape route, because*

she seemed to know where she was going.

Too bad she hadn't done a little more research before coming here in the first place. The Eighteen Club was a well-guarded playground for the rich and powerful. And anyone who tried to get too close was taking an enormous risk.

She fled through the woods, up an incline, then slipped partway down again. Scrambling for purchase, she righted herself and kept going toward a residential neighborhood on the other side of the stream valley.

When she chanced a glance behind her, she spotted the wolf and made a headlong dash for the street.

He saw her hand go into her pocket, probably fumbling for her keys. She pulled out a remote control, pressed the button, and lights blinked as a car lock opened.

The wolf was more surefooted than the woman. He reached the edge of the woods in time to hear a car engine roar to life.

Leaping onto the blacktop, he put on an extra burst of speed. The car jerked, and pulled away from the curb. Exhaust roared in his face, making him cough.

But he focused on the license plate, taking in the letters and numbers, committing them to memory as the woman sped into the darkness, not bothering to turn on her lights.