The Wolf's Surrender - By Kendra Leigh Castle Page 0,3
with a snap of chill that was typical for a late September night in Northern Pennsylvania, was full of the scents that had become familiar, even comforting, since he’d come here ten years before. Maple and pine, earth and early fall air. Human and wolf, each with their own distinct musk.
And best of all, not a hint of brimstone.
Ferry’s Hollow had come to smell like home. Jenner had no problem doing what needed to be done to keep that home safe.
He pushed another thought at Dex. What’s the status on the biter? Roaming stray from another pack, do you think?
Dex’s response was rapid-fire. Biter’s missing. We’re looking for him now. He wasn’t a Silverback, that’s for sure, Dex continued, referring to the nearest pack over a hundred miles to the North. Didn’t like the smell of him. Or the look, once we got that close. Hate to say it, but I’m thinking feral.
Jenner frowned, loping quickly down the street toward the place where the open land dissolved into forest. The Hollow was nestled deep in the woods, surrounded on all sides by it. The humans who lived alongside the werewolves here, by and large in blissful ignorance of all things supernatural, had no idea that the town’s being a veritable island in the forest was by design.
What about the bitten?
There was a pause. Then: We’ve got her. She lost a lot of blood, but she’s already starting to heal. She was only out for a couple of minutes, seems pretty with it since she came to. Other than that, she’s in shock and confused. About what you’d expect. Pretty little thing.
Jenner snorted to himself. It didn’t matter to him if this woman was the second coming of Angelina Jolie. Nothing good ever came from a feral bite.
Are they linked, then? he thought, and Dex’s immediate blast of anger was an answer in itself.
He didn’t seal the deal, lucky for her. And when we find him, I’m going to rip his throat out myself. The moon is too close to full to be pulling this crap. We need her connection to him while it lasts, but you know damn well somebody’s going to have to make her part of the pack before long. We’ve got less than a week, Jenner. Not much time. For her, either...
Dex’s voice trailed off in Jenner’s mind, but it didn’t matter. Jenner already knew what he meant. It could take some time to smoke out a clever feral who’d decided to take to the woods, which covered hundreds of square miles. But the unwitting victim was going to have to be brought into the pack before the moon rose full. Otherwise, they’d have two ferals on their hands.
The tenuous connection forged between biter and bitten was always a good way, sometimes the only way, to find a jerk like this. But the clock was ticking. Once his victim started to turn, that temporary mental link to her attacker would vanish right along with her sanity. Unless this feral got his paws on her again, of course, to make things between them permanent. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not on Blackpaw territory. And not on his watch.
How strong’s her bond to him? he asked, hoping for the quick resolution that there was no way, in his experience, he was going to get.
Hoping you can find that out. She’s been a little skittish with me. Weird thing is, she hasn’t asked for a doctor, cops, nothing. It’s almost like she knows...but I guess it could be the shock.
Has she said anything to make you think that? Jenner asked, beginning to frown. If this woman knew who and what they were, it meant the feral had a big mouth. That made it even more imperative to find the asshole. Loose lips could do in a wolf pack just as easily as a gang of well-armed were-hunters. Dex’s reply was small comfort.
No. That’s the thing. She’s not saying anything, just watching with those big eyes. I dunno, Jenner, this isn’t my thing! I’ve never had to deal with one of these before!
It was a sad day when he got asked to play mediator, Jenner thought.
I hear you. Headed in.
A loose biter, and a potential feral. And it was only ten. Jenner gritted his teeth and headed into the trees.
* * *
Mia D’Alessandro sat with her back against the rough bark of a tree, pressing a wadded-up ball of fabric that had once been a shirt against the open wounds