careful to keep a tight hold on him. His eyes make my vision better and sharper, allowing me to see easily as I maneuver the tunnels.
I duck under a narrow channel and approach the small area that I’ve made my dwelling.
The fact that I even have a place that I consider mine means that I’ve been in this city too long. Three women and one man have gone missing since I arrived, and while questions haven’t been asked yet, I know it’s only a matter of time before the human police figure out that their disappearances are linked.
But the Supernatural Forces already know.
The beast doesn’t care about recklessness, though. He doesn’t care that only yesterday I spotted two SF members prowling the street right above us, searching for me—hunting for me.
As one of the few rogue werewolves terrorizing the land, I pose a huge threat to the supernatural community’s secret existence, and the SF is determined to take me out.
I scoff.
Me.
After eighteen months on the run, I’ve become one of the most hunted rogue werewolves in history, and even though I’m one of the greatest hunters to walk the earth I’m being hunted by the motherfucking Supernatural Forces.
But even those two SF members would be no match for me if I unleashed my beast. He’s grown so strong since I left Hidden Creek. Strong enough that I can no longer deny him.
A memory of the prostitute’s scream—the beast’s last kill—filters to the front of my mind. A moment of self-loathing steals my breath. The beast killed her only ten days ago, and her scream hadn’t lasted long. He’d sunk his teeth into her neck, crushing her windpipe, before tearing her throat out and wolfing it down. The only sound left after that was her blood pooling on the ground.
Bile rises in the back of my throat, as it does every time I think about what I’ve allowed my wolf to become.
I know there’s an easy way out of this. I can let the SF catch me. They’ll stop the beast, but they’ll also execute me.
Some days I consider it, when my self-hatred becomes too great to bear, but each time I’ve almost turned myself in, a survival instinct has roared to life inside me.
So I’ve stayed on the run, even though each day I hate myself a little bit more.
I sink down onto the damp cold concrete. The sound of trickling water reaches my ears along with the ever-present skitter of galloping rats. I know the time has come to venture to a new location since the SF has tracked me here, but then I remember the waitress.
I close my eyes and picture her again. I don’t want to leave her.
So take her.
My hands ball into tight fists. I can’t take her. She’ll be missed. Her disappearance will most definitely draw questions and attention from the human police and the SF, which is reckless, and I know it.
Yet…
From the first moment I laid eyes on her, something about her beckoned me, and it’s not something I can ignore. I’ve tried so hard to push this throbbing impulse away, but I’ve realized I can no more do that than I can stop the pull of the moon.
A shudder of anticipation runs through me, then fear. I can’t leave her, yet if I take her…
The beast growls in approval.
I can only hope that I can protect her from the beast, protect her from me. But that will take careful orchestration—a strategic plan is the only way I can pull it off.
Nausea churns my stomach, because even with meticulous planning there’s no guarantee she’ll stay safe.
Because what the beast wants, the beast always gets.
Chapter 2 – Brianna
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end again. I stop mid-run, my cleats digging into the grass as I twist my head in all directions. The strange sensations of being watched have been happening for two weeks.
But the area around the sports field looks as it always does—pebbled landscaping, the campus gymnasium toward the west, a few dormitories off in the north, and desert trees and cactuses scattered about.
Nothing looks amiss, yet, I can feel that something’s … off.
“Brianna!” one of my teammates yells.
Crap. The Frisbee comes from out of nowhere. I grab it just as an opponent barrels toward me. She stops a foot away and flanks me, her arms out as I search for a teammate to throw to.
Kate’s open near the end field. Faking a pivot to the left, my