Full daylight. He’d slept way too long.
Home. He needed to get home. Too bad the hunter stood in his path. The clearing offered no place to hide. Noah slunk back into the bushes, focusing on pounding footfalls. Gunpowder burned his nose, nearly causing a sneeze.
Two hunters, not moving very fast. Still, they didn’t need to be fast with guns.
Another shot. Fuck! Agony sheered down Noah's leg from his rump. He fought to keep in a pained yip and barreled away on three legs through thick underbrush. Shot! He’d been shot!
He paused to lick the wound. Leaving a blood trail to his doorstep wouldn’t do. No, he must lose the hunters in the woods, circle around, then slink back home.
Stopping to listen slowed him down.
Maybe crossing the stream would help lose them. Noah wandered toward the sound of rushing water. Two deer standing downstream bugled and darted away. A shot rang out. The hunters still followed him, or had they changed their targets to deer?
Noah liked the gentle creatures but better them than him. Why the persistent hunters? He’d heard of no farmers losing livestock, causing the need to control the area wolf population. Besides, laws protected wildlife this close to a state park.
Another shot. A tree limb shattered to the left. Out of time!
He scurried across a clearing into the safety of trees, creeping in shadows. The hunters had to give up sometime. Throughout the morning, they stalked him. His belly rumbled. Shifting took a lot of calories, even more so if he ran.
What if they hunted werewolves, like whoever killed Paul’s family?
More hunters joined the first two, spreading out, trying to surround him, judging by the scent and sound.
How many? Three? Four? They murmured, too far away for Noah to decipher the words. But not too far away to pick up on the anger in their voices.
The sun hit zenith and began to lower in the sky. How much longer could Noah evade them? He licked his wound. Healing flesh squeezed out the bullet. Although bleeding slowed as muscle knitted back together, no running full out for a day or two.
For long moments he huddled, shivering, in a blackberry patch. Briars pulled at his hair, sticking into his skin. Better briars than bullets.
The day wore on. No shots. No footsteps. Noah scented the breeze. Pines, dirt, vegetation, and his own musky wolf scent. Maybe they’d left.
He worked his way out of the briars. Nothing. No sound, no scents other than naturally occurring in a forest. Perfect.
Loping on three legs, he sped for the underbrush and home.
A shot rang out.
Noah fell.
Chapter Twelve
Anotherdiner,anothermeetingwith Chuck. “Lisa’s starting to get suspicious with all my out-of-town meetings with my ‘brother.’” Chuck used air quotes.
Slade rolled his eyes. “Send her a selfie of the two of us.” Simple enough.
“She’d think I’d been to a ZZ Top concert.” Chuck pantomimed pulling on a long beard. Yeah, with no one to pretty up for, Slade lived a razors-optional lifestyle. “They’re still around, right?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Slade would take his classic rock over Chuck’s classical music any day. He stroked his beard. “C’mon now. You know you like the beard.”
“Pleading the fifth, dude.”
“You’re jealous because you can’t grow one.” Chuck. The only one in the family without five o’clock shadow at noon.
“Anyway, Lisa thinks you never coming home is suspicious. Wonders why you didn’t even show when Dad died.” Chuck somehow managed not to sound judgmental.
Much.
The painful wound ripped open again. Chuck’s frantic call. Slade doubling over at the city limit sign, trying his damnedest to get home. Hiding out in a nearby hotel instead of attending the funeral. “If you’d held the funeral anywhere else, I’da come.” Damn the curse’s impact on his life. Dad took one hit too many, dying alone.
