Free Heart of the Wolf by D. B. Reynolds Page B

following the smell of danger now, tracking the hunter, the one who would harm his mate. The hunter had no paws to dance along the snow, but he wore snowshoes, moving over the dense powder easily and leaving a trail Wolf could have followed even without his nose.
    The trees thickened as he ran deeper into the forest, the full moon still trapped behind the clouds, the woods dark, sounds of small prey muffled by snow. Owls fluttered overhead, resenting Wolf’s intrusion and that of the hunter he followed, hooting nervously in the early night of winter. Wolf was aware of all of these things on a subconscious level, filing them away as the normal sounds of the forest, shutting them out to concentrate on the only thing that mattered—stopping the hunter before he found the female.
    Abruptly, the trail altered as the hunter crossed her path and her delicious scent was soiled by the hunter’s human stink. Wolf’s lips drew back, baring his fangs in a feral snarl. He threw his head back, stretching out his long throat to howl a warning to his mate. Deep inside Wolf, Ren wondered if Kathryn would understand the meaning of Wolf’s warning howl, that she should run as far and as fast as she could.
    Wolf lowered his body to the ground and ran, belly skimming the snow as he raced beneath low-hanging branches, his long legs stretching out to leap effortlessly over fallen trees and frozen streams without breaking stride. Around him the forest barely registered his passing, a whisper of movement, the passage of clouds over the pale moon.
    A tiny click gave the hunter away. Wolf slowed from his headlong charge, flattening to the ground as he crept closer. The human had raised his lethal weapon and was holding it steady, aiming for something in the distance, something Wolf couldn’t see. Wolf howled, and the hunter swung toward him in a practiced sweep, sighting and firing. The bullet was nearly silent, a dull thwack of sound in the snow-dampened forest, a whisper of heat past Wolf’s flank as he became no more than a shadow in the darkness.
    The hunter lowered his rifle and stilled, and Wolf knew this was a knowledgeable enemy. He was no fool to think Wolf little more than one of his lesser cousins. The female, dulled by her years among the humans, would be an easy target. Wolf was not.
    Crouched low, the skin on his belly shrinking away from the freezing snow, Wolf crept forward, nose in the air, following the hunter’s unmistakable stink. He froze briefly as he scented the female nearby. He wanted to whine with fear for her, hoping she would recognize the danger of this hunter and stay far away. But he remained silent, the hunter too close. He could hear the hunter’s breathing now, could smell the fear-sweat the human was unable to control.
    The hunter moved, a slight shifting of his weapon. In the thick night, his winter-white camo blended into the snow-covered trees. But Wolf’s eyes saw him clearly. Still, this hunter was smart, and Wolf crept slowly, his footfalls soft on the piled snow, gliding through the trees until the hunter’s back was before him.
    The human turned as Wolf launched himself. The rifle came up. Wolf heard the click of the trigger mechanism, and then he was on the human, teeth tearing, claws rending flesh. The gun fired too close to Wolf’s sensitive ear, and he howled in pain and anger, riding the hunter to the ground, digging for his vulnerable throat.
    The hunter tucked in his chin, wrapping one bearlike arm around Wolf and squeezing, his other hand scrabbling at his own clothing. Wolf felt the cold metal against his belly and knew what it meant. Abandoning his attempts to reach the hunter’s throat, Wolf dug his fangs into the thick arm, finding blood and muscle through the layers of clothing. This wolf had a brain. The hunter screamed as his white snowsuit ran with red, as Wolf’s teeth met and cracked through bone.
    In his pain, the hunter forgot to protect his neck, and Wolf lunged, finding