Caleb Read Free

warned with a growl of her own, trying to project aggression rather
than fear, throwing some mental force behind the effort. Just in case animals
really were naturally telepathic.
    To
her surprise, the animal paused and tilted its head, almost as if it were
listening. She added more “back off” aggression to her mental litany. Reaching
into her pocket, she worked her keys between her fingers. With a start, she
felt the small penknife attached to the chain. She’d forgotten about that.
Using her coat as a brace, she pried the blade open. It wasn’t much of a
weapon. At most she could take out the wolf’s eye, while it could do a hell of
a lot more damage to her, but if she was going to die here tonight, she was not
going meekly.
    She
pulled the knife out of her pocket. The keys jangled obnox iously. The wolf
lifted its lip, displaying those vicious teeth. It was trying to intimidate
her, and on many levels it succeeded, but on another level it was really
pissing her off. At no time in her life plan had she written down to die as
tabloid fodder under the teeth and nails of a killer wolf. She gripped her
makeshift weapon and took a fortifying breath.
    If it
wasn’t on her to-do list, it simply wasn’t getting done.
    Her
bravado lasted right up until the huge wolf moved, more of a shifting of its
weight than a real step, seeming to float over the frozen ground. Every
survival instinct screamed run . She managed one panicked gasp and a step
back before it caught her, shoving its nose into her crotch, snarling when she
flinched.
    If it
was a warning, she was incapable of heeding it. Terror was a great motivator
and having this thing so close scared her witless. Jabbing downward with the
knife, she aimed for the wolf’s right eye. At the last second, the animal
jerked its head aside. The blade hit bone, deflected and sliced down the wolf’s
snout. The fur of its muzzle brushed the side of her hand as metal tore through
flesh, the softness a shocking counterpoint to the violence of the act. The
ferocity of the wolf’s response was a raspy snarl that defined retribution.
    Oh
shit! She jumped back. Now she’d
pissed it off.
    The
wolf reared up. Its huge paws slammed into her chest, driving the air from her
lungs. Her keys went flying and so did she. There was a moment of
disorientation, and then she was on her back on the ground, staring up at the
gaping jaws of the wolf as shock waves from the hard landing reverberated
through her body.
    The
wolf was in no hurry now that it had her pinned. It lowered its head with
taunting slowness, jaws angling in, spreading wider as they got closer to her
neck. Its claws stabbed through the padding of her coat into the ridge of her
collarbone with equally agonizing slowness. She tore her gaze off those
gleaming teeth, crashed into the barrier of the wolf’s eyes . . . and paused.
    If
she didn’t know this was an animal, didn’t know it was incapable of human
emotion, she’d swear the beast was laughing at her. Playing with her like a cat
played with a mouse. Amusing itself on her fear.
    As if
sensing her thoughts, the wolf’s grin broadened, wrinkling its snout into a
savage grimace that hit squarely on that primal core of genetic fear every
human possessed. A drop of blood dripped from its wound, slapping her cheek in
a hot splash. She cringed and closed her eyes when the animal leaned in, its
fetid breath hitting her face a split second before the equally repugnant
roughness of its tongue touched the same spot. The chuff of air it emitted
sounded too damned much like laughter. She opened her eyes, took in the wolf’s
expression, and just knew deep down in the only place that mattered, that the
animal was getting off on her terror.
    The
sick son of a bitch.
    Anger
surged up behind her fear, swamping it in a torrent of backed-up rage. She
glanced down between their bodies and found inspiration. Grabbing handfuls of
the coarse fur on either side of the bloody muzzle, she braced her