The Wolf King (The Wolf Kings #1) (MLM)

CHAPTER THREE.

                Jack screamed as he fell to the ground, throwing his arms over his head. He waited for sharp teeth to sink into his waist, to tear him apart, but the wolf had leapt over him and planted himself between him and the other two. His stance was steady, his front paws bent, like he was getting ready to pounce, but he stayed put like he didn't dare leave Jack unguarded, growling menacingly with his fangs bared. The gray and silver wolves looked like puppies compared to the stranger.

The stranger. This animal had been a living, breathing man only seconds ago, and now he was a . . . a . . .

The pups' anger faded at once, their ears fell flat against their heads, cowering before their master, but the silver one's black eyes darted to Jack again, his glare vicious, and the stranger's growls grew deeper, more thunderous, more threatening. The ground shook again as Jack pushed himself up, and more howls sounded in the distance.

As the three wolves stood there communicating with each other in low growls, Jack took a step back. Then another. The silver's head twitched slightly in his direction, eyes narrowed, but Jack had already whirled around. He'd already started to run.

His flashlight had been left behind, but Jack didn't need it, not with the moonlight as strong as it was. With specs of pale blue and snow-white light guiding the way like fireflies. Fleetingly, he realized he'd never seen moonlight so strong. In the forefront of his mind, however, only one thought crossed his mind. Werewolves. He'd seen actual werewolves. Never in his life had he hoped for a human serial killer as he did now, tripping over curling tree roots and faltering as rabbits or squirrels scurried across his path as if eager to hide themselves.

He saw round, amber eyes flash past, telling himself they were only owls. And the howling was only dogs. And he hadn't seen a man transform into a wolf, he'd clearly just gotten drunk at the bar and fallen asleep. This was all a dream. A stupid, exhaustion-fueled dream.

Jack told himself that even as he stumbled time and time again, even as his muscles burned and his very bones ached, even as he gasped for breath and his body begged for rest. It couldn't be much further, could it? Would the wolves follow him into town? The trees were still too close together, the sounds of the forest still too prominent. Jack couldn't see the light of nearby apartment buildings or shops, couldn't hear windchimes.

Then a shadow leapt over his head and a heavy body landed on him, pushing him right into the ground. It was the silver wolf, pinning him down with his front paws and claws that threatened to tear more than Jack's shirt. He snarled and growled over Jack's head, spittle flying, cold and rank. Thinking wildly, Jack tried batting the wolf away with one hand while his other rummaged through his satchel.

The wolf bit into his arm, his fangs sinking deep, and Jack screamed, but not before his fingers closed around his camera. Pulling it out, Jack grunted, nausea threatening to make him wretch right on the spot. Jack held the camera over his head, hoped that the wolf was looking right at it as he hit the button, and a bright flash went off.

The wolf whimpered and the weight on Jack's back disappeared. He scrambled up, clawing into the ground, rocks, pebbles getting under his nails, as he tried to get free. Then he was running again, clutching his arm to his chest, the breath thoroughly knocked out of his chest.

He'd barely run for another ten seconds before he was yanked off his feet again, slipping into the mud. He turned on the spot, prepared to strike with whatever strength his working arm had, but he saw instead the stranger in wolf form, keeping him there not by pinning his body down, but by clutching his satchel in his teeth. He stared down at Jack with those gold eyes, but he wasn't growling. He didn't look like he was ready to attack or lunge at him. He just . . . kept him there.