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But human interactions. My brunch with Shay—which I enjoyed. Yes, I had subtly grilled her for information, essentially using her. But my smiles and laughter weren’t faked.

And as much as I wished it were, the fire on the inside of my body was not faked with Dante’s lips on mine, my legs plastered around his. The desperate want inside of me was happening against my will. As was my actual enjoyment of his company. The respect I had formed for him as a hunter.

I was a lone wolf—pardon the pun. I’d told myself that throughout my adult life. No attachments, no partnerships—personally or professionally. Yet Dante was now blurring the lines with both.

Cold dread slithered down my spine as I realized just how deep I’d let him weasel in.

I clutched the straps of my pack, ignoring the pain from my barely healed palms, pushing my fatigued legs faster up the incline toward the spot I’d guessed was smack dab in the middle of the wolf’s hunting grounds.

That night, I’d kill the wolf. Then I’d go back to the house—not my home, the house I was currently crashing in—get my shit and leave before anyone knew I was gone.

I ignored the jab in my gut I felt from the plan, the image of Colton’s face in my mind. The warm, soft feeling he’d elicited in me with his gentle, confident kiss, his strong embrace.

Messy. This hunt had gotten far too fucking messy. And that was without counting the dead supernatural creatures that were quickly piling up in this town.

I wasn’t forgetting the witch who, apparently, had it out for me, but I would leave her to Dante. He was hell-bent on protecting me, so he could handle her once I’d gotten the wolf.

Having a plan in place helped calm my nerves, and I tamped down any other emotions I felt at severing the connections I’d formed under duress.

My breath was ragged and shallow when I made it to the spot I’d marked on the map.

I circled around, the sun lower now, the shade from the trees more oppressive, ominous. The air had more of a nip to it, creeping through the sweat-soaked layers of my clothing.

This. This would be where I ended it.

It had to be. I didn’t want to admit it out loud, but I was terrified of what would happen if I had to stay in Dreadwood Falls for a moment longer.

I was almost asleep when I heard it—the soft crunch of a dead leaf crackling. Hopefully, beneath something’s foot. It could’ve been anything—a rodent, squirrel, or small predator. A large but natural predator even. A bear or a mountain lion. But my skin broke out in goosebumps, my heart rate increased, and my body pulsed with a knowing I didn’t question.

It wasn’t a small predator. It was a very large one. A very large supernatural one. The air tasted different, thicker, wrong. I knew the smell of the uncanny… It was the fragrance of my nightmares.

Muscles taut, I knifed up, shoving aside the sleeping bag I hadn’t bothered to zip myself into. My boots were still on, same with my jacket. I grabbed a hold of my gun, loaded with heavy-caliber silver bullets. I had a knife in my boot—solid silver too—and a backup gun in a shoulder holster. I was under no illusions this was going to be easy. It was a mature werewolf accustomed to killing humans.

Accustomed to killing defenseless and unarmed humans. It was not ready for me.

My blood warmed in anticipation, mind clearing with a brutal coldness that prepared me for the fight. The kill. My instincts sharpened as I shallowed my breathing, hopefully slowing my heart and sending the signals to my body that it was time.

I almost gasped at the sound of another crunch, louder this time. Everything else was completely quiet. No birds chirping, any other wildlife inaudible.

I moved slowly, soundlessly, as I crawled to the opening in the tent. I hadn’t closed it for this exact reason; I didn’t want to be fumbling with a zipper, especially when it was a sound that essentially rang the dinner bell for a wolf.

I’d set up low lights around the perimeter of my camp—enough to help with the dull glow of the moon to ensure that I wasn’t fighting blind but not bright enough to scare away the wolf. Or worse, invite some rogue hiker to come toast marshmallows with me.

It was in those lights I saw the large—unnervingly large—outline of the wolf prowling into my camp. I’d seen plenty of mature wolves in my life, but this was by far the biggest, having at least a foot on the one I’d killed in Maine last year. That had been a struggle. I’d dislocated my shoulder and almost broke my neck.

But I wouldn’t do that this time. I learned with every scratch, scar, and broken bone. Every injury I didn’t die from made me stronger, quicker, and smarter. Every battle primed me for this one, to ensure that I won.

He caught sight of me at almost the same time I did him. The faint growl coming from the back of its throat was deep, rumbling. Its eyes were yellow-tinged, focused on me with a beastly sentience that unnerved me to my very core.

Something else unnerved me. A knowing, deep, visceral, and certain. This was the same wolf I’d seen on prom night. Yellowed eyes, chocolate muzzle now peppered with white. It had gotten older, which made sense. Wolves aged at a different rate than humans. They weren’t immortal, but they had an extended lifespan. If this wolf had a graying muzzle, it must’ve been young when it killed my parents. My parents’ deaths might have been its first turning. The wolf I saw that night had been smaller.

I’d seen it ripping my father’s heart from his chest, tearing apart my screaming, terrified mother.

This was the beast I’d been hunting my entire adult life.

My heart became a cacophony in my ears, and my blood turned hotter.

I straightened from my crouch with a grin. “Good dog.” I tapped my thigh with my gun in a “come here” motion. Rage thrummed through my bones, hatred that scalded my throat like acid, seeing it here, in the flesh, hunting me.