Christmas Moon by Sadie Hart Read Free Book Online Page B

back were tinged in silver. His eyes were the same brilliant
brown-gold they were as a man. He pressed his muzzle against the
side of her neck and she could feel him inhale, breathing her
in.
    Her dog leaned into his touch, her nose
running through his thick winter coat. His fur was soft against her
muzzle, tickling over her lips and nose. She thought she’d known
his scent before—after all, she’d sat wrapped in his arms the other
night. But standing here—dog and wolf—with every breath she took
she found another nuance to the scent that was Hunter .
    Then she stepped away and turned back to
tracking the rogue on his spree across the yard. He’d tortured this
deer, dragging it this way and that. Either he was inexperienced
when it came to the hunt, or a sadist. Hunter gave a low growl from
his place next to her, the quiet thundering rumble a distant echo
to the one that built in her throat.
    Finally she found the spot where he’d made
the kill and she could smell another wolf, male and probably one of
Hunter’s, as he’d been human when he’d dragged the carcass off into
the woods. No doubt to feed it to the scavengers. The rogue, on the
other hand, had taken off in the other direction and she followed,
picking up to an easy lope as she followed the scent trail laid out
before her.
    Thankfully there hadn’t been much bad weather
to ruin the trail, though following scent through a forest took
skill. She lost track of the time as she wove her way through pine
trees and white capped bushes. Hunter followed somewhere behind
her, his steps as quiet as hers, and they were almost impossible to
hear as they worked their way through the densely wooded trees.
    The path slowly got rockier as it curved
toward an old ravine. She spotted the lean-to first, planks of
plywood hastily tossed together, branches ripped from threes to
give shelter. She shifted mid-step and surveyed the scene.
    The whole place reeked of the rogue, but a
squatter didn’t exactly fit the profile of a stalker or a
kidnapper. Hands braced on her hips, Bree scanned up and down the
ravine. There was no sign of their mystery wolf, but this was
definitely his place.
    “Hell,” Hunter said from behind her and Bree
turned. “It makes no sense. If he’s simply a homeless rogue why not
just ask for admittance into the pack. I’m known for taking in damn
near every wolf that crosses White Pine’s city limits.”
    Bree didn’t have a way to answer that, but
she had a niggling feeling this wolf didn’t want to be part of a
pack. Careful not to slip on the rocks, Bree worked her way down
into the ravine and into the small hovel the rogue had built
himself. The place reeked of blood and she covered her nose with
her coat sleeve.
    Blood smeared the walls and there was a
bloody deer leg lying beside the cot.
    “Shit,” Hunter muttered as he stumbled up
behind her.
    She knelt next to the cot and reached over
the sweat stained sleeping bag for the small brown book beside it.
The leather bound journal flipped open easily in her hands. A
picture of a slim man slipped out. Brown spiked hair, a dashing
smile, the leather jacket over his thin shoulders and a motorcycle
behind him. He grinned up at the camera.
    She slid the picture back into the book and
flipped through the pages only to have her breath catch in her
throat, snagged on the lump of fear suddenly threatening to send
her into a panic. There were pictures of her. In her robe making
tea one morning, scrubbing clean her garage this past summer,
answering that damned phone...
    Her face was circled in red in almost every
one of them.
    Hunter growled behind her, a low, dark sound
that crept through the small hovel and filled it with all the rage
that trembled through him. He reached for the pictures but she
swept his hand aside. “Don’t. I’ll need these untouched.”
    She forced out a shaky breath.
    “And I really don’t think this bastard wants
in your pack.”
    But she did want to know what he wanted