Dark Lycan by Christine Feehan Read Free Book Online Page A

their prey for fun, not food, and then rushing on their way to wreak more violence just because they could. Real wolves would be blamed and human hunters would destroy entire innocent packs because the rogue werewolves took joy in killing.
    He squeezed her hand hard. You are not responsible for this.
    I drove them out into the open and he left the safety of the others.
    Fen’s gut twisted. Take to the sky. Get out of here. I need to go back and find the other two. The pack will sniff them out and kill them just for the fun of it.
    I will go with you.
    The resolution in her voice had him swinging around rather than trying to dissuade her. He could feel the absolute determination in her mind. Perhaps if he wasn’t basking in her company, enjoying everything about her, he would have been far more firm—not—he was certain—that it would do him any good.
    They broke into a run, using blurring speed to retrace their path back to the two drunken men. It took only minutes. The two sat beside a tree passing a flask back and forth, one occasionally bursting into song.
    Tatijana instinctively broke away from his side, moving to his left and allowing him to approach the two men alone. Fen was grateful to her. Already, he knew the pack was hunting. The rogues had both heard and smelled the men. They knew both men were physically impaired, drunk from the alcohol they’d consumed, and would be easy prey. Tatijana and he could take to the skies if necessary, but the two men were extremely vulnerable.
    He muted his appearance, blending with the mist until he was directly in front of them, sending a swirl of mist ahead of him so that he could emerge naturally out of the fog. Both looked up at him.
    “Fen, what are you doing out so late? You want a drink?” One held out the flask.
    “You’re Enre,” Fen greeted. “Do you live far?” He projected his voice directly at the two men, although there was really no hope that the pack wouldn’t know Tatijana was in the forest. He had known, from the moment the werewolf pack leader had given his hunting cry and the others had answered that the rogue pack was close by and hunting. To them, he would smell human.
    “Gellert here, too,” the other said drunkenly, opening his eyes and removing the flask from Enre’s hand. “What are you doing here?”
    “Let’s get you two home,” Fen encouraged. “It’s too cold to stay out all night. Your families will worry.”
    “My woman kicked me out,” Gellert said, his words slurred. “She said I drink too much.” He was indignant. “I don’t drink too much. She accused me of sleeping with the barmaid, Faye.”
    “You did sleep with Faye,” Enre said.
    Gellert took a long pull from the flask. “There was no sleeping,” he said slyly.
    “He’s staying with me,” Enre admitted. “I’ve got no family.”
    He didn’t sound quite as drunk as he had been earlier. He struggled to his feet and reached down for Gellert. Gellert groaned and let both Fen and Enre help him up.
    “You shouldn’t have let your friend talk you into attacking the lady,” Fen said to Enre.
    Enre shrugged. “It was all just talk. I wouldn’t have attacked her. I would have just given him a good clout upside the head and dragged him home if he’d really gone through with it.”
    “The redhead wants me,” Gellert slurred. “She comes back night after night, and dances for me.”
    “The redhead is my woman,” Fen said. “It isn’t a good idea to say those kinds of things in front of me.”
    Gellert peered up at him with red, runny eyes. He burped loudly, the smell wafting toward Fen like a green cloud. “Sorry man. Didn’t know. Come on, Enre, let’s get on home.”
    A sound broke the night. Chilling. Close. Too close. The howl of the werewolf on the hunt. Enre, the more sober of the two, shivered and looked around warily. That joyful, frightening note floated on the wind, full and round-bodied, different from that of a normal wolf, far more