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were still going to skin him. Storm might hate himself right now and want death to take him, but that was a shitty way to go, even for a traitor like himself.

He tried to get back on four paws, but now the hunters suddenly went from curious and amazed at their catch to stereotypically evil.

One of the older ones rushed forward and kicked him in the ribs.

It really shouldn’t have hurt that much. It shouldn’t have hurt at all. Storm was still a cougar for God’s sake, but the boot to his side knocked the wind out of him, and he fell back on his stomach.

“Now you just stay down and behave yourself, and everything will be over with as soon as we can get it all done,” said their leader.

Storm groaned, one of his paws stretching out lazily, his claws extending and scratching into the wet earth, as though he could drag himself away.

“You sure this is a shifter, Dave?” asked one of the other hunters.

“It might just be a real mountain lion.”

“I don’t want to kill a real cougar,” the youngest of the bunch chimed in.

Hunted and on the Run

15

Some hunters weren’t that bad. Storm thought briefly of Chance, one of the other hunters he’d worked with while he’d been serving his life-debt to Tony.

The kid still acted like a teenager from time to time, and he hadn’t been so corrupted by the life of a hunter that he was able to kill and torture as mercilessly as some other hunters out there.

The kid couldn’t even stomach an interrogation before he would turn green, go back to his room, or tent, or whatever, and plug some headphones in his ears before turning up his music as loud as it could go to drown out the sounds of screams.

That was another way Storm justified his actions with the hunters.

He’d wanted to be there for that kid, and whenever he could, he would always try and convince the boy, in any roundabout way he could, that he didn’t want to be there. There were better things for a young man to be doing with his life.

Storm had liked to think that when he’d saved the kid’s life, preventing those werewolves from ripping him to pieces, he’d made amends.

Fate, apparently, thought otherwise, or else he wouldn’t be here right now.

“He’s a real shifter. Saw him with my own eyes getting naked before he stuffed that bag with his clothes and whatever else he had on him. Then he changed into that,” Dave said.

“Wow, you saw it? Not on one of the cameras, but actually saw it?”

“Yup,” Dave said, not even looking at Storm anymore as he put down a huge duffel bag he’d been carrying and started rummaging through it. By the sounds of the metallic clinks inside, Storm could only imagine what kind of blades and hunting gear were inside that bag, waiting for him.

Fucking technology was everywhere nowadays. These idiots had probably gone to some spy shop, ordered some wireless cameras, and then stuck them in the trees.

16

Marcy Jacks

Every year it got harder and harder to be part of the paranormal slice of life.

Dave actually pulled out a regular hunting knife. He unsheathed it from its leather holster and then tested the blade against the tip of his thumb.

“Nice and sharp,” he said, licking away the drop of blood and getting to his feet. “He probably won’t even feel the initial cuts. Todd, Bobby, grab him and tie him to that tree there.”

“Shouldn’t we give him something so he can’t fight back?” the youngest asked again.

“No, he looks good and helpless enough. We can do this without wasting any drugs.”

These guys were most definitely amateurs. The leader was right, Storm was too weak, but they were still amateurs.

“What about painkillers?” asked the youngest. Storm was still trying to figure out what his name was.

Their older leader snapped at him. “Goddamnit, can’t you just do this one thing without questioning everything I do?”

“But―”

“Do you think these fucking unnatural freaks gave Annabelle any pain killers before they ripped her hands and legs off and ate them in front of her?”

“No,” the man answered gruffly.

“That’s right, no. They killed my little niece, your cousin in case you forgot. Only nine years old, and now she’s in pieces in a grave somewhere.”

The older man’s voice broke as he neared the end of his rant. It was only when Storm heard stories like that that he understood why hunters did the things they did, became so sadistic and cruel toward Storm’s kind.

Sometimes Storm thought they might just deserve to be wiped off the face of the earth, too.

David pointed his knife down at Storm. “This thing is no different Hunted and on the Run

17

than the other ones. He’d rip your face off and eat it in a heartbeat if he thought he could get away with it. It needs to be put down.

Understand?”

The hunter nodded. “Understood.”

Dave made a gruff sound in the back of his throat. “Good, now you go and―”

Whatever else he’d been about to say was cut off when a giant wolf leaped out from seemingly nowhere and landed on top of him, pushing the hunter down onto the ground.

The hunter hadn’t been prepared for the attack, and he screamed and flailed as the wolf had its merry way with him, teeth clamping down on his hands and arms as David tried to fight him off. He screamed, attempting to throw the wolf off of him, but no human, no matter how strong or well trained, could easily throw a werewolf off them in a fight.

Storm managed the energy to lift his head and take a look at the chaos that had suddenly occurred. The other hunters officially forgot all about Storm as they screamed and ran to their leader. They thought they were safe when they found Storm, weak and tired as he was, so no one was holding their guns.

The