CHAPTER THREE

Bowman knew exactly when Kenzie closed the door to the roadhouse. Her scent cut off, as did the sound of her voice, and the presence of her. Bowman always knew when Kenzie was near.

He’d known when he’d dragged the fake groupie out to the parking lot that Kenzie had followed. He’d pulled the stunt of yanking down his jeans because he’d been aware of Kenzie watching from the shadows. He’d wanted to scare the woman in the stupid Lupine ears and tail, but he’d also wanted to challenge Kenzie. He always did. His mate could bring out the worst in him.

But his challenge had backfired, because Bowman’s mating frenzy had shot high. His hard-on had been for Kenzie alone. The only way to relieve the frenzy had been to get rid of the fake groupie woman and run into the woods with Kenzie to scratch that itch.

Thank the Goddess for this unknown foe. Best distraction he could hope for.

Which left the question—what was it?

Bowman slid off his boots and shucked his jeans and underwear. Naked in his socks, he gazed into the woods, his Shifter sight trying to penetrate the blackness under the trees.

Nothing. No shadows moving, no eyes. Just the soft snarling of an animal not afraid of the lone Shifter waiting at the edge of the woods.

Bowman got rid of the socks and let his wolf come. He could shift quickly, though not painlessly, but his tension was so high tonight he barely noticed the ache as his bones changed form.

The edges of objects curved as his eyes became wolf, colors growing muted but at the same time lighter and more precise. Shifters didn’t necessarily see better than humans, just differently. They could discern things outside the range of human sight, and scent added another layer.

Whatever was out there stank like a sewer. Bad scent could be used to confuse trackers or disgust them so much they abandoned the prey. Or maybe this thing had simply been spawned in a cesspit.

Bowman had no desire to put his nose down and follow its trail, but he had to know what he was dealing with. Was it seriously dangerous? Or just smelly?

The snarl built up into a roar, and something huge charged Bowman. At least, at the place where Bowman had been. He was gone by the time the thing came barreling out of the trees, then he cut back sharply into the woods to draw it away from the roadhouse.

He needed backup, and lots of it. Kenzie would be organizing that, he knew, letting him get on with the fight. She knew her job. His heart warmed at the thought.

The thing swung around, following Bowman unerringly between the trees. The growls increased, and underbrush snapped and broke as it came.

One of the giant trees behind Bowman started to fall toward him. He couldn’t see it clearly in the dark, but he heard the breaking branches and pop of roots, smelled the explosion of sap and resin as a pine tree that had stood strong for hundreds of years now rushed at the ground.

Bowman sprang out of the way, and the woods shuddered as the tree came down, tangling in its brothers on the way. The tree never made it to the forest floor, but came to a rocking halt above Bowman, trapped in a cradle of close-growing branches.

Not Bowman’s worry right now. His worry was the enormous thing that had pushed the tree aside to get to him.

The animal’s stink canceled out the rest of the forest smells, and its shadow cut off all light. Bowman looked up into darkness that contained a flash of red eyes, the glint of giant teeth, and claws that would frighten a feral bear.

He flung himself out of the way of its plunging fist, his wolf moving fast, but not fast enough. One huge clawed hand caught Bowman’s hindquarters as he leapt away.

Pain jolted through him—ripped flesh, snapped bone. Bowman’s Collar went off, activating the shock implant that theoretically kept Shifters from violence. Bowman tried to ignore it as he let his momentum carry him away from the creature, but the Collar beat pain into his spine. He stumbled toward the edge of the woods, emerging after an agonizingly long time from under the trees into the roadhouse’s parking lot.

He realized that if Kenzie brought backup outside, they’d be shredded. He had to warn them. Bowman’s cell phone, though, was in the jeans he’d stripped off and left at the edge of the woods, and the monster chasing him had just stepped on it. He had backup phones, but they were at home, and couldn’t help him now.

He still couldn’t see what the thing was. Hard to when he was running, limping, and trying to look over his shoulder at the same time, all while his Collar sizzled the fur around his neck. He only knew that whatever came behind him was big, deadly, and mad as hell.

Makes two of us, shithead.

Bowman hurled himself at the back door of the roadhouse. Pain and flight reaction took away his presence of mind to shift to human, so he howled and scratched at the door like a pathetic pup.

The door was wrenched open, and two large hands grabbed him by the scruff and pulled him inside. The scent that came to Bowman’s pain-crazed brain was bear, and he had just enough functioning thought to keep himself from attacking.

The big hands belonged to a giant of a man who slammed the door and dragged Bowman into the tiny back hall. Bowman collapsed to smooth, cold, polished cement, panting hard, pain blotting out all thought.

“Son of a bitch,” Cade said. “What the hell was that? Bowman? Bowman—damn it, stay with me . . .”

* * *

Kenzie pushed her way through the frightened crowd, knowing before she reached the back hall that Bowman was hurt. She scented it, she sensed it—she’d suspected it before he’d even made it inside.

Cade was sitting cross-legged beside a big timber wolf, who lay bleeding on the floor. He’d grabbed a towel from somewhere, not a very clean one, and was pressing it to Bowman’s back right leg.