Page 2 of Destined Prey (Wild Ones #1)

Before Jack could raise the rifle, a howl rent the air and five of the beasts watching him leapt away.

One seemed to be staring him in the eyes, and Jack shivered uncontrollably, an odd feeling building in his chest. It was warm and tingly, and in complete contrast with that icy chill still streaking down his spine.

The heat rolled through him in strange waves, unsettling in a way that had nothing to do with fear. Like his body had its own ideas and none of them made sense while a wolf the size of a pony was staring him down.

And it held him in place, rifle still aimed at the ground as he hardly dared to breathe.

Jack looked at the creature, trying to see it in the darkness. All he could really tell was that it was large—those yellow eyes had to be on a level with his hip, and he was five-nine, which wasn’t exactly tall, but neither was he short.

The eyes weren’t just glowing; they seemed to see right through him. His mouth went dry, and for a second he couldn’t remember how to swallow. Prey. That was what he felt like, for the first time in his life—real prey under a predator’s gaze.

There were also the long, white, very sharp teeth he caught glimpses of when the wolf—he guessed it had to be a wolf—opened and closed its mouth.

The odd sensation inside him grew, spreading to make his fingers and toes feel like they’d gone to sleep.

Then snarls and growls jerked his attention away from the weirdness going on in him, and Jack whipped the rifle up. “Rhett!” he shouted.

He didn’t aim at the wolf across from him, didn’t have time before it turned and bounded away, howling as it ran toward, Jack supposed, whatever horrific fight was taking place.

“Rhett! Answer me!” God, he hoped Rhett wasn’t being attacked! “Rhett! Damn it!” Jack raised the rifle higher, not straight up, but angled so that he wouldn’t hit anyone by accident. He fired twice and hoped the sound would scare off the wolves.

It didn’t. “Jesus, what the hell is going on?” He fired again. It sounded like a major fight between wolf packs was taking place not twenty feet away from him.

Jack yelled his brother’s name again as he skirted the wolves, hoping they’d be too busy to take note of him. He’d thought himself successful until something nudged his butt.

“Eek!” He’d have cringed, but he was too busy trying not to piss himself as he spun around and found himself crotch to nose with something straight out of a horror flick.

His heart about tore out of his chest. That close, the thing’s breath was hot, damp against the front of his jeans, carrying the raw-meat tang of predator. He’d never believed in monsters until this second, and now one had him by the gun barrel.

It had to be a wolf, but it was too large to be one. His brain couldn’t make sense of it any more than he could process the fact that the animal was tugging on the rifle, had part of the barrel in its maw as it pulled.

“I have to be dreaming,” Jack rasped, heart hammering. He stumbled when the rifle was jerked harder, then began to let himself be led, because why the fuck not? This can’t be real!

He stopped telling himself that when the wolf stopped and whined softly.

Behind them, growls, snarls and yelps still rang out into the night, but Jack ignored them when a low groan was followed by a high-pitched whine. The groan was from a human. The whine wasn’t.

“Rhett?” Jack dropped to his knees. He felt in front of him with one hand, and immediately touched a body.

“Rhett! Rhett, wake up. Come on, man, wake up! Tell me you’re okay, please, please, please…

” His fingers trembled as he checked Rhett’s neck, the slick warmth of blood smearing across his palm.

His stomach lurched but he pressed harder, desperate to prove to himself there was still a pulse, still a chance.

Jack kept begging as he dropped the rifle and used both hands to search for blood or some other signs of injuries.

He knew without a doubt it was Rhett he was touching, knew his brother’s smell and the sounds he made.

Rhett wasn’t dead, his breathing steady and deep, and Jack was able to find his pulse on his neck. It felt good, so that meant Rhett wasn’t in danger of dying on him in the near future—barring both of them becoming wolf food.

Jack bent and pressed his cheek to Rhett’s. Then he felt it—wet, sticky blood. He smelled it, too, that coppery scent that made him want to hurl.

“Fuck!”

Another whine startled him, and Jack glanced up to find that the wolf hadn’t left. “Er. Shoo?”

He wasn’t sure, but it certainly sounded like the creature snorted at him. That was too weird a thing for him to deal with. “Fine. Just…just don’t eat us. Or hurt us. Or let any of those other wolves attack us. Good wolf. Good boy. Or girl.”

Another snort-like sound came from the animal.

Jack decided he was just going to have to hope for the best. He needed to get Rhett back to the house, and Rhett had a good four inches and fifty pounds on him.

“Well, I’ll just have to drag you, bro.” Jack felt for the rifle, then cursed. “Shit.” He hadn’t brought the strap for it. “It’s not like the wolves are gonna shoot us anyway.”

Rhett groaned, and Jack made up his mind. The guns— his and Rhett’s—would have to wait. Rhett needed to be looked at, and Jack couldn’t see for shit right then.

“All right, let’s hope for the best.” He maneuvered around and got his arms hooked under Rhett’s. Pain heated Jack’s side and shot all the way down to his knees. He couldn’t even cry out as his head spun and he feared he’d pass out.

Then there were hands on him, and he didn’t know what happened. He tried to say Rhett’s name, but could only gasp when his injured ribs throbbed.

He was on the ground, on his back, eyes closed as he struggled to get a hold of himself. God, we’re gonna die, gonna get torn apart by wolves…

Jack rolled over, then got slowly to his knees. After an unsteady moment, he carefully stood up. “Rhett?” Had Rhett laid him down? Jack stuck one foot out and tapped around, searching for his brother.

“Here.”

“Fuck!” Jack shrieked and slapped a hand to his chest, not his usual reaction to hearing a deep, sexy voice.

The sound of it jolted through him, low and rough like gravel under tires.

It wasn’t Rhett. It couldn’t be Rhett. His panic spiked, tangled with something else he couldn’t put a name to.

Desire had no place here, not with blood on his hands and wolves in the dark, but that voice hit him anyway, right in the gut.

“Here,” the man said again, and something was thrust in Jack’s hands.

There was an odd series of popping noises, then paws slapping the ground.

Jack realized he was holding a flashlight. “What the ever- lovin’ fuck?” he mumbled as he turned it on. “No way.” He shook his head, figuring he must have bumped it somehow.

“Rhett!” God, where had his brother gone? Jack remembered finding him, but a quick check of the ground nearby showed that Rhett wasn’t anywhere close. “Rhett!”

Jack shined the light farther out, but before he could spin all the way around, something nipped at his left heel.

”Shit!” A second nip sent him running, and a third had him hauling ass toward the house.

It was almost like he was being herded, but that couldn’t be true.

A fourth, sharper nip sent him bounding up the steps, and he prayed that Rhett had somehow made it to safety when he slammed the door shut behind him.

His back pressed to the wood, lungs burning, Jack clutched the useless rifle and swore under his breath. Wolves, voices, glowing eyes—none of it made sense. All he knew was one thing. Whatever was out there wanted him alive. And that terrified him more than dying.