Page 29 of Pack Kasen, Part 1 (Caught #1)

28

KAT

I don’t know much about nature, but I know a deer when I see one.

I thought I knew all about deer.

The big gray-brown one chomping on a plant in the hilly clearing on my right has big, terrifying antlers. Those antlers tell me I know shit about deer because it is big .

As I drive away from the Wolf King, the biggest tool on the planet, I hadn’t expected to see the wolf hiding in a shrub feet from the gigantic deer. Neither had the deer. When finished chomping its plant, it turned.

I swear three of its hooves leave the ground. When those hooves return to earth, the deer takes off, and it is fast .

Right toward seven-year-old Leo, who wandered out from God knows where, dragging that stupidly named lion with him.

Shit.

I yell his name, but with the windows up and the distance between us, he doesn’t hear a thing.

I wrench the Jeep off the road, slamming on the brakes and cursing the trees too close together to drive this massive vehicle through the gap.

Leaving the engine running, I fumble to open the door, practically falling out of it. Then I take off at a sprint toward Leo and the deer with the terrifying antlers trampling earth and flowers toward him.

“Leo. This way !” I yell as I gesture for him to come toward me.

He twists around and grins at me. “Hi, Kat! Rupert says hi too.”

My God, this kid is cute, but that is not what I need right now.

“Back to the house!” I yell. “The deer.”

He turns, spots the deer and does exactly what I don’t need him to do: he freezes.

Behind the deer, the hiding wolf who started this whole thing, throws its head back and howls. It’s a warning if I ever heard one. A come here, right fucking now.

I’m not fast enough as a human, but free from the silver that caged my wolf and me, I don’t reach for my wolf: we lunge for each other.

I’ve never shifted on the run before. I’ve crouched, working myself up to the fiery sensation.

No time for that now.

The joy of the change passes me by.

This change doesn’t feel like fire. It’s like lightning lancing me on the spot—electric, hot, and invigorating.

One moment, I’m a human, sprinting toward the still frozen little boy. The next, I’m a wolf, head down, ears back, eyes on the terrified deer thundering toward a frozen and equally terrified seven-year-old boy.

I’m about to play the most stupid game of chicken I’ve ever played in my life.

Leo isn’t moving, so I have to get the deer to go somewhere else. If I throw myself over Leo or shove him out of the way, the deer could trample over the both of us anyway.

I could grab him and run, but what if the deer charges someone else who wanders out and doesn’t see it until it’s too late?

No.

I have to convince the deer to change direction.