Page 25 of Pack Kasen, Part 3 (Caught #3)

KAT

N ear the main house, a dark gray Honda approaches.

The vehicle is unfamiliar, and it is raising every single hair on the back of my neck.

My wolf hasn’t stopped growling at me that a threat is coming, and I’m reluctant to move away from the schoolroom door.

But I’m not worried about myself.

I’m afraid for anyone who puts themselves between me and Cristofer, and my nerves are screaming at me that this is Cristofer here for me. The last time Aren and Finan left the house to investigate trouble, nothing happened.

The likelihood of someone driving to the house soon after Aren and the other enforcers leave is so slim that this is definitely trouble.

I linger in the schoolroom doorway, unsure whether to stay and protect the pups or shift and investigate.

Aren was prepared for an attack, but he kept his voice down when he spoke to me, as if he didn’t want to worry the pups. If he truly believed trouble was on its way, the pups would not be in class. He would have stopped it and moved everyone to a place that's easy to defend.

“The sooner you figure out what it is, the sooner you have to act,” I murmur.

Sounds drift from the bunkhouse and the main house. The rest of the pack are going about their day, while I’m getting the growing sense that something bad is coming.

My gaze clashes with Marisa, who steps onto the deck.

She’s frowning.

“Kat?” Gregor steps out of the schoolroom, distracting me.

I twist to face him. “Stay here. I’m going to check this out. I won’t be long.”

He gives me a long look and nods. “Are you sure you should be going on your own?”

“I’m not going to fight,” I reassure him. “Just to see what it is. I’ll be back to help with the pups if it’s something bad.”

I’m half tempted to rush the kids from the schoolroom to the bunkhouse, but maybe that’s what Cristofer wants. And I don’t want to panic the kids for no reason if it’s just a delivery.

Gregor retreats to the schoolroom, shutting the door behind him, and I head toward the main house. I’m nearly there when I hear a twang followed by a growl of pain, and I start running.

Wes, a large brown wolf, is on the floor, a crossbow bolt in his shoulder, and a pool of blood forming under him. The driver’s side door of the dark gray Honda is open.

Cristofer climbs out of it, still holding the crossbow.

His gaze clashes with mine.

He no longer resembles the friendly library technician I thought of as a friend. He’s not wearing the glasses I doubt he ever needed, and there’s a hardness in his gaze that warns of looming trouble.

I briefly consider charging him. The distance between us stops me. I won’t make it across the distance before he reloads and shoots me. My stomach twists in remembered pain, and I’m in no hurry to experience it again.

My gaze flicks to Wes.

He’s injured and bleeding, yet his dark green eyes warn me to stay back.

Cristofer came here for me. I could go with him and end this, but I know Aren. Aren wouldn’t hesitate to come after me even if that meant stepping into a trap.

“Come with me, Kat, and this all ends,” Cristofer calls out.

I twist around and sprint back the way I came, ducking when my wolf snarls a warning.

A crossbow bolt slams into the tree beside me, and I rush back to the schoolroom, flinging the door open. “Get the pups now! Which place is safer? The schoolroom or the bunkhouse?”

Gregor doesn’t hesitate. He motions the pups up from their seats. “The bunkhouse. Let’s go, pups.”

I step aside, watching for signs of Cristofer’s approach and keeping myself between the door and the pups.

The pups are quiet and scared but not panicked as I signal them to come out. Gregor, a calm, steady presence, leads them out of the schoolroom and the few feet to reach the bunkhouse.

As Gregor leads, I follow behind, watching for Cristofer.

There’s no sign of him, but there is a faint sound of a scuffle. Either Wes is up and fighting him, or Marisa is. She’s no longer on the deck.

We get to the bunkhouse, where most of the pack live, and I shove the door open, hurrying the kids inside.

The rest of the pack, who were in the bunkhouse, snatch up the kids and disappear deeper into the building, and I hope the pack who are in the main house stay inside and don’t run out into trouble.

A few members of the pack offer to fight Cristofer, but he’s here for me, not them.

“Stay inside,” I urge them. “He shot Wes, and I think Marisa is on her own out there.”

Gregor is stopping me as I step back out. “Don’t open the door to anyone,” I tell them. “Whatever happens, stay inside.”

He’s talking as I close the door.

As Aren’s mate, I’m Luna.

He’s not here to protect the pack, so I will.

I strip my clothes off and reach for my wolf.

Behind me, I hear people hushing the pups in the bunkhouse. Their voices move farther away, as if they’re hiding them.

Good.

I throw my head back and howl. This was a trap. Not for Aren as I thought, but for me. Cristofer lured Aren and his enforcers away, and they need to come back now.

Finished howling my warning, I put my head down and prepare for battle.

Toward the house, the smell of blood is heavy in the air, mingling with Cristofer’s fresh scent. I inhale deeply. Juniper and sage, overpoweringly so. I track it to a small cabin.

He shot Wes with the crossbow bolt—more than once for Wes to be bleeding that badly.

A lean, dark brown wolf steps out from the cabin.

Cristofer.

I growl at him.

His silvery gray eyes narrow.

Guess he’s decided he doesn’t want me after all. That’s okay, I never wanted him.

I cock my head when a howl goes up in the distance. Aren, responding to my howl.

He’s approaching, but that howl sounded distant. Whatever Cristofer's trap was, it drew him several minutes away.

Movement yanks my focus from the howl to the wolf lunging toward me, jaws wide, white teeth glinting at me.

I leap to meet Cristofer, wanting to end this now .

We slam into each other. He’s bigger, stronger, and I go down under him.

I move to protect my throat, but he’s not going for it. He pins me, fighting to keep me down, as I struggle to get up.

A door slams on my left, and my eyes widen in horror as a wolf bursts from the cabin, snarling and enraged.

Fuck .

Cristofer freed the feral.

That’s what he was doing in there.

My jaws clamp onto Cristofer’s shoulder. Hot, rich blood fills my mouth. He grunts but holds firm as two wolves fly toward the feral.

One scent is familiar.

Sharp orange and wild jasmine.

Marisa.

Troy streaks past me so fast, I barely catch his scent before he’s slamming into the feral.

Both go down.

Troy is an enforcer. He can fight, but this feral is out of control with rage. Marisa leaps onto the feral, but the feral shakes off her attack like it’s nothing.

I snap at Cristofer. He yanks his head back, protecting his neck, and I scramble up, staring on in horror as the feral swipes at Marisa. The blow sends her flying back, slamming into the cabin as the feral tears into Troy.

A hard weight drives me to the ground, and I see stars. My rage propels me to my feet when my head is still ringing. Troy doesn’t have long. He needs my help, or he will die. I whirl around, forget about protecting my neck, forget about protecting anything.

Cristofer has to die.

I have to help Troy.

Nothing else matters.

Cristofer stumbles back, surprised by my suicidal attack. I follow him down, snarling as his claws rake my belly. I lunge for his throat, biting down and holding on until he stops moving. His blood fills my mouth.

He’s dead.

Troy is on the ground, and Marisa is bleeding heavily from a wound on her shoulder, but Cristofer is dead as I sprint toward the feral.

He whips around, snarling at me with wild eyes, nothing human in his gaze.

I once ran at a four-hundred-pound deer to save a seven-year-old boy's life. I scared the deer off. Something tells me this wild, rampaging wolf won't be so easy to chase away.