Page 33 of The Last Sanctuary

She settled against the trunk of the hickory tree. Yellowed leaves rustled over her head. “You want me right here where you can keep an eye on me,” she murmured, hardly daring to breathe. “Is that it?”

The black wolf prowled around her in a slow, languid circle, sniffing the ground, the air, never breaching that ten-foot radius. Ten feet or ten inches, it hardly mattered. If he wished, his jaws could snap around her throat in less than a second.

For several minutes, he circled her. Raven sat rigid, nearly passing out from lack of oxygen. Abruptly, the wolf loped away and disappeared into the underbrush.

This time, she knew better than to move. He remained present but out of sight, watching her. The white wolf, too. She could feel their presence in the prickling of her skin, the rapid beat of her heart.

This was their territory. She was the intruder. Whether she lived or died tonight was entirely up to them.

She inhaled a slow, shaky breath and glanced up. Should she try to climb the tree, escape their reach? There were no low branches. She scanned the other trees—all too slim to bear her weight. Besides, movement would attract the wolves. If they deemed her actions threatening, they’d be on her in a heartbeat.

Better not to move until they tired of her. At least she was temporarily safe from the murderous bikers. There was that.

She sat against the tree trunk and waited, the knife clenched at her side. The cold ground seeped through her pants and chilled her legs and backside. Above her head, the sickle of the moon hung in the trees, caught in a snarl of branches.

For what seemed like hours, she waited and listened to the pulse of the night, the pitter-patter of tiny nocturnal creatures, and the soughing of the wind through the trees. She stayed alert for any sound or glimpse of the wolves, but there was nothing. They moved through the darkness like ghosts.

An hour later, the black wolf returned.

Chapter Fourteen

This time, the wolf came closer.

He trotted around Raven, sniffing the ground. He circled her again and again, each time drawing closer and closer.

She waited and watched, forcing herself to breathe, to keep her heart from hammering right out of her chest.Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid.Don’t give him a reason to kill you.

His behavior was much like the timber wolves investigating some new toy or strange object in their enclosure. Almost like a dog, though he was no dog. He was enormous. This close, she had to look up at him. His high, regal head. That broad, thickly furred chest and long lean legs. Those sharp teeth.

Abruptly, he bounded close to sniff at the soles of her boots. She gasped. Her brain shrieked in alarm. Somehow, she managed to remain still.

Just as quickly, he darted away.

“Shadow,” she whispered. “I’m your friend, not your enemy. I think you know that, right?”

The wolf half-turned as if to leave. Without warning, he whirled on her. He snapped his jaws and nipped her shoulder.

She flinched, stunned.Run!Her brain screamed at her.

But her brain was a liar. To run now would trigger his prey response. Instinct would drive him to attack, even if that wasn’t his original intention.

She couldn’t run. She couldn’t do anything but remain statue-still and endure this. Whatever this was.

It was a test. A test she either passed and lived or failed and died. Right here, tonight.

Her shoulder smarted. Slowly, gingerly, she raised her hand and felt the wound. No blood. No missing chunks of flesh.

The wolf hadn’t bitten her, not really. He wasn’t trying to hurt her. Or at least, not much. Not yet.

He was interested in something else.

Shadow disappeared into the underbrush.

Again, Raven waited.

Another hour passed. The air grew colder. Slender white-trunked birch trees glowed faintly in the moonlight. Fallen branches littered the ground at her feet. She shivered, drawing her arms around her torso for warmth.

To keep herself awake, she picked up a nearby stick, thick as her forearm, about a foot long. It was a good stick for whittling.