The problem for the Wolf Leader was that these feral werewolves—the true werewolves of ancient human legend—were not members of any pack. No group would accept a feral werewolf into its fold. They didn’t obey the rules. They had no idea there were rules. The hierarchy that applied to wolves in the wild was equally important to werewolves. The social structure of an alpha male whose rule was absolute was unchanged. Anyone who was unwilling to accept that dynamic was cast out. Feral werewolves were not welcome in such a well-regulated society. They were the dirty secret of which werewolves didn’t care to speak.
When in the grip of their wolf selves, feral werewolves were governed by uncontrollable rage and hunger for blood. They were driven to kill everyone they encountered, regardless of their human part. Once they returned to their human form, they remembered nothing or very little of what they had done. The condition was transferred through a bite, assuming the bitten person survived the attack the way Nate had done.
Over time, werewolves had mutated, achieving a remarkable feat. They were able to gain control over their bloodlust, although their other lupine instincts remained intact. Gradually, the werewolf world had split into two packs. One dwelt in Otherworld, while the other chose to reside in the mortal realm. With strong leadership, they could have been an imposing force. As it was, they warred among themselves and more closely resembled a pack of rabid dogs.
Although they were becoming rarer, feral werewolves remained a problem. Six years ago, when Nate had been feral, he had been cruelly used as a weapon by Nevan in his attempt to destroy Stella. When Nevan had gotten inside Nate’s head he had urged him to rip out Stella’s heart. That sort of mind control over feral wolves wasn’t used often, but it wasn’t unknown. Often, they ended up in prison cells and mental institutions in the mortal realm, unaware of the terrible deeds they had committed when the moon was full.
That was where Cal, in his role as Otherworld peacekeeper, stepped in. He and Stella couldn’t save all feral werewolves the way they had helped Nate. That would have been an impossible task. The best Cal could hope for was to find a werewolf hunter who would destroy feral werewolves in a way that was as painless and humane as possible.
That was why Nate was here now, lining up this young wolf in his sights, preparing to fire a silver bullet into his heart before finishing him off by decapitating him with a samurai sword.
His finger tightened on the trigger. This part was never easy. There was always a temptation to walk away, to tell himself he’d done his share of these kills. To let someone else take over now. Except, as he’d pointed out to Cal in the early hours of this morning, there was no one else. And he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. He owed it to the poor bastards locked in this torment.
Just before Nate could pull the trigger, the werewolf’s lips drew back in a snarl and he crouched low, his eyes fixed on something a few feet away. Nate breathed a soft curse and turned to look at whatever it was that had caught the werewolf’s attention. A dog? Maybe a deer? There was enough light from the full moon through the tree canopy to illuminate the scene. Even so, he thought he must be imagining things. There, standing stock-still like a marble statue, her long, dark hair hanging loose about her shoulders, was the most beautiful young woman he had ever seen. He did a double take. The most beautiful naked woman he had ever seen.
The werewolf sprang, closing the distance between himself and the woman. His eyes glowed toxic yellow, and his huge fangs were bared. Frozen out of her immobility at the sight, the woman stumbled back. With not a second to lose, Nate fired while the werewolf was in midlunge.
The huge beast shuddered as the bullet caught him in the chest. At the same time, the woman lost her balance completely and began to fall backward, her arms flailing wildly as she tried to find something—anything—on to which she could grab hold and save herself. She was unsuccessful. Even across a distance of several feet, Nate heard the sharp crack of her head hitting a rock before the werewolf came crashing down on top of her. Her slender body disappeared under the pelt of the huge, feral animal pressing her into the forest floor.
* * *
She opened her eyes slowly. The black of the night sky was splattered with bright stars, and the full moon hung huge and low in the center of her vision. It was blurred, and she blinked in an attempt to clear it. Nothing happened, so she sighed and closed her eyes again. Her head hurt and there was a horrible smell, like rotten meat and unwashed bodies. She had no idea where she was or how she came to be here. A warm, drowsy feeling swept over her.
“Don’t go to sleep.” It was a man’s voice. Unfamiliar and authoritative.
She frowned and opened one eye, seeking the source of those warm, well-modulated tones. A face loomed above her. The moon was behind him so she couldn’t make out much of his features. She got the impression of strength and determination. As he leaned closer, she caught a whiff of his clean, masculine scent. Soap and cologne. Something woodsy, musky and warming. He wasn’t the source of that gut-churning smell. Although the scent probably wasn’t the most important of her problems right now.
The feeling of cold earth and damp leaves against her bare flesh brought another realization crashing over her. She struggled to move, but the pain in her head was too intense. “Why am I naked?”
“You mean you don’t know?”
He asked the question in a slightly incredulous manner that could have been intended to convey almost anything. She gazed up at him in horror. She couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember why she was naked, why she was in these woods, why her head hurt, who he was. Who she was.
“What did you do to me?” The words trembled on her lips.
“Apart from saving your life, I haven’t done anything to you.” The words were harsh, clearly intended to put a swift end to any possible allegations.
She shrank back farther into the dirt. “I don’t believe you.”
He pointed to something just to one side of her. “Believe.”
With an effort, she turned her head. Inches away from her lay the body of an enormous wolf. Its jaws hung open to reveal lethal fangs, gleaming white in the moonlight. At least she had finally discovered the source of the smell.
“He was about to rip your throat out—among other things—when I shot him.”
Among other things? Even through the pain and fear, she picked up on something in the man’s tone. Sadness and sympathy. Regret. He referred to the wolf as “him,” not “it,” almost as if he was deliberately giving it an identity. That was how it felt, but maybe the shock or the bump on the head was making her overimaginative.
“I don’t know why I’m here.” The tears threatened to spill over, and she fought them. She might not know who she was, but she knew she didn’t do crying.
“There’s a big party going on at a house on the edge of the woods. Could you have come from there?” He turned slightly, presumably in the direction of the house he was talking about, and she caught a glimpse of his strong profile.
“I suppose it’s possible.” She risked sitting up, hugging her knees up to her chin. Her head hurt like hell, but at least she felt less exposed in this position than lying flat on her back. “It doesn’t explain why I’m not wearing any clothes.”
Her rescuer tugged his hooded sweatshirt over his head and handed it to her. “Put this on.”
She accepted it gratefully, pulling it over her head and sliding her arms into the sleeves. The residual warmth from his body and that delicious smell were comforting. She drew the garment around herself, trying desperately to remember something—anything—about what had happened before she had opened her eyes and seen this man leaning over her. It was no use. Her memory remained stubbornly blank.
“Can