Old Miner roared in pain and twisted to maul the small wolf.
Chapter 4
Slade dashed out the cavern exit and into the forest. He needed to escape Rylee’s men before he ended up killing them. Harming them was the last thing he wanted to do, but his beast had no qualms about ripping their throats out. His wolf no longer cared to be human. It needed fresh air, the feel of rich earth as his paws raked the ground and the taste of game blood. And her.
The howls echoed through the valley. Alerting all werewolves at LIA headquarters the mad prince had escaped. Fools.
Slade growled. Let them come after him. If they were lucky, they’d knock him out, but not before heads rolled and blood painted the ground. He must leave their territory, far enough so they would lose his scent. Enter human territory. But he couldn’t. Not without her.
There was no reasoning with the beast. He wanted Cricket, his little pack submissive. Not sure why the runt mattered, but she did.
Slade stopped and twisted toward the building where he’d left her and whimpered. He sniffed and caught a whiff of her alluring scent, and that of horse. Yes. Not inside the building, but in the open air. His tail wagged.
Slade followed her aroma, a beacon of sweet honey and subtle fresh-cut roses, toward the direction of a meadow.
A rider-less horse stampeded toward him.
He gave the spooked horse a wide berth, and she galloped faster, heading back to the barn.
The mare’s wet coat reeked of panic and terror. The saddle embedded with Cricket’s scent. Rose blossoms and warm honey.
No. Had Cricket fallen and broken her neck? Fuck.
Guilt and rage drove him, and he took off at a dead run, not caring the pack gained on him. The closer he got to her, the more he caught the scent of a grizzly. Against a bear, his little wolf wouldn’t have a chance. Mauled.
Cricket.
Slade dashed to the meadow. Save. Protect. Slaughter.
Slade jolted to a stop. He froze and stared in disbelief.
The brown body of the largest bear he’d seen this far south of his home in Alaska laid prone on its side. Dead. He cocked his head.
The coyote-size wolf sat on her haunches. Her tongue lolled out of her blood-stained mouth. Cricket had made the kill.
Slade howled. Pride for the little wolf filled his heart with joy. Who gives a shit if the entire pack heard him? She lived.
Possibly harmed.
He raced down to her and gently shoved her to the ground. Sniffing and pawing every inch of her. Confirming the blood was the bear’s, not hers. No broken bones or inflamed bruises.
Cricket whimpered and submissively lay on her back, letting him lick the bear’s blood off her throat and mouth. Her rich essence revitalized him. Thoughts of rage dissipated, the beast satisfied. Relieved on seeing her unharmed, reality bit him in the ass.
His wolfish smile wavered. How dare she place herself in such danger? Many werewolves had lost the battle when fighting a fierce bear.
Slade gently bit her nose, disciplining her for putting herself in danger.
Cricket yelped. “Hey, that hurts, sir.”
He released her, but stood over her, towering over her small form, glaring at his little wolf. “What were you thinking fighting a giant bear?”
“I was protecting my horse. Besides, Old Miner had to be put down. He was starving to death.”
Slade glanced at the old skeletal beast. He caught the whiff of rotting teeth and noticed his broken jaw. Cricket had killed out of mercy. He couldn’t help but admire her. Still, as her pack master he should have made the kill. Not her. A wounded bear was the most dangerous beast to battle. He turned and growled at her for good measure. “Never do that again!”
“Prince Slade, step back,” said a grey wolf, an alpha shadowed by six betas.
He’d been so focused on finding Cricket he’d forgotten to remain alert for his pursuers. At least in wolf form, they didn’t carry tranquilizers. Were they all willing to fight him? Slade turned and growled, his beast returning to protect her. He’d never surrender. Spitting drool, he snarled. “Stay back.”