Page 9 of Hunted

Who would have thought I’d end up dying here?

Her inner voice was snarky and petulant.

Because I don’t want to die here!she retorted at herself.

Abigail knew she was truly unconscious when the shadows outside became humanoid figures that chased her.

The dream, that she wasn’t sure was really a dream, made her freeze with fear.

The not-dream changed then as a loud banging came from the heavens.

The banging seemed to chase the shadowy humanoid things away.

Abigail looked up gratefully toward the sky, only to find out that she was waking up from unconsciousness.

And the loud banging was not an angry god or goddess, there to protect her. Instead, the banging came from an old woman with wiry white hair and a wizened face, who was tapping on the windshield of the car.

“Are you okay, dearie? Bert, I don’t think she’s okay! Bert! Bert!” the woman called over and over again as Abigail stared up at her.

The woman had to be in her late seventies, or maybe her early eighties. She had lost the beauty of youth a long time ago, and only the outline of it remained. Yet in that moment, Abigail had never seen a more radiant woman before.

I’d think that about anyone who saved me,she thought tiredly.

She tried to move then but realized quickly enough that she was trapped by her injuries.

Her mouth was painfully dry, and her bladder was full. Abigail was on the verge of tears when a man appeared next to the woman.

Bert, I’m guessing.

And though he looked as old as the woman who had called his name so insistently, he was strong enough to take the locked door of her car off its hinges.

Because that was what he did next.

“Thank you.” Abigail found herself coughing the words as they helped her out of the car.

“No worries, dearie,” the woman practically chirruped the words, like an aged Snow White.

That was when Abigail smelled them properly for the first time—wolf.

They were shifters like her. She hadn’t realized it at first as she had been so bogged down by pain it had been difficult to focus on anything other than breathing.

“I’m fine,” she insisted as they helped her to her feet. She inhaled unsteadily, and the biting pain seemed to flare into existence with each new breath. “You really don’t have to worry. I just needed to rest.”

“Oh dear, but we can’t just leave you here. Besides, Bert has to put your car’s door back on. Don’t you, Bert? Bert!”

“I really am fine.” Abigail struggled to smile at the woman, whose name she still didn’t know. When she looked around her, she saw the shadows again, gathering above her. She needed to get away from there. And she needed to do it soon.

“Dear, why don’t you let us take you to our pack healer?” The woman must have seen the startled look on Abigail’s face because she practically chortled. “We smelled the wolf on you right away. Please dear, it won’t take even a minute.”

Eventually, Abigail allowed them to convince her to go to their pack healer.

Esme—the old woman had finally told Abigail her name—helped Abigail into their car. Bert, who had said nothing at all but nodded at everything his wife said, started their old car quickly.

The Moonstone pack—because Esme had also revealed the name of her pack—territory was almost as large as the Crimson Claw territory. Abigail didn’t see much of it, though, still in too much pain to take note of her surroundings. She must have fallen into unconsciousness again because when she woke, she wasn’t in the old car anymore.

Instead, she was on a cot in what was clearly an infirmary.

“Hi, welcome back to the world!” a young, female wolf shifter chirped.

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