Page 16 of What a Wolf Demands

“Dominic Prado, Beta of the—”

“New York Territory. I know who you are.” Her heart thumped. He wasn’t a jailer.

He was an executioner.

Everyone knew his name. No one wanted to meet him face-to-face.

The eerie blue rolled over his eyes again. He inclined his head. “You know me.”

His voice had a rusty quality to it—as if he didn’t use it that often. “Yes,” she said. “I know about you.”

“Then I don’t need to tell you how foolish it would be to run.” Another flash of blue. “Because rest assured, I’ll catch you.”

She darted a look at her backpack under the bar. Going for it would waste precious seconds. Better to turn and run through the door leading to the kitchen and the bar’s back door. It opened into a narrow alley that connected Jay’s Place to several other bars, including a dance club that was always packed with humans. If she could reach it, she might lose him in the crowd.

It was her only option.

Because going with him meant death. The New York Territory was a thousand miles away, but she knew three things about it: the wolves there spoke a mix of English and French, the Alpha was one of the most powerful in the country, and his Beta was named Dominic Prado.

Well, maybe she knew four things. Because she also knew Dominic Prado was the wolf other Alphas called when they couldn’t track down a fugitive or feral latent. No Alpha liked asking for help. Most did whatever they could to avoid it—to avoid any hint of weakness. But feral latents threatened to expose the entire species. No Alpha could afford to let one roam unchecked. On the rare occasions their own Hunters failed to run a latent to ground, they called Prado. When Alphas exhausted all their options for dealing with a problem wolf, they asked him for assistance.

And he eliminated the problem.

He watched her now, his expression impassive.

Waiting.

She licked her lips. “Gaspar and Phil—those men who were here before—they’ll come back.”

“Eventually. Which is why you and I are leaving. Now.”

“I’m not going with you.”

He reached inside his jacket, making the leather creak. When he withdrew his hand, he held a small hypodermic needle.

She froze, her stare locked on the wicked-looking point. Her throat went dry. He meant to drug her? She forced her gaze to his. “You can’t carry an unconscious woman out of a bar. The humans will see.”

“This won’t render you unconscious. Just docile.” His eyes flickered. “Compliant.”

Compliant. He expected her to just go meekly to her own execution?

“Lily? What’s going on?” Jay’s gruff voice sounded over her shoulder.

Prado frowned, his attention on the bar owner.

It was all the distraction she needed. Without a second thought, she whirled and pushed past a startled Jay. He stumbled back, and his shocked “hey!” followed her as she hit the kitchen door and raced toward the exit.

Pounding footsteps rang out behind her.

Prado. He must have leapt over the bar in pursuit.

She didn’t dare glance over her shoulder. Go, go, go. The chant in her head matched her thundering heartbeat. Her work shoes slapped against the tiled floor as she darted around the cluttered prep area. She dodged a steel rolling cart stacked with pots and pans. Her foot caught the edge of a non-skid mat. She stumbled, recovered, and kept going. The rear door was propped open, the frame a rectangle of beckoning sunlight.

She sprinted toward it. Her throat burned.

“Stop!” Prado barked behind her.

Close.

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