Page 8 of What a Wolf Demands

And she put him there.

Nausea burned her throat. It didn’t matter if she meant to do it or if she acted in self-defense. Latents didn’t get the benefit of the doubt. Any Tracker who got close to the body would scent her on it. From there, it wasn’t hard to connect her to Charlie—or to give her a motive for killing him. He’d insulted her in the bar. And she retaliated by threatening to . . .

“Kill him,” she whispered. Everyone in the bar heard her. They heard Luc accuse her of being feral, too.

On the ground, the pool of blood spread, inching close to the tips of her ugly black work shoes.

Saliva pooled in her mouth as another wave of nausea crashed over her. She stumbled back from Charlie, then darted a look around the street. There weren’t many houses in this area—just a couple of older ranches spaced far apart. The homes were dark. No one had seen her.

And no one can.

She had to leave Bon Rêve. Tonight. Now. There was no time to lose. Even now, Luc or someone else from the bar might be looking for Charlie. If they found her . . .

Bart’s voice echoed in her mind. “Once the Alpha catches wind of it, latents don’t usually live long. I’ve seen it happen over and over again.”

He’d meant executions.

Well, he wasn’t going to see hers.

Keeping her gaze away from Charlie’s face, she bent and patted around his pockets. When she felt the unmistakable edges of a wallet, she pulled it from his pants, straightened, and looked inside. Years of counting tips made her fast, and she tallied the bills in her head as she thumbed through the cash.

Six hundred eighty-seven dollars. He must have cashed his paycheck right after leaving work.

Hands shaking, she stuffed the wallet in her back pocket. Now she could add stealing to her growing list of crimes.

Don’t think about it. Right now, she just needed to get the hell out of Bon Rêve. There was a bus stop on the edge of town, where a causeway linked the bayou to the interstate. Bon Rêve’s residents had fought against the highway’s expansion, fearing it might encourage humans to move in.

Their fears were unfounded. Humans might be oblivious to the supernatural, but most of them possessed enough of a sixth sense to stay away. The bus never dropped anyone off, and it never lingered.

A breeze gusted across the sidewalk, rustling the grass that had grown up around the cracked concrete. It ruffled Charlie’s hair.

Murderer.

She spun and hurried down the sidewalk, keeping close to the shadows that clung to the fence.

Murderer. Thief. Fugitive. The three words were like drumbeats in her head as she picked up speed. By the time she reached the edge of town, she was running, and the refrain galloped through her mind, each word pounding harder and harder.

Murderer, thief, fugitive. Murderer, thief, fugitive.

She sprinted, her thighs burning. Tears streaked down her face, mingling with sweat.

Murderer, thief, fugitive.

Charlie’s wallet was like a weight in her back pocket. Her chest burned, and a sharp ache knifed at her side.

Murderer, thief, fugitive.

Houses flew by, then the tiny library. The knife in her side dug deeper. Still she ran, fear spurring her forward faster and faster.

Murderer, thief, fugitive.

When the bus stop came into view, she stumbled to a halt. Pain shot up her ankle, and she hissed in a breath. Every part of her wanted to collapse on the ground, but she forced herself to stay upright. Her ponytail had loosened during her mad sprint, and now long tendrils were plastered to her neck. She dared a look over her shoulder, half expecting a crowd of pursuers with torches and pitchforks.

But there was nothing but cypress trees. In between their trunks, the lights of Bon Rêve glowed faintly. Her house was somewhere among those lights.

No, not her house. She couldn’t go back there.

Regret lanced her heart. She sucked in a breath, then limped toward the bus stop.

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