Page 5 of Way of the Wolf

Duncan stepped out into the parking lot to intercept two riders heading toward Bolin’s G-Wagon with their weapons raised and savage glee in their eyes. If Duncan was armed with anything more than that metal detector, I couldn’t tell.

“Idiot.” I grabbed a head-sized rock from a garden bed and hurled it as one of the riders roared close.

He was looking at Duncan and didn’t see my impromptu projectile coming. My blood might be dulled by the potions, but there was nothing wrong with my aim. The rock slammed into the guy’s face hard enough to knock him off his motorcycle.

Duncan, wielding his metal detector like the staff I’d considered earlier, struck another rider on the side of the head. That man also fell, his motorcycle hitting the ground, the wheels still spinning.

“That’s what you assholes get for not wearing helmets!” I grabbed another rock.

The guy with the gun had stayed in the back row of the parking lot, but when he saw my attacks, he rose up on the footrests. He leveled his firearm at me over the roofs of the parked cars.

I swore again and dove behind a stout cedar.

Before the man could fire, Duncan sprang onto the roof of a car as if he’d launched out of a cannon. As soon as his feet touched down, he leaped again. He flew toward the rider, kicking at the guy’s face before the vandal could turn the gun on him. They both went down, Duncan a blur of movement as he managed to keep from getting tangled up with man and motorcycle.

Still gripping his metal detector, he sprinted after two more thugs roaring around the parking lot on their Harleys. They’d stopped breaking windows, and they focused on Duncan, pointing their bats at him like jousters riding toward a target.

Since the shooter was down, I leaned out from behind the tree to grab another rock. Intending to throw it at the would-be jousters, I took aim, but another rider tore toward the G-Wagon with a crowbar.

A shriek of, “No!”came from the walkway.

Bolin ran toward the SUV, his man purse flopped open, and the glowing green vial in his hand. He threw it at the pavement between the G-wagon and the approaching motorcyclist. Glass shattered, and visible vapor flowed out so quickly, it was as if it was alive. There was no breeze, but hazy green tendrils formed and wafted toward the man.

Nostrils twitching, he jerked his head back. His motorcycle wobbled as he clawed wildly at his eyes.

Since he was distracted, I hurled my rock at him. It smashed into the side of his head. As with my other targets, the blow was enough to knock him off his motorcycle. Without a rider, it pitched sideways, stopping shy of crashing into the G-Wagon.

Reminded of the threat to Duncan, I grabbed another rock. But he didn’t need help. Not only were the two attackers he’d faced down, bleeding and groaning on the pavement, but their big motorcycles were on their sides, the engines stopped, the frames warped, and the handlebars and other parts torn off.

I stared. How the hell had that happened?

It looked like they’d been run over by a train or had crashed into a cement wall at top speed. Neither could have happened in the parking lot. There was only… Duncan.

He stood calmly in the middle of the motorcycle carnage, straightening his jacket and tucking in his shirt. Once the state of his attire again suited him, he bent and picked up his metal detector.It didn’t appear damaged in the least.Hedidn’t appear damaged either.

Duncan smiled easily when our gazes met, as if nothing unusual had happened, as if raw power didn’t emanate from him, as if he hadn’t ripped motorcycles apart with his bare hands.

“This day is getting more and more concerning,” I muttered.

3

“You saved myMercedes.”Bolin ran up, his phone clutched in one hand and the man purse in the other. That vial had come out of it, but it was once again sealed.

“Yeah,” I said, “your carwasmy priority.”

“It’s worth more than the rest of the beaters in this lot combined. I shouldn’t have driven it here. My insurance agent would have dinged me for coming into such a bad neighborhood.”

I bristled, wanting to defend the neighborhood as perfectly fine, but some aspects of ithadgone downhill of late. Prior to the last few years, I had never seen a motorcycle gang around here. Oranykind of gang.

Duncan ambled up, pushing his wavy hair back from his face with one hand and gripping the metal detector with the other.

“That’s how we negotiate where I’m from,” he said.

“Where I’m from too,” I admitted.

The pack didn’t have much use for diplomacy. Werewolves weren’t what they’d been in past generations, before the magic had faded, but they still used muscle and fang to get what they wanted.

“About what I figured.” Duncan nodded knowingly at me—tooknowingly. “Now that we’ve battled foul enemies together, maybe you can give me your name.”

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