Page 6 of Howl For A Kiss
"Go!" Logan shouted, providing covering fire as he and Zoe moved toward a rear exit. "We'll rendez?—"
A flashbang grenade detonated near Elena's position, temporarily blinding her as hunters closed in. Damon moved without conscious thought, his body becoming a weapon honed by years of combat training. Two hunters went down to precise strikes that severed arteries, while a third found himself unconscious before he hit the ground.
"Now, Elena!" Damon commanded, his hand finding her back as he guided her toward an emergency exit he'd spotted when they'd arrived.
For a moment, he thought she might argue further. Then her tactical mind asserted itself over emotional attachment, and she nodded grimly.
They burst through the rear exit into the pine-scented Tidewater forest. Behind them, gunfire echoed through the air.
"This way," Elena said, her voice tight with suppressed grief and rage. "There's a route through the old growth section."
As they plunged deeper into the forest, Damon's wolf remained on high alert, every sense attuned to potential pursuit. But another part of him—the part that had just discovered his mate—focused entirely on the woman running beside him.
Whatever was blocking Elena's recognition of their mate bond, whatever secrets she carried about her true nature, none of it mattered now. She was his mate, she was in danger, and he would protect her with his life.
The forest closed around them like a protective embrace, but Damon knew their enemies wouldn't give up easily. The hunt had only begun.
THREE
ELENA
Snow crunched beneath Elena's combat boots as she and Damon ran deeper into the forest, her tactical vest bouncing against her thermal black top with each hurried step. The shoulder harness containing her guns pressed against her ribs, a familiar weight that usually brought comfort but now felt inadequate against the chaos they'd left behind.
Her blonde hair whipped around her face as branches caught at the strands, but she ignored the minor irritation. Every nerve ending screamed with hypervigilance, cataloging potential threats in the winter landscape around them. The snap of a twig. The crunch of disturbed snow. The distant echo of voices that might belong to their pursuers.
Yet despite the tactical focus consuming her conscious mind, something primal stirred deeper within her chest. Her gaze kept drifting sideways to the man running beside her—this Damon Gray who moved with predatory grace through the forest terrain. His thermal black henley stretched across his broad chest, while his tactical jacket hung open to reveal the hip holster containing his knife. Dark jeans hugged his powerful thighs that ate up ground with effortless strides.
When their hands had touched during their handshake back at the rebel warehouse, a strange electricity had jolted up her arm. The sensation lingered even now, a warm buzzing beneath her skin that made no logical sense.
The caverns materialized ahead through the pine trees like salvation carved from stone. Elena had discovered them during her early days establishing the rebel base—natural formations that provided perfect shelter from both the elements and her enemies.
"Here," she panted, ducking beneath the rocky overhang into the cavern's mouth.
Damon followed, his imposing frame filling the entrance as he scanned their surroundings with professional assessment. Snow dusted his dark brown hair, highlighting the auburn streaks that caught what little light filtered through the cavern opening.
"We'll wait here until the coast clears," Elena said, holstering her sidearm as her breathing gradually returned to normal. "Then I need to get back and check on my base."
Damon's green eyes sharpened with something that looked suspiciously like disagreement. "Elena, if the location is compromised?—"
"I'm not abandoning my base," she interrupted, fury rising in her chest like molten steel. "Those are my people back there. My responsibility."
"Your responsibility is staying alive to lead them," Damon replied, his deep voice carrying authority. "Dead leaders serve no one."
The casual dismissal of her judgment ignited something volatile within Elena. How dare this stranger—this man who'd known her for all of thirty minutes—presume to tell her how to protect her own people.
"You don't understand," she snapped, her hands clenching into fists as rage built like pressure behind a dam. "I built that operation from nothing. Those rebels trust me to?—"
Suddenly, pain lanced through her body like white-hot lightning, cutting off her words mid-sentence. Something clawed at her from the inside, desperate to break free with an urgency that bordered on violence. Her bones felt like they were stretching, reshaping themselves into configurations that defied human anatomy.
"What's happening to me?" she gasped, staring in horror at her hands.
Sharp canine teeth erupted from her gums with audible pops, while her fingernails elongated into curved claws that could tear through flesh like tissue paper. White fur sprouted along her forearms in patches, soft and pristine.
Panic flooded her system as she fought against the transformation, every instinct screaming that this was worrisome and terrifying. The pain intensified as her body warred between human and something else entirely.
"No, no, no," she panted, trying to force her claws back to normal fingernails through sheer willpower. "This isn't—I can't?—"
"Elena." Damon's voice cut through her panic like a blade through silk, calm and commanding. "Look at me."
