Page 45 of Destined Prey
Jack had no answer. The thing—Ernesto—headed for the door. Jack raced to beat him there, sure that Ernesto would just tear through the whole doorway if he didn’t get there first to let him out.
The boards rattled beneath his boots. It felt like running inside the wrong kind of dream—the kind where monsters wore familiar faces right up until they shed their skins. Jack’s stomach twisted, torn between dread of Ernesto’s monstrous reveal and the more urgent terror of losing Ben in the yard outside.
As Jack passed Ernesto, he noted that Ernesto was taller than him. Jack’s head didn’t quite reach the top of Ernesto’s frontshoulder. Or whatever that part of a wolf from the depths of Hell was called.
He opened the door and let Ernesto out just as the truck door flew open. Ben leapt out and coyotes surged around him.
Ernesto threw his head back and howled. The sound, unnatural, carried on the wind, through it, like some horrible magical spell being spun out right then and there.
And every coyote in the yard froze, as did Ben.
Then Ernesto leapt off the porch and the bloodbath began.
Chapter Twenty-One
Whatever else Ernesto was, he was terrifying. Jack tried to hold the rifle up but was stunned by the sight of that giant wolf-demon hybrid Ernesto had changed into tearing through the coyotes.
He snapped them in half, and the gore sent Jack to his knees.
Jack gagged, bile scorching the back of his throat. He’d seen blood before—ranch accidents, bar fights—but never like this. It wasn’t just bodies being ripped apart; it was the sound of it, the smell. His heart hammered against his ribs, torn between terror and a bone-deep certainty: Ben had to survive this.
“Holy fuck,” Rhett whispered. “Holy fuck. He’s just— They don’t stand a chance.”
And that scared Jack into action. He put the rifle down and stood. “Ben! Ben, come here! Hurry!” “Before that Ernesto-thing eats you or breaks you. Please, please!”
The connection, which had vanished when Ernesto had come into the house, snapped back into place.
Ben skirted around bodies, living and in pieces, and ran full-out for the porch.
For one horrifying second, Jack thought he’d never make it—that Ben would stumble, that something would drag him down. The relief that surged when their eyes locked across the carnage nearly brought Jack to tears. That connection wasn’t just in his head; it was in his blood, his bones, his soul.
Wolves ran out from behind the barns, and Ernesto stood on his hind legs, holding one coyote above his head as he howled. He threw the coyote shifter at the wolves, then pounced.
“Ben!”
Ben jumped, a graceless leap that brought him colliding into Jack and Rhett both. Rhett went down, the rifle flying from his hands.
Jack landed on his ass and flung himself over Rhett. When the rifle didn’t fire upon landing, Jack was up and pulling at Rhett, who was conscious but not looking very with it.
Ben shifted and together they dragged Rhett inside.
Jack’s arms shook with the effort, not from Rhett’s weight but from raw adrenaline. His brother’s blood smeared his sleeve, and for the first time in years, Jack felt that fragile thread of childhood terror—that he might lose Rhett, the one person who’d always been his anchor.
“I have to go back out,” Ben said. “My pack—I can’t let that thing out there kill them!”
Jack’s throat closed. He wanted to scream at him to stay, to not walk back into the nightmare outside. But the truth was there, burning in Ben’s eyes. Family meant everything, and Jack loved him all the more for it, even as fear clawed at his insides.
“Thatthingis Ernesto,” Jack replied. “And he said he was going to save us and the people we cared about. That means your family too, but…but I don’t know. He’s fucking terrifying.”
“I can’t take him on and live,” Ben muttered. “I don’t think any of us can. He’s something ancient and not completely natural. There’s old magic holding him together, I think. I can sense it but don’t know what it is.”
“Do we trust him?” Jack asked, clinging to Ben. “Are you hurt anywhere?”
“A few scratches. I’d have been in a lot worse shape if Ernesto hadn’t scared the piss out of everyone.” Ben moved to the door. “I have to go out. I can’t risk my family.”
“Call them,” Jack urged. “Here, use my phone.” It was still in his shirt pocket. He handed it to Ben.
“They’ve probably all shifted. They were in town, though, so they can’t get here in the next few minutes. Probably not even in the next ten minutes.” Ben took the phone and tried to call them. “No answers. I bet they’re all coywolfed out.”
