Chapter 13
There was blood. And the scent of fur. And the wildest flash of rage in a broad-shouldered shifter’s eyes.
Then I was being drawn inside, the door closing behind us, as Gunner grabbed a doily off a sideboard and held it up to his streaming nostrils. “You certainly know how to make an entrance,” he said grimly, walking away from me just as quickly as his brother—cousin?—had.
Like the thinner werewolf I’d followed up the front steps, the one currently in front of me didn’t bother glancing back to see if I followed as he sped through a series of rooms full of ebony furniture and Turkish rugs. Instead, he bellowed loudly enough for humans to hear from the sidewalk, calling out names of pack mates who came sprinting toward us from nooks and crannies I didn’t have time to fully per
