Fangs of Fire

Riley Voss was screwed. Not the usual “truck’s dead, rent’s late” kind of screwed though that was true too but the “holy hell, there’s a wolf the size of a linebacker staring at me” kind. She clutched her camera tighter, the strap digging into her sweaty palm, and cursed herself for ever thinking a wildlife photo was worth this. Thorn Hollow’s woods were supposed to be quiet, not a freaking horror movie set. The sun had dipped below the pines twenty minutes ago, leaving the sky a bruised purple. She’d been stalking a black wolf rumor some rare breed the local paper swore was worth a $500 contest prize. Her truck’s transmission had coughed its last breath two days back, and $500 was her ticket to fixing it. So here she was, trespassing on the creepy side of town with a thrift-store Nikon and a death wish. The wolf or whatever it was stood fifty feet away, half-hidden by gnarled oaks. Its fur was midnight black, eyes glowing like embers in a fire pit. Riley’s breath hitched. It was bigger than any wolf she’d Googled shoulders broad, head low, like it could snap a deer in half and call it breakfast. She raised the camera, heart thudding against her ribs. One shot. One perfect shot, and she’d be out of here. The flash popped like a gunshot. The wolf’s head whipped up, a snarl ripping through the silence. Riley froze, finger still on the shutter. “Oh, crap,” she whispered. The woods erupted howls echoing from every direction, sharp and guttural, like a pack answering a dinner bell. She stumbled back, boots catching on a root, and hit the dirt hard. Her camera skidded into the underbrush. Before she could scramble for it, the air shifted thick, electric, like a storm about to break. The wolf was gone. In its place stood a man. He was tall, over six feet, built like he bench-pressed trucks for fun. Dark hair fell into his face, damp with sweat, and tattoos snaked up his arms, disappearing under a black Henley stretched tight across his chest. But it was his eyes that stopped her cold amber, piercing, and pissed. He stalked toward her, barefoot in the mud, every step radiating heat she could feel from ten feet away. “You,” he growled, voice low and rough, like gravel under tires. “What the hell are you doing here?” Riley’s brain short-circuited. Shirtless wolf-man? Check. Angry as a hornet? Double check. She pushed to her knees, brushing dirt off her jeans. “Uh, taking a hike? Nice night for it.” Sarcasm was her shield, even if her voice wobbled. He didn’t buy it. In two strides, he loomed over her, close enough she could smell him pine, leather, something wild. “This is pack land. Sacred ground. And you just lit it up like a damn flare.” He jerked his chin toward her camera, now dangling from a bush. “Explain. Now.” “Pack land?” Riley blinked, then snorted. “What, like a gang? Look, I’m just a mechanic with a busted truck and a stupid idea. I didn’t mean to crash your… whatever this is.” She waved at the woods, where shadows moved more figures, eyes glinting in the dark. Her stomach dropped. Not wolves. People. Watching her. The man Kade, she’d learn later, though he didn’t bother with introductions snatched her camera before she could lunge for it. He held it up, inspecting the cracked lens. “You’ve got ten seconds before I decide you’re more trouble than you’re worth.” “Trouble?” Riley shot to her feet, fists balled. “I’m not the one playing LARP in the woods! Give that back it’s my ticket out of this dump.” She reached for it, but he pulled it away, his smirk sharp enough to cut. “Too late, sweetheart. You’ve already screwed us.” His eyes flicked past her, narrowing. “Hear that?” She did a howl, different from the others, jagged and unhinged. The air turned heavy, and the shadows around them tensed. Kade’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking under stubble. “You just drew the rogue right to us.” “Rogue?” Riley’s voice climbed an octave. “What’s a rogue? Like a stray dog?” “Worse.” He grabbed her arm, yanking her behind him as a crash splintered through the trees. Something big bigger than the wolf she’d seen barreled into view. It was a nightmare: matted fur, claws like knives, eyes glowing a sickly yellow. It lunged, and Riley yelped as Kade shoved her aside. He moved fast too fast muscles rippling as he met the thing head-on. She hit the ground again, scrambling for her tire iron, the only weapon in her backpack. The beast snapped at Kade, teeth inches from his throat, but he twisted, slamming it into a tree. A sickening crunch followed, and another figure a woman with cropped red hair darted from the shadows, plunging a blade into the creature’s flank. It howled, thrashing, then broke free, vanishing into the dark. Riley’s chest heaved, tire iron trembling in her grip. “What… the hell… was that?” Kade straightened, blood streaking his arm, and turned to her. His glare could’ve melted steel. “That was your fault. Flash woke it up, and now it’s got our scent.” He tossed her camera at her feet, cracked but intact. “One of mine’s dead because of you.” “Dead?” Her eyes darted to the shadows, where a limp form lay under a pine. Her stomach lurched. “I didn’t I was just ” “Save it.” He stepped closer, towering over her again, voice dropping to a snarl. “You’re in my world now, human. And you’re gonna fix this.” “Fix it? I’m not a werewolf whisperer!” She clutched the tire iron tighter, heart hammering. “I’m outta here.” “Try it.” His hand shot out, gripping her wrist not hard, but firm enough to root her in place. “That rogue’s hunting now. You’re bait, or you’re dead. Your choice.” Riley glared up at him, pulse racing under his touch. He was infuriating arrogant, gorgeous, and way too hot for someone who’d just threatened her life. “Fine,” she spat. “But if I die, I’m haunting your furry ass.” His lips twitched, a flicker of amusement breaking through the fury. “Deal, sparkplug.” He released her, turning to the shadows. “Mara, get the pack moving. We’ve got a hunt.” Riley swallowed, tire iron still in hand, as the woods closed in around her. She was screwed, alright. And som ething told her this was just the beginning.