Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I want to punch my own face in for making her mad enough to come out in this storm. Making her quit.
What in the hell is wrong with me?
I’m a monster. I pride myself on being horrible to my employees, and now I may have lost…fuck.
More than I previously cared to admit.
I’ve been minimizing what Madison means to me, but now, faced with possibly losing her, I realize what a damn fool I’ve been.
She’s perfect. I need her.
And for some reason, my wolf seems to think she belongs to me.
“Madison!” I shout into the wind then stop to listen. I wish we had fireworks or flares. Things wolves don’t keep around because we have no need for them.
I don’t start the snowmobile. I need to be able to hear the wolf-song, when it comes.
“Madison!” I stand and shout, over and over again, praying my words will catch on the wind and find their way to her.
Madison
I think I’m going into hypothermia. I’ve been out here so long, even my brain is numb. I have my fingers balled into fists inside my gloves and periodically, I’ll take one out and tuck it into my armpit to warm it and keep from getting frostbite. I probably already have it on my toes.
I think I’m hallucinating because it seems like I can hear my name being called.
Maybe Blackthroat’s out looking for me?
I try to follow the sound of his voice, but it seems to move around, which is what makes me think it’s just hypothermic hallucinations. On the chance it’s not, I decide a better strategy might be to make noise of my own.
“Hello? Help!” I shout over and over again until I grow hoarse.
The wind is too loud to scream over. I need to make more noise than that.
I trip again and crash down on my hands and knees. I’m face to face with a large stick. I pick it up. This might work. I find a tree and start beating the stick against it. It’s not louder than my voice, but I hope the rhythmic sound of it might signal someone who was looking for me. I beat and beat the tree until my arms grow weary. It’s hard for my frozen fingers to even stay curled around it.
Then I hear something.
Not the welcome sound of a human voice. Not my name being called.
No, it’s the yip and howl of wolves. The sound of a celebrated kill.
I choke back my cry. I’ve been trying to get someone’s attention. I forgot that I might attract the notice of something other than a human.
The sound of the wolf-cries grow louder, and then when they can’t be more than a few yards away, they go silent.
Oh, God.
They weren’t celebrating a kill–they’re after one. Me.
I turn in a slow circle, arcing the stick in front of me like a sword.
Something stirs in the white flurries. A huge ghostly shadow, like a ship passing through fog.
That shadowy shape in the snow was bigger than anything I want to meet, alone and unarmed out here in the cold. I feel like a kayaker out in the ocean, who looks down and sees a giant shark-shaped shadow lurking underneath her.
A dark shape darts out from behind a tree. Then another, and another.
I clutch the stick and shrink back into the snow, trying to hide from the huge creatures I’ve summoned from the forest. A pack of giant wolves, staring down at me like I’m a hundred and forty pounds of raw meat. Dinner.
Four, no, five–oh my God–six wolves surround me, all sitting on their haunches, their snouts toward the sky howling.
How many more could they possibly be calling?
Clearly, I’m their Thanksgiving day meal.
I let out a whimper. Maybe it’s a dry sob.
I never thought this was the way I’d go. Lost in a blizzard then eaten by wolves.
It’s horrible. My mother will never get over it.
Even Blackthroat will probably feel bad.
I press my back against the tree and breathe in sob-whimpers, watching the wolves to see which one will strike.
Chapter Thirty
Madison
One of the wolves approaches. It’s tan with black markings around the eyes and a black streak that runs from its chin down the center of its throat to its chest. I scream when it gets close, sidestepping around the tree, but it stops and sits in the spot I’d been standing and joins the howling.
Oh my God, how long will this go on?
And then I hear the roar of a motor. It takes me a minute–I’m so frozen and slow right now–to realize it’s a cause for celebration.
Before I can think to call for help, a shiny black snowmobile literally comes flying toward me, bouncing over a fallen log and going airborne for four feet before it lands and skids to a stop right in front of me. Blackthroat leaps off, and the wolves scatter and run.