Page 4 of Rogue Wolf Hunter

And damned if he wouldn’t give this monster the fight of its life.

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From the momenthe pulled his gun, Frankie Amato knew what he was. A hunter. She’d stumbled onto a hunter. She stared down the barrel of his gun with fear and adrenaline pumping through her veins. A large lump crawled into her throat.

The rumors are true.

Shit. She hadn’t expected this. A hunter in Rochester—on her turf. There hadn’t been a wolf hunter for the Execution Underground this far east in years.

Damn it, she should’ve known better. Been on higher alert, all things considered.

In the past few months, several rogue wolves had been murdered in her territory. As alpha of Rochester pack, one of the few, remaining packs not under the protection of The Grey Wolves and their Seven Range Pact out west, it was her job alone to keep her packmates out of harm’s way. But the protection she guaranteed didn’t extend to the rogue wolves who’d refused to join her pack, and she’d given no more than a fleeting thought to the rumors that they’d died at the hands of a hunter. Rogues weren’t known for living the most peaceful of lives.

But now the voices of gossip and the murmurs of trouble, which had spread like wildfire throughout her pack, smacked her in the face with a major reality check. And son of a bitch, he’d backed her into a dead end. She’d let down her guard, and the bastard had cornered her.

She bared her canines, growling from deep within, but still, the hunter strode closer. Shadows covered his face, and his gun pointed straight at her head. The silver dagger he’d pulled from his coat flashed in the moonlight. Her heart pounded, knowing the fate she would be subjected to if she didn’t fight fast.

Frankie’s tail hit the wall. Even if she lunged, his dagger would pierce right through her chest, but considering how her kind healed, she’d likely recover in a few days. He’d bleed out long before that. Humans were weak creatures. Granted, the injections the Execution Underground gave their human hunters which gifted them increased strength and agility made them tougher than most. Still, by her estimation, huge monster of a man or not, she could take this asshole out with ease.

But she couldn’t, because he was a hunter.

That single fact froze her in place.

Frustration filled her, and she snarled as logic prevailed. Where would that leave her pack? The Execution Underground wouldn’t allow any of them to live if she killed even one of their own. It’d be akin to a declaration of war with his division, not to mention Execution Underground Headquarters.

But no way in hell was she going down without a fight.

Frankie lunged for the hunter’s ankles, hitting lower than he expected. He crumpled to the ground, his elbow jabbing into her side as he fell. She yelped in surprise before sinking her canines into his forearm.

“Fuck!” The guttural curse tore from his lips as his weapon fell from his hand.

Satisfaction filled her. If he was temporarily disarmed, he’d lost his advantage and the asshole deserved to be torn to shreds for killing her kind. Hell, at least roughed up a bit. Even if the wolves he’d killed were reckless brutes she’d intended to take care of anyway.

This washercity. Her turf.

And she’d make sure he remembered.

Shaking her head side-to-side, she ripped at the hunter’s arm. Without warning, he rolled onto his side and slashed his knife in defense. The blade cut across her belly. With a yelp, she released him. Scrambling across the pavement, she bolted down the alley. But within seconds he was on his feet again and sprinting after her. She needed to gain some distance, so she could get a running start, get her momentum going. But he was fast for a human, even for a hunter.

Too fast.

He threw himself at her, landing on her hind legs and pinning her. The soft pads of her paws scraped the pavement, struggling to gain traction as she clawed her way free. Turning on her attacker, she jumped for his throat. Her paws hit his chest, and he slammed to the ground from the weight of the blow. She snarled and snapped at his neck, but he caught her by her scruff and tossed her aside as if she weighed nothing. She skidded across the pavement.

What the—?

His strength was off-the-charts.

Before she could process what was happening, he was on top of her again, lifting her by her scruff as if she were no more than a petulant pup. With superior strength, he pinned her to the brick wall. He shoved the blade of his knife against her throat as she struggled to breathe.

She growled. What the hell?

He’d bested her.

He’d actually bested her.

Impressive...and infuriating.

His knife held steady as she dangled by her scruff, teeth bared. A quick glance down to his belt showed he’d somehow managed to reclaim his gun. An uncharacteristic streak of fear rushed through her and her hackles raised.