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.Then he straightened.His hands resumed their exploration of the door.When they reached the window, he looked closer, peering through it.Then he backpedaled, sending up another too-loud oath.Breath tickled the top of my head and I wheeled to see Jeremy behind me.“What should we do?” I whispered.He hesitated, eyes on the figure, about twenty feet from us.“Clay? Take him.Carefully, and before he reaches the main road.Elena?” He paused, then said, “Help Clay.Make sure you stay back—”The screech of tires cut him short as a car ripped around the corner.Headlights flooded the darkened street.The man let out a wail of absolute terror and threw himself to the ground—in the middle of the road.At the last moment, the car veered around him.Someone shouted from the open passenger window.“Go,” Jeremy hissed.“Now.Quickly.”Clay bolted for the man, with me jogging behind.The man was still on the road, his face pressed against the asphalt.We made it halfway to him, then a second carful of teens careened around the corner.This time, the man didn’t cower in the street and wait to be mowed down.He leapt to his feet and raced for the side of the road.From there he had two directions to choose from.One would’ve brought him straight into our arms.He hit the sidewalk and ran in the other direction, heading north again.Still jogging, I glanced over my shoulder at Jeremy.He hesitated, gaze meeting mine, and I was sure he was going to call me back.After a moment, he motioned for us to keep going, in silent pursuit, and head the man off someplace safe.ParkedWE REACHED THE AUTO REPAIR SHOP ON THE CORNER JUST as the man crossed the road.He paused and stared up at the replica gaslight streetlamps, then squinted down the street.Clay glanced at me, but I shook my head.Too public.Seconds later, the man took off again, darting down a narrow road between two yellow brick houses.Before we could sprint across, a short line of cars, released from the stoplight, reached the corner.I bounced on the balls of my feet, leaning and ducking, trying to track the man’s figure as he disappeared down the dark road.The moment the last car passed, we dashed off the curb and to the other side.He was gone.As Clay raced down the narrow road, I slowed and took a deep breath, getting the scent.Then I followed.When I hit an alley between two tall buildings, the trail ended.I whistled, and veered without waiting to make sure Clay understood.He would.The alley was clogged with garbage bags, stinking in the summer heat.I skirted around them, and the rows of gray and blue recycling bins, and came out on the east side of Sherbourne.As I paused to find the man’s scent under the stench of the busy street and the garbage, Clay tapped my back, grunted “there,” pointed across the road and strode past me.At this hour, the four-lane road was quiet, and we crossed easily, earning only one polite warning honk from an oncoming driver.On the other side was a block-sized park surrounding the square-domed Allan Gardens Conservatory.That’s where our target was heading, straight down the rose-lined walkway to the glass building.Clay glanced at me for instructions.That was how we worked, and it had nothing to do with dominance or power.Put Clay with a werewolf of roughly the same hierarchical position, whose judgment he trusted, and he preferred to follow orders…which was fine because I preferred to give them.The choice now was: split up or stay together.Still moving, I scoped out the park and our target’s path, and made my decision.I signaled the plan.There was no reason why I couldn’t talk—we were far enough away that the man wouldn’t overhear—but when I switched to hunt mode, my brain switched to nonverbal.Clay nodded, and we broke into a slow jog.In the dark, our outfits looked sufficiently joggerlike to get away with that.The biggest danger we faced was alerting our target, but if he hadn’t looked over his shoulder yet, he probably wasn’t going to.He had other things on his mind.As for what…well, I had my suspicions, but this wasn’t the time to consider them.We ran along the gauntlet of trees, old-fashioned benches and lampposts that lined the main path.As we neared the conservatory, we slowed, and I motioned Clay into the shadows with me.The man had stopped in front of the historic site marker.His lips moved as he read it, brows furrowing in confusion.I glanced at Clay.He stood motionless, tensed and waiting, blue eyes glittering as he watched his prey.Without looking away from the man, he leaned sideways toward me, his hand brushing my hip, lips curving.Our eyes met [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]