Tree Hugger

The moon hung over him like some old, fat dude, an accusing face that seemed on the verge of opening its mouth and screaming at him. Dorian just kept running, using that double-chinned face to tell him where he was, and how much more time he had before dawn.

His feet had long since run right out of his shoes, and the soles bled, leaving a path that any fool with a bloodhound could follow. Still, the drugs coursing through his system made it impossible for him to change, to let the wolf run free and clear.

Drugs.

Some asshole with a dart gun and a fucking agenda lets themselves run free, claiming that they're going to save the world from demons, and suddenly it's not safe to be a werewolf. Like it had ever been all that safe, anyway. Someone was always out to either prove that the supernatural existed and that it had to be stopped, or to prove that the beyond didn't exist, and they were trying to stamp it out to prove their point.

He only idly wondered which one this guy was.

Dorian would bet on the former, as the guy had a Hugh Jackman as Van Helsing look, with a long duster and longer hair, with darts coming out of a crossbow.

Jesus.

A tree limb popped up right in his line of sight, and he tried to duck, but it hit his cheek, ripping a gouge. There were no leaves to soften the blow, as it was late December, and they'd long since fallen.

Goddamn it.

The terrain was changing, the trees getting thicker, and Dorian knew he could hide better here, could blend in. That was a damned good thing, because he was tiring, and he would need a place to hole up during the day. He scanned the terrain for a thicket of brush, a hollow log, something he could use as a den.

Another advantage of the whole wolf thing was that you weren't scared of a few bugs or moldy leaves.

There. There was a tree with a huge root system, hollowed out at the base to form a shelter. If anything else had decided to make that its home, Dorian was big enough and mean enough that he could run it off, for sure. He'd sleep there during the day and hit the trail again at night, and by then the drugs would have worn off.

He could run on all fours tomorrow, and that would end the chase, then and there.

Pushing himself the last few feet, Dorian went to his knees and crawled into the lee of the tree. The space was bigger than he'd originally thought. A lot bigger. In fact, he had the impression of dizzying space, and of a ledge with a deep, deep drop-off ­ right before he fell.

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