POV: Victor (wolf)
I crept through the woods, barely letting my weight fall on my padded feet. The slow movement was as unnatural as begin off of a high or being sober when I was human. When was I last human? I didn't know, and I really didn't care. I was a wolf, and I wasn't changing back and forth, thus not having the excruciating pain every twenty seconds of my skin rippling and bones morphing. That was an even more unnatural movement than being as stealthy as I was at this moment.
I could smell Tom Culpeper. He reeked of old meat and dirt. There was nothing intriguing about his scent, but he was even more repulsive when I saw the rifle in his hand. He was wearing an old camouflage jacket that looked a little big on him, a pair of smelly jeans that had grease and paint stains on it, an old Minnesota Twins hat and mud-caked boots. His get-up was complete with a scowl with death written all over it. Call me obvious, but that man looked like he was in the hunting mood.
He slowly moved in a circle, searching through the trees for any sign of life. And even though I didn't feel like it, I was alive, so I was in danger. His grey eyes landed on me, and I froze. It was against every instinct, but if I could stay still until he turned around and walked away from me, it could save my life. Trying to defy my instincts never works, though.
I bolted out of the woods and straight into the Culpeper's huge backyard. I'd never been there to see it with my human eyes and to put two-and-two together, but the grass reeked of Tom. There was a loud bang and something whizzed right past my left ear. I turned around and saw the hunter standing there with a hateful look plastered onto his face, and he raised the rifle up to his shoulder again – ready to take another shot.
POV: Tom Culpeper
When that grey wolf fell to the ground, I didn't have time to celebrate. I knew that Isabel wouldn't care if she heard gunshots in her backyard, but I couldn't risk my wife coming out. (A/N: I don't know what Mrs. Culpeper's name is…) I had to get rid of the wolf fast.
I grabbed a coil of rope I had left outside and tied the wolf's legs together and hauled it into the back of my SUV. Throwing it over the bumper, I didn't care if it got banged up a bit. I would only care if it soaked blood through the two sheets that I had laid down to protect the upholstery.
I made my way to Geoffrey Beck's house easily enough. He was the wolf-man, which I knew. He was also the suck-up lawyer that was able to get half the year off to visit his summer-house in the tropics of the United States.
Trying to get information out of the kid that was at his house wasn't so easy. He was elusive and insolent, not even giving me a glance.
"Where is he?" I asked slowly for about the fiftieth time.
"He's not here," the twit said. "Isn't that enough for you?"
I heard the rumble of a worn-out Volkswagen's engine behind me. Geoffrey Beck's kid was in the front seat, and Lewis Brisbane's daughter in the passenger seat…
R&R!