Outside the club house, Dyson sniffs the air. It smells like Kenzi, barely, but the mix of vanilla and mildew and alcohol left over from the girl is enough to make his wolf whine and howl. He circles the run down house, once, then twice with his nose low to the ground and his ears perked up high. Listening for even the tiniest sound that could mean this was all and understanding and Kenzi was alright. She'd laugh in his face and pet him between the ears before shutting the door and she wouldn't know how every instinct was telling him to break down the door and spend the night circling Kenzi, guarding her, protecting her. She could never know.
He looped around the clubhouse once more, even if it was excessive Dyson wouldn't stop until that awful, empty hole in the middle of his chest went away. And if he was really being honest, or more likely drunk, he would admit to himself that only the sight of Kenzi could fill it. A rock made him stop dead in his track, finally he'd caught her sent.
Dyson broke into a run. He'd probably regret it later, anyone who looked out their window would see a white wolf desperately scratching the ground all while whining, but for the moment Dyson didn't care. Kenzi was getting closer by the minute and anyone who tried to stop him would be six feet under by the next morning. Simple as that.
He was about three miles away in an alley when another sent followed Kenzi's. He'd noticed it a while back, but this time it was too close for comfort. He padded along the concrete a few more yards and turned right and surveyed the scene. The man's scent mixed with Kenzi's here, but that wasn't all. Dyson smelled blood. A growl rose deep in his throat. Kenzi's blood. That man was dead. No one touched his Kenzi.