Bayou Wolf. Debbie Herbert

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      The question in her mind wasn’t figuring out the kind of victim, but rather identifying the size and ferocity of the predator. Was she in danger?

      Judging from the small size of the victim and the distance of the killing, probably not. She turned to go home. One Ishkitini, one wisp and one wound were enough for a day’s work. And what an aggravating day it had been, right from the beginning when she drove to work and witnessed the trees being destroyed.

      Payton’s image flashed in her mind’s eye. The challenging spark in his smoky gray eyes, the power of his lithe body... Not that she was interested in someone employed in that despicable occupation. Besides, she wanted a man like Bo—kind and sensitive and understanding. Domineering men like Payton held no charm.

      So why was she thinking of him? Impatiently, Tallulah wiped Payton’s image from her thoughts and quickened her step. If she hurried, she’d arrive at her cabin before the worst of the storm was unleashed.

      The death cries continued. Nature was a cruel bitch, she mused. As quickly as they had begun, the pitiful squeals stopped—it was dead and done, and the knot in her shoulders relaxed. She might be used to the ways of the wild, but it didn’t mean her heart was immune to its violence.

      A crack of thunder rumbled, and she upped her pace to a light jog. Her mind calmed and jumped ahead to trivial matters—what to fix for dinner and what TV show to watch afterward. Another exciting evening alone.

      Tallulah rounded a bend in the trail, only to find the wolfish creature from the night before blocking her path, twenty feet ahead.

      She stilled and drew a sharp breath. It came with no warning. Perhaps she wouldn’t have been caught unawares if she hadn’t let her attention drift. Focus. That was the number-one rule of the shadow hunter—a basic tenet to avoid spirits and predators before you became their next meal.

      Blood dripped from the beast’s gaping mouth, and bits of rabbit carcass hung from its back molars. Mystery solved as to the screams—the thing should be sated. Its eyes focused on her neck, and she touched the crusty bandage. Could it smell her blood from that distance? Anger replaced fear in pounding waves of adrenaline. She was bigger and smarter than the animal, and she was a skilled hunter with a weapon. If anyone had the upper hand, it was her.

      “You want a piece of this again?” She withdrew her slingshot from her backpack.

      The animal growled, but hung its head in submission. The cagey fellow remembered that, all right.

      “Go on—git!” she yelled, and the beast snarled, but turned and trotted off.

      Were there others like him? Was she in the midst of its territory? Impulsively, Tallulah followed it from a respectful distance, using all her tracking skills to move as soundlessly as possible. It never even looked back.

      Curiosity killed the cat, you know.

      She ignored the internal warning voice. In her experience, knowledge was king. Twice in two days, this animal had confronted her, and she vowed to learn more about it. Kill or be killed. That was the lesson of the wild.

      Close to the end of the trail, the animal veered off the path into a clearing, a wide-open area recently planted with cotton. The quarter moon easily highlighted its movement down rows of ankle-deep greenery, allowing her to watch from a greater distance. Across the field, bright lights shone through windows at Jeb’s old farmhouse. He’d vacated it last year and put it up for sale, preferring to live closer to town now that he was older and his sons had taken on most of the farming duties.

      News to her that someone had bought the old place. It was large and old-fashioned, a wooden, three-story behemoth that over the decades had been a temporary home for many field hands. Nearly every house light blazed, and over a dozen cars and trucks were parked in the front yard.

      The animal cut a direct path across the cotton field, straight to the back porch door. Was it a danger to anyone who might step outside for a smoke or a bit of fresh air? Tallulah jogged across the field, prepared to fight if needed, but the creature confidently climbed the back steps and nudged open the screen door with its broad snout.

      Tallulah ran, blood pounding in her ears as loud as ocean waves crashing on shore. She’d never seen a wild animal so brazen, so indifferent to the danger posed by humans. At the edge of the property, she witnessed the animal squeeze into an extralarge doggie door and enter the farmhouse.

      It was in the freaking house. She panted, hands on hips, trying to make sense of what she’d seen. The animal was not a dog. It more closely resembled a coyote. Actually...okay, she admitted to the fantastic notion, it appeared to be a wolf. It was much too large to be a coyote. Wolves weren’t supposed to be in south Alabama, but she’d seen many stranger things in the bayou woods.

      Her ears tingled, waiting for the inevitable shrieks and commotion from inside the house, but silence reigned in the woods.

      She’d heard wolves were cagey, but this was ridiculous. A wild animal in the house was bound to make noise, would elicit surprise from the residents. Obviously, people were home—unless they had gone out and left all the lights on.

      Yes, that could explain it. Curiosity propelled her forward until she crept in the hedges against the farmhouse. A jumble of male voices sounded in a back room as she passed, and she raised up from her crouch by the open window. Just a quick second was all she needed, and she ducked back down in the hedge before she could be spotted.

      The den was packed with over a dozen men. Some playing cards, some watching TV and a couple playing pool.

      Not a wolf in sight. And no commotion among the men.

      Tallulah tiptoed to the driveway, determined to learn as much as possible. Heat fanned across her face. Peeping into windows wasn’t exactly her normal modus operandi. It was necessary. The wolf is a danger, and my duty is to protect, she insisted to herself. Still, the curiosity remained, and she decided to see if she recognized any of the cars.

      A hodgepodge of pickup trucks and beater cars were parked haphazardly in the front yard. Crouching, she went from vehicle to vehicle. All of them had Montana tags. Transient farm workers arrived from all over, but usually they were from nearby states, and quite a few came from elsewhere in Alabama.

      Now what? Tallulah stood, debating her options. Perhaps a ruse could gain her entry. She’d knock at the door and claim to be looking for her lost dog. But that wouldn’t be too smart. She was no frail flower, but a single female approaching a group of strange men at night would be a dumb move. No, best to leave and gather more information later.

      A screen door creaked open.

      Holy crap. Tallulah dropped to the ground behind a truck, and her heart thudded against her chest as she listened intently. Footsteps plodded down the front porch steps. What if this was his truck and he wanted to drive? She furtively looked around, seeking other avenues of cover. Fingers crossed that the guy just came out for a bit of fresh air or to smoke a cigarette.

      Tallulah wrapped her energy tightly around her body, somewhat cloaking her scent—just in case the wolf made an appearance. It was a form of protection for the shadow hunters in seeking and destroying their prey.

      Gravel and weeds crunched underfoot. Damn it, the man was headed straight in her direction. Another couple of steps and she was toast.

      * * *

      Danger.

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