Page 133 of The Woodland Packs

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I had to save them.

I screamed out as loudly as I could, “Grayson! Watch out!”

The shotgun blasted beside me and I fell sideways, away from the sound and the man who shoved me. I put my head up and watched as Trevor’s father growled and began to tug at his own clothes.

He was going to shift, it seemed, and that wasn’t something I was hanging around for.

When he opened the front door and began to transform, I realized that was the only chance I’d get to escape.

I got to my feet, scrabbling over the dirt littering the floor, and my own painful injuries, and wrenched open the back door, stumbling out into the forest.

I started to run, then heard the sound of a howl.

A wolf. Hurt.

I stopped running and turned back around.

I couldn’t abandon them now, not that they’d see it that way, I was sure. But how could I help?

The gun!

I raced back inside the old cabin and grabbed the shotgun.

My parents were classic trailer trash, and they loved their guns.

I hadn’t shot one since I was a teenager. But I knew how to load one, and God help me, I knew how to fire one.

I hit the barrel breach lever, checking for shells.

Empty.

I looked around the room for the box, forcing my one eye to focus despite the stress.

I felt for them, checking the shelves, the drawers in the table.

“Yes!”

There was a red box in the bottom drawer, full of shotgun shells.

There was a flurry of noise outside. I looked through the window.

The bears were winning, somehow, and my men needed me.

I loaded the gun quickly and slid some extra shells into my back pocket.

I walked out onto the front step and levelled the gun at the black bear, who had his teeth in the black wolf beneath him.

I lifted the gun and set it just right in my shoulder, so I didn’t damage my shoulder, and squeezed the trigger.

The bear let go of the wolf and staggered sideways.

Then he turned on me.

His slobbering, saliva covered mouth opened to reveal a mass of sharp teeth.

He charged and I aimed the gun again and fired directly into his face.

He landed at my feet, a dead four-hundred-pound animal.


Tags: Amelia Shaw Paranormal