Microsoft Word - Jacks-Marcy-Hunted-and-on-the-Run.doc by Owner (best detective novels of all time .TXT) 📕

Tatum’s eyes became more and more manic with every word he spoke, and Robert understood. He nodded.

“Good. I can smell them. They went east, and the trail is still relatively fresh.”

Robert put his nose in the air and sniffed. There was definitely the scent of another pair of animals in the air, and it wasn’t exactly as old as he thought it would be.

He’d made his first painful shift almost immediately after Tatum had scratched his face. Tatum had to spend the next hour, or maybe it was more, chasing Robert around, trying to teach him some control over himself.

Robert thought he was doing pretty well, considering he’d only had a few hours to learn. If all werewolves put in even half the time Robert was now to try and learn some control, then there would be less killing and hunters wouldn’t be after them.

Maybe it was just in their nature to be stupid like that. He and Tatum knew better, and they were going to do everything in their power to keep hold of their humanity while they were like this.

96

Marcy Jacks

“You follow me,” Tatum said, shifting back into his large black wolf. He did it quickly, despite the sounds of his snapping bones.

Clearly it didn’t hurt him that much to be making the change, and Robert looked forward to the day when he could change without it being painful.

Together they ran off, following the scents of their prey.

Hunted and on the Run

97

Chapter Nine

They ate everything they could, even the chicken dinner John had ordered from that little place across the street.

Storm could’ve gone on eating, but he was satisfied and didn’t want to ask for more. John had explained that too many men delivering food would look suspicious if it happened that the hunters had made it into town and someone was watching for odd things like that, and Storm agreed with him.

He didn’t want to bloat himself to the point where he couldn’t run if he needed to anyway. His stomach was satisfied, and neither he nor John was about to pass out from starvation. That was all that mattered.

They lay in bed after that, both tired from all the food and traveling, but neither willing to sleep anymore. They watched the clock instead, counting down to when John’s pack would arrive to help them and bring them back…home.

Storm supposed that John’s home was his home now. The other man had said all he could, and after taking a bullet for him, and the both of them caring for each other during their ordeal, Storm couldn’t deny it any longer.

There was definitely more going on between them than lust. He still thought it was odd that two males could mate with each other, but perhaps this was the true reason for the sudden decrease in werecats over the last couple of decades and why werecats were so against homosexuality.

He’d thought about this earlier, but only now did he start to give it some serious thought. Maybe too many werecats had mated with their 98

Marcy Jacks

own sex, producing too few kittens, and soon it got to the point where elder werecats started policing the younger ones, forcing them to mate with shifters of the opposite sex to keep producing more shifters and prevent extinction.

He told this theory to John, who listened patiently.

“That could be it,” he said. “I mean, only about a year ago no one in our pack had seen two mated males until James came home with Corey. He had to kidnap the man after they’d both been shot. It was a total mess, but that was the first time it happened. Ever since then, it’s been going on like clockwork. Males mating with males.”

“Do you think this could be the reason werecats are becoming so rare?” Storm asked.

John shrugged. “Hard to say. Even if this was happening with werewolves, you don’t have to be born a werewolf. We have venom in our teeth and claws. We can just make other werewolves like that.”

“Yes, but what if―”

John’s grip on him suddenly became tight, his eyes widening so much that Storm could see the whites all the way around them.

“What is it?” Storm mouthed.

John’s eyes suddenly went to the door. The chain was in place, and it was bolted shut, but there were footsteps lurking. Too close for someone to be just casually passing by.

They both slipped off the bed and landed on the other side, looking at the door like they were children or something, waiting for the boogeyman to come in and get them.

It wasn’t until the door handle rattled that they both sprung up as one and headed to the bathroom.

Their room was on the second story of the motel, and there was a window in there. When they’d come in here for the first time and scoped the place out for possible hiding places and escape routes, that was the only place for them to go to.

“They don’t give up, do they?” John said.

“Not until they have their catch or we kill them,” Storm replied, Hunted and on the Run

99

flipping the little locking switch and sliding the rectangular window to the side.

It would be a tight squeeze for the both of them, but they could do it.

“Here,” John said, grabbing one of the little complimentary conditioner bottles from the tub. Apparently he’d also been thinking about how tight a fit it would be as he dumped the stuff onto his palm and started smearing it along the window pane. Conditioner made a good lubricant in a pinch, after all.

The banging on the front door got louder, and the tiny lock in the bathroom with its weak-ass door wouldn’t hold them off for long either.

“Hurry up and go,” John said, pushing Storm toward the window.

This was not the time to argue over who