Runner

Chapter 8

So there's some sappy romance stuff in here. Excuse me if it sucks, I don't do romance. Oh and some violence too, but nothing too bad. There's your warning. Enjoy. 

The person in the picture is Vince, played by Joseph Morgan. No words can explain how much I love that dude.

My breath came out in quick, little pants as I yanked my knife out of the dead Hunter. Blood gushed out in rapid spurts, staining the ground scarlet. The air was hot in Florida, and was damn sure to be hotter in Texas. It was a sure sign the warm southern winter was morphing into an even warmer spring.

I extended my werewolf senses in order to search for James. He had been fighting alongside me. We had split once we learned there were three Hunters instead of two. I had killed two Hunters; I assumed James had taken care of the third.

Four days had passed since we left the Blue Moon pack. James was fully recovered and even insisted on participating in raids. He was an excellent fighter, although he preferred guns to pointy objects. I suppose that was the human in him. He refused to learn to shoot an arrow or handle a dagger. He had snorted as I held out a knife, saying his Colt was all he needed. I gave up on arguing, seeing as his guns were doing the job, despite being awfully noisy. I intended to buy him one of those silencers for guns, but then again, we weren't exactly raking in the cash.

"Killed the other two I'm guessing?" James grinned as he stalked towards me. There was a small cut on his leg from a wayward shuriken, but nothing too alarming. I nodded in response.

Sheathing my knife, I ignored the nagging little fact that I had not cleaned it. The blade was still covered in the Hunter's blood. "I took care of the bodies," I confirmed.

We headed towards our RV which was parked in the midst of the dense forest. We had set it up as a camping ground, so civilian hikers wouldn't be too suspicious.

We approached the campsite, immediately noticing Elle bringing in a bucket of water. "Elle!" I called. She glanced at me and my heart sank. An unusually deep frown had replaced her once cheerful features, worry lines streaked across her perfect skin. Her distraught look meant only one thing, and I dreaded the answer. Peter had gotten worse.

I jogged into the RV to see Amelia and Elle place warm blankets on the male werewolf's body. I swore as I examined his figure.

He rested on the RV's olive green couch, battling a violent illness. His skin had gone waxy and gray, drenched in oily sweat. His inky black hair clung to his forehead, dampened by perspiration. Large purplish bags developed under his dull eyes. His breathing was shallow and he could barely move without crying out in agony.

"He's worse." Sammi said flatly. Her dark red and black hair lay in wild messy curls, as if she hadn't bothered to fix it for weeks. She looked tired. We were all fucking tired.

"Lori," a small sound rasped from Peter. I cringed at the frailty of his voice. It was weak and feeble, yet it took his all to project it for me to hear.

Kneeling by his side, I placed my warm hand in his cold ones. His skin was ice, as if his life had already escaped him and left his body behind. I shivered at the contact, tightening my grip.

"My wolf... is dying." He breathed raggedly. My lip split under the furious biting I had given it. Fresh blood welled into my gums, but I swallowed it down. I had known this for a while now. It was the only explanation for his sickness. It was clear that we would not be going back for Skylar, and it was literally killing him. My wolf whined at the pain her alpha and best friend was suffering. Her wolf called to his, begging him to stay strong.

"I know," I whispered unevenly. There was nothing else to say. Amelia trembled beside me, concealing her face. She was fighting tears. Everyone was.