The wind picked up outside, rattling the windows. Dana checked her watch—past midnight.
She should try to sleep, but her nerves felt electric. Every sound might be significant.
A branch scraping against the roof. The house settling. The distant howl of something wild and hungry.
Dana froze. That last sound—not wind. Not settling timbers.
She moved to the kitchen window and peered through the glass. The orchard stretched away into darkness, skeletal trees casting twisted shadows in the moonlight.
Another howl, closer now. Then another, from a different direction.
Wolves.
Dana had seen the pack before—five or six animals, lean and desperate. They usually avoided the orchard, preferring easier prey in the deep woods.
But winter was hard this year, game scarce.
The howling continued, echoing between the trees. Dana counted voices, trying to triangulate positions.
At least four, maybe more. They were moving, circling.
She grabbed a box of shells from the cupboard and checked her rifle's action. The wolves might test the perimeter, especially if they smelled blood from Luca's wounds.
The first gunshot came from the eastern fence.
Dana spun toward the sound, finger on her trigger. One of her tripwires had snapped, triggering the twelve-gauge shell she'd rigged as an alarm.
Something had crossed the perimeter.
A second shot. Then a third.
The wolves were running the fence line, triggering her traps. But why? They were smart enough to avoid obvious dangers.
Unless something was driving them.
Dana moved to the front window. In the moonlight, she could see shapes moving between the apple trees.
Gray forms, low to the ground. The wolves had made it inside the perimeter.
She opened the window and fired a warning shot into the air. The rifle's crack echoed across the orchard.
The gray shapes scattered, melting back into the shadows.
Dana waited, counting heartbeats. The silence stretched, then broke.
Howling from all directions now. The pack had split up, surrounding the house.
Smart. They'd learned to hunt cooperatively, using tactics that would make a military unit proud.
Another tripwire snapped. The shell's explosion lit up the eastern fence for a split second, revealing nothing but empty air and drifting smoke.
Dana cursed under her breath. The wolves were burning through her early warning system, each triggered trap one less layer of protection.
Soon she'd be deaf and blind to approaching threats.
She moved to the back door and peered through the glass. A gray shape padded past the barn, just at the edge of visibility.
Large—probably the alpha male. His ribs showed beneath his winter coat.
Desperate animals made desperate choices.
Dana opened the door and stepped onto the back porch. The cold hit her like a physical blow, but she ignored it.
The rifle felt solid in her hands, familiar weight and balance.
"Get out," she called into the darkness. "Nothing here for you."
The alpha appeared at the corner of the barn, yellow eyes reflecting the porch light. He was bigger than she'd remembered—easily a hundred pounds, maybe more.
Scars marked his muzzle, testament to a life of violence.
Behind him, other shapes moved. The pack was regrouping, preparing for a coordinated assault.
Dana raised her rifle. The alpha held his ground, staring at her with predatory intelligence.
He understood the weapon's threat but wasn't intimidated by it.
"Last warning," Dana whispered.
The wolf's ears flicked forward. He'd heard something she hadn't—or smelled something that changed the equation.
Blood. Luca's blood, seeping through the floorboards. The scent would be faint but unmistakable to a predator's nose.
The alpha took a step forward. Then another.
Dana fired.
The bullet took him center mass, spinning him sideways. He went down hard, legs kicking.
The other wolves scattered, but Dana knew they wouldn't go far. Not with their leader down.
She worked the rifle's action, chambering another round. The alpha tried to rise, failed, collapsed back into the snow.
His breathing came in ragged pants, each exhalation a small cloud of vapor.
Dana approached carefully. The wolf's eyes tracked her movement, still alert despite his wounds.
She'd aimed for the heart but caught him low, in the lungs. He was dying, but it would take time.
She pressed the rifle's muzzle to his skull and pulled the trigger.
The shot echoed off the barn walls, final and absolute. The alpha's body went limp, yellow eyes staring at nothing.