Setting off, Irene walked straight into the woods and she kept walking. She knew the area a bit but only from maps. The three families who lived in this area, including the Van Holtzes, didn’t have any events that involved the university staff. Irene had never been inside any of their homes, but she’d never really cared.

Irene walked until she neared the ocean by the Van Holtz property. A perfect location. Kind of that midway point between the Van Holtz property, the Löwes’, and the Dupris’, one of the creepiest families Irene had ever met. But their money was green and beneficial, so she schmoozed when necessary, even while her skin crawled.

Deciding she’d walked enough, Irene stopped by a big, sturdy tree. She pulled on rubber gloves and carefully removed her concoction from her backpack. She had it in a special titanium container and took great care in unscrewing the cap and dumping the liquid on the tree. Irene waited, and she couldn’t help but smile when she saw the blooms burst to life on the branches. Out of season, no less.

She screwed the cap back on the container and returned it to her backpack. Then she took out a thermos of tap water and dumped that on the spot and on her rubber gloves. That would wash away any additional remnants. Irene shook her head. The government couldn’t ask for a better weapon.

Ignoring the bit of guilt lurking in the back of her mind about the two ounces she had safely hidden in her office, Irene tossed the thermos back in her backpack along with the rubber gloves.

Zipping up her backpack and placing it back on her shoulders, Irene stood but she froze in her tracks when she heard the crack of a tree branch.

Squinting, she stared into the darkness but couldn’t see anything. She could, however, feel something. Something had cut off her way back to the car. Scanning her memory, she pulled up the map she’d looked at about seven years ago when she first moved out here. About a mile away was the Löwe house. She couldn’t risk going to the Van Holtzes with her being the potential murder suspect of their firstborn son.

Controlling her fear and desire to run like a girl, Irene took a slow step back and then another. Moving purely on instinct, Irene knew she had to make a run for it . . . from what, she really didn’t know. But she knew she had to.

So she spun on her heel and ran into the clearing, but came to a sliding halt as her feet touched the wet dirt.

Irene watched as it lifted its head from the elk carcass before it, face covered in blood. It stared at her and she quickly searched her brain to identify it.

Hyena. Irene swallowed and took a careful step to the left. She would be heading into Van Holtz territory, but she’d face Niles Van Holtz’s family and manslaughter charges over this any day.

Irene took another step and another, carefully moving. She gripped the straps of her backpack, ready to yank it off. There was only one. She could fight off one. There’s only one, she said to herself again.

At least that’s what she thought until the second one slammed into her from the right, taking hold of her backpack and swinging her aroundlike a doll. Then it tossed her, and that tree it aimed for came up excruciatingly fast....

Two

“Pull over,” Van snapped.

His sister patted his back. “You going to be sick?”

“No.” The limo pulled over and Van stepped out.

“Van, what’s wrong?”

Wiping the still-oozing blood from his eyes, Van stared at the very old Pinto.

“Well?” his sister demanded.

“This is Irene’s car.” He remembered it clearly. She’d almost run him down with it once. At the time, she’d said it was an accident but he hadn’t appreciated her smirk when she’d said it.

Van looked around, sniffing the air.

Carrie shrugged. “And? So it’s her car. What? You want to set it on fire?”

Ignoring his sister’s question, Van glanced at her. “Look where we are.”

Carrie glanced around and then she looked off into the woods. “Oh, God. The Rubicon.”

He was already moving, parts of him shifting as he crossed the road. “Call to the Pack.”

“But Van—”

“Do it!” was the last thing he could tell her before he’d shifted completely and charged into the woods after Irene. If she’d already crossed the Rubicon, he might already be too late. But he couldn’t think about that. He had to get to her. At the very least, he had to try.

Irene hit the tree hard, but she turned in time so it was her side that slammed into it as opposed to her face. She landed on the hard, unforgiving ground, and jaws, stronger than any other like-predator on Earth, tore the backpack off her, flinging it aside. Then it came for her.

Short, blunt claws slapped against her back, tearing past her T-shirt and ripping into soft human flesh. Focusing on one goal, Irene tried to pull herself out from under but its fangs grabbed firm hold of the remaining bit of her T-shirt and yanked her back, tossing her into the middle of the feeding ground.

More of them came out of the woods toward her. They made a strange laughing sound, calling to each other. They didn’t run toward her. They didn’t have to. They all knew she’d never outrun them.

Irene crawled backward and pressed up against the remains of the elk they’d been feeding on, her mind racing with a way out of this that would leave her face and most of her limbs intact.

Quickly scanning the ground, Irene saw her backpack. If she could only get to it . . .

But the hyenas must have seen what she was looking at. One of them ran toward her, jaws wide open. But before it could get to her, a blur of gold tackled it from the side. The hyena rolled away and scrambled up, trying to avoid the charging male lion. The male wasn’t having it, though. He slapped at the hyena casually, seeming to enjoy the “little chase” around the clearing. Another male joined in and Irene saw her chance. But before she could move, nine lionesses came out of the other side of the woods and ran straight for her.