In all the years since, he’d never heard a whisper of trouble connected to Fuller. In a small town like Pine Bluffs, word got around. If Fuller had even looked at a woman strangely, had an argument or made an unwanted advance, Nathan probably would have heard of it. But Fuller had managed to stay squeaky clean.
Footprints led away from the pickup, heading further off the road, into the pine trees. “Do you hear anything from inside the cab?”
Emma shook her head. Nathan checked the truck, found it empty. A bandage, crusted with dried blood, lay crumpled on the passenger’s seat.
What had Fuller thought, Nathan wondered, when the bleeding stopped so quickly? When his thumb began to heal over? Did he understand what was happening to him?
“This guy has the right smell?”
In answer, Emma put her nose to the ground, began following the footprints. They led to his place, Nathan realized, jogging beside her. Fuller must have parked here rather than risk anyone at Nathan’s house seeing the truck’s headlights or hearing the engine.
Nathan dialled Osborne’s cell, and was putting his phone to his ear when the gunshots cracked through the night. He broke into a run. Emma streaked ahead.
He didn’t slow to catch his breath when Osborne answered the phone. “Who fired?” Nathan asked.
“I did. It’s Mark Fuller, hopped up on something. He took off, out of the house.”
“Injuries?”
“Not me or Miss Letty, sir. I hit Fuller but it didn’t slow him down.”
“Did he have a weapon?”
“If he did, he didn’t use it.”
All right. “Hold your position. We’re coming up on the house now.”
Or he was. Nathan disconnected, searching for Emma. Her tracks followed the footprints across the wide, moonlit clearing that separated his house from the woods, but he didn’t see her or Fuller.
He stopped, used the wide trunk and low branches of a pine at the clearing’s edge for cover. The shadows around the house were deep; movement near the back porch caught his eye.
Fuller. Hunched over, and using an eerie, loping gait that sent prickles of dread down Nathan’s spine. That gait didn’t look human or wolf, but simply mhuman. Moonlight reflected in Fuller’s eyes as he turned his head.
He stopped, straightened - and stared directly at Nathan.
Nathan held his breath, but his hopes that Fuller had just been searching the treeline and couldn’t see him were dashed when he hunched over again and began loping towards him. An eager, hungry growl carried across the clearing.
Nathan stepped out of the trees, set his feet, steadily aimed his gun. “Drop to the ground, Fuller! Get down, or I will fire!”
The werewolf kept running - grinning, panting.
Nathan squeezed the trigger. Blood sprayed the snow behind Fuller’s left leg. But he kept on coming.
Cold sweat trickled down the back of Nathan’s neck; he fired again: an abdomen shot that twisted Fuller to the side, briefly, before the bastard righted himself. If anything, he seemed to run faster. Nathan had time for one more shot. The chest was a bigger target than the head. The head was a kill shot.
His next bullet ripped through Fuller’s scalp, laid white bone open to the moonlight. He didn’t miss a step.
Nathan stumbled back, searching for the tree branch. He’d get higher, defend himself from a better position, if he had time.
A dark form raced across the clearing and launched at Fuller. Nathan heard the impact of flesh and bone, saw the wave of snow that flew back from the two bodies hitting the ground.
Nathan sprinted towards them. Growls filled the air, yips of pain. Emma’s?
No, Nathan realized with relief as their twisting battle came to a halt. Emma pinned Fuller on his back with her large forepaw pressing into his bloodied chest. Her teeth closed over his throat.
Fuller wheezed, his eyes opening wide. He flailed at Emma with his right hand. The thumb was gone, but a tiny protrusion of pink flesh had already begun to grow in its place.
Nathan aimed his weapon at Fuller’s head. “Don’t move, Mark. Just stay still.”