Wilder would be the predator.

A tiny voice seemed to argue in the back of his mind, from the seat of his human conscience, but he batted it away with an involuntary shake of his furry head.

No, he thought. No, I won't... Won't what?

The words floated away, carried off by the intensity of the hold his senses had on him.

His legs sprung, pure coiled muscle and sinew unleashed. Wind flew over him. He ran as fast as cars usually drove down his street. Thirty, forty miles per hour.

The scent grew steadily stronger.

Dale Harcourt. Weak, little Dale Harcourt.

Wilder had never known exactly where Dale lived, just that it was on the opposite side of town, a few miles away, over the railroad tracks and beyond the highway.

Wait, were those th...

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