Page 22 of Red Hood, Bad Wolf

The mate bond screamed warning, but Rowan was too focused on the cabin to notice what approached from behind. Mae's lips curved in a hunter's smile as she closed the distance, her movements too deadly for the frail woman she pretended to be.

Alder's muscles tensed to spring, to shout warning, to dosomething—but he knew with sick certainty that any sudden move would only make Mae strike faster. She was too close to Rowan already, and she'd had decades to perfect her hunt.

His mate. His grandmother. And no time to prevent what was about to happen.

Through the window glass, Mae's shadow stretched across the grass like reaching claws.

Chapter 8

After an hour of searchingthe gathering grounds with no sign of Mae, Rowan had given up and headed for the cabin. Maybe she'd find some evidence there, something to either confirm her suspicions or put them to rest. Anything to stop this ache of doubt and loss that came with every pulse of the mate bond.

She'd checked all of Mae's usual herb-gathering spots along the east trail, finding only freshly disturbed earth and lingering traces of an unfamiliar scent that made her magic bristle. Now, reaching for the cabin door, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand, not on the memory of Alder's anger, of his words that cut deeper than any blade:Maybe you should leave.

"My, what sharp senses you have, little Red Hood." Mae's voice came from behind her, silky with menace. "Though perhaps not sharp enough."

Rowan spun, her heart slamming against her ribs. Mae stood less than three feet away, all pretense of the kindly grandmother stripped away. Her stance was pure predator, her smile showing too many teeth.

"What big eyes you have, grandmother," Rowan said, her own voice steady despite her racing pulse. Her hand inched toward her belt, toward her silver blade.

Mae's laugh was dark honey over broken glass. "The better to watch my prey, my dear." She moved with fluid grace, circling to cut off Rowan's escape route. "And what a lovely prey you are. So confident in your training, your power." Her lips curved in a hunter's smile. "So blind to the real predator in your midst."

The mate bond flared with warning, but Rowan shoved it down, refusing to be distracted by emotions when her life hung by a thread. Mae continued her predatory circle, each step precise and measured, nothing elderly or frail in her movements now.

"What big teeth you have," Rowan said, matching Mae's circling pace, keeping her distance. Her fingers closed around the silver blade's hilt.

"The better to rip out your throat, my dear." Mae's smile widened, showing fangs too sharp for a normal wolf. "Just like I did to those hikers who dared trespass on my territory. Who thought they could walk my paths without consequences."

A chill ran down Rowan's spine as pieces clicked into place. "The missing persons. All of them?"

"Humans." Mae spat the word like poison. "Weak. Helpless. Prey." Her eyes gleamed with predatory satisfaction. "They used to know their place. Used to fear the dark woods and what lurked within. But now?" She gestured sharply. "Now they march through our territory with their maps and their phones, thinking they're safe. Thinking they're above nature's laws."

Rowan's training kicked in, cataloging details even as she maintained the deadly dance. Mae's movements were those of an apex predator—efficient, practiced, patient. This wasn't madness. This was calculated hunting. She wasn’t loup garou, but she was crazy nonetheless.

"What sharp claws you have," Rowan said, watching Mae's hands flex.

"The better to mark my territory, little Red." Mae's voice dropped lower, rougher. "Like I marked my traitor son who thought he could challenge my control of this pack. Poor Richard, so concerned about his mate's strange behavior." Her laugh held no trace of humanity. "He should have paid more attention to what I was feeding her."

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