Breeds 2 Read Online Free PDF Page A

being a badass.
    The monstrous werewolf, measuring nearly ten feet from nose to tail, crept toward the front door. His sense of smell led him while his ears twitched. The creature paused for a heartbeat, switching from the entrance to the window. Bailey fully expected Morris to have captured his scent.
    For all the good it would do him.
    Glass exploded as Bailey launched himself through the picture window. Shards and slivers cascaded upon hardwood flooring. He landed amidst it all with a wuff , front paws stopping in an empty easy chair.
    No Morris.
    Bailey’s enormous head swung left and right before he pulled the chair onto its side, claws slicing deep into the fabric and releasing great gouts of white sponge. When he moved, sleek fur the color of midnight rippled, displaying a powerful chest, shoulders and limbs. Glass tinkled underfoot. Fangs bared and eyes narrowed, Bailey plodded into the kitchen area.
    Again, no warden.
    The werewolf executioner treaded down a short hallway, following the scent as pungent as fresh shit. A bathroom lay empty, as did a single bedroom. Upon entering the bedroom, however, Bailey’s jaws ached and shivered like a diving rod.
    Silver .
    The warden’s dagger. A foot-long saber of edged silver, left unguarded underneath the foot of the bed. Morris had left his authoritative badge. That was fine. Bailey would collect it later.
    Puzzled, the werewolf retreated and sniffed his way back to the kitchen.
    Back door, not entirely closed.
    Bailey shoved his way through with a violent slap of wood on wood and stopped in his tracks.
    Clothes . Morris’s clothes, discarded in clumps along the rear deck and back lawn––everything including a pair of boxer briefs clinging to the neck of a discarded motorcycle boot. Morris had stripped a blatant trail to the tree line. Bailey studied the eerie curtain of Pictou forest not twenty feet away. The warden had changed. Interesting. Bailey licked his jaws and listened, hearing the buzzing absence of noise.
    That Morris had transformed didn’t bother or concern him. Wardens sometimes changed with the wolves to better supervise the hunt, but Morris would have known something was wrong when Bailey crashed through the window. He might’ve even confronted Bailey in the living room.
    Instead, the warden had vanished into the woods. Perhaps Morris had sensed Bailey’s true intentions. In his experience, the soon-to-be-dead occasionally developed that ability.
    Locating the warden’s trail, Bailey crept forward with nose to the ground, the air redolent of spicy wood, blood blots, and animal musk. His prey had rushed a change and fled, through a forest hallway where dark birch peels curled off the trees. Bailey stopped and sniffed, listened. The ground was unknown to him, this much he understood. Did the warden suspect him? The werewolf decided it would be wise to assume as much. Probably not the best idea to hunt Morris in his own territory. Bailey might have been a tad overconfident in his approach, but he wasn’t about to pursue the warden across unfamiliar woods. A warden––a careful warden––might have any number of surprises waiting within the forest. Bailey approved. The hunt was about to become that much more interesting.
    Fortunately for Bailey, he knew what to do.
    He retraced his steps back to his bike––one of the previous century’s best inventions in his opinion––and plunged into the woods facing east.
    Bailey would not follow his prey. He would not play his prey’s game. He would bring his prey to him. He’d force Morris to emerge from the shadows and act upon Bailey’s yet-to-come transgressions.
    Then, Bailey would murder him.
    Envisioning scenes of the imminent slaughter, the smell of melted cheese hooked the killer’s ultra-sensitive nose and pulled him deeper into the woods.

4
    Deer hunting in Pictou County was a tradition in Dale Hutchinson’s family. His grandfather had taken his father out on hunts when he was a boy,