Hunter's Prey: Bloodhounds, Book 2 Read Online Free PDF Page A

when his blood had turned to fire. “I don’t know what your problem is, friend, but you will be in a fucking world of hurt if you touch her again.”
    Large hands reached past him to drag the man to his feet. “Drunk, if I don’t miss my guess,” Virgil McCutcheon proclaimed. “We’ll take care of it.”
    Hunter couldn’t stop the growl from tearing free, or the urge to plant a fist in the sheriff’s overly helpful face purely out of irritation at the implied challenge. “I’m managing just fine.”
    Virgil nodded to where his deputy had laid a steadying hand on Ophelia’s arm. “You’d best see to your companion.”
    That got him moving. His opponent half-forgotten, Hunter rocked to his feet and crossed to edge the other man away from her. “Are you all right?”
    “Fine.” She clung to Hunter’s hand. “Just a little shaken up, that’s all.”
    Her heart was racing. Hunter shifted his body to put himself between her and the rest of the street. “He had a vicious grip on your arm. Should the doctor look at it?”
    “No, I—” She flashed him a pleading look. “Don’t fuss, Hunter. Let’s just head on our way.”
    Keeping a firm hold on her hand, Hunter glanced back at the glassy-eyed man who’d attacked her. There was something off in his gaze, something as crazed as the strength with which he’d grabbed Ophelia. He was a danger to her, a danger that should be snuffed out, if the dark voice whispering across the back of his mind was to be believed.
    Maybe that voice was the instinct Archer and Wilder kept telling him to listen to, but Hunter’d lay all his chips on the probability that it had more to do with the soft hand trembling in his own. Scaring a lady was a crime, but not one that needed to end in death. That surely wasn’t the way to prove he wasn’t a monster.
    So he bit back the temptation to kick the man sober and made do with a nod. “If you find out what he drank to put him in that state, send a message on up to us, all right?”
    “Corn liquor, most like,” Deputy Miller replied. “But we’ll have Doc Kirkland take a look at him.”
    “Thank you.” Hunter retrieved the satchel and offered his arm to Ophelia again, too aware that a knot of ladies had gathered on the opposite side of the street. Their low whispers tickled just out of range, but he caught the tone easily enough. Politely appalled, but hungry for scandal.
    Ophelia saw them too. She looped her arm through his and stared straight ahead, her cheeks burning. “The butcher’s shop first, yes?”
    “The butcher’s shop,” he agreed mildly, wondering if it would undermine his job as town protector to scatter the proper little ninnies with a well-timed snarl.
    It took half the remainder of their journey to the shop for her to relax enough to look at him. “I’m sorry. Old habits die hard, isn’t that what they say?”
    He raised an eyebrow at her. “Is your old habit to be more polite than they deserve?”
    “To avoid confrontation,” she said slowly. “I’m not a proper lady, after all.”
    No, she wasn’t. But that hadn’t stopped women like her from reclaiming lives on the border. “I figure we’re all as proper as we act. You act like a lady, don’t you?”
    “Not always.” She smiled and patted his hand. “I’m all right, Hunter. I recover quickly. It’s one of my best traits, the thing that’s brought me this far.”
    “Still not right,” he grumbled as they crossed the street toward the butcher’s large shop. “You work for Wilder, and he’s the reason they have this pretty little town. This close to the Deadlands, they should be grateful for that.”
    Ophelia opened her mouth, then closed it again and shook her head. “It’s best put out of our minds.”
    It bothered him, that she’d censored her thoughts. Bothered him more than it should have, when she didn’t have any reason to trust him. “Am I wrong? Lord knows I’m not used to life as a bloodhound.”
    “No, you’re