Fury tore through Victor McCormack’s body with the vicious strength of a monsoon downpour, flooding his senses, drowning him in the fiery heat of vengeful anger. His fur bristled as he ran, ruffled by a gust of crisp morning wind. He snarled, lips peeling back from sharp fangs, jaw snapping around a mouthful of air.

She’ll pay. In blood, if that’s what it takes.

The vicious thought shook him, marginally souring the savage hunger surging in his veins. He’d never wanted to hurt Ali before, but damn it, she’d left him no choice.

For years, he’d imagined what it would be like to finally have the elusive, mysterious Alison Hill at his command. Yet in all the nights he’d spent fantasizing about making her his bed-slave, he’d never once pictured having to kill her.

That Ali had to be punished for her crimes against the Zante pack, he had no doubt. Victor snarled, reminding himself he was the right wolf for the job. J.C. had put him in charge of pack security for a reason. Victor’s reputation for being ruthless when it came to ensuring the welfare of his tribe was well-deserved, and he wasn’t about to let anyone—not even the Alpha’s sexy half-sister—get away with trying to destroy the pack.

He tilted his head and urged his aching muscles to greater speed. When the chase finally ended, he’d have her in his grasp. He could finally make all those fantasies come true.

Maybe he’d even take his time with her, revel in the scent of her fear. He’d watch the feverish gleam of comprehension in her eyes as she came to terms with the fact that she’d taken her last mercenary job, performed her last cruel act. After all, Victor silently assured himself, whatever fate befell her now, she’d brought on herself. From the moment she’d thrust the needle into Brad Hennessy’s thigh, Ali had forfeited her right to freedom.

She didn’t know it yet, but the decision to inject Brad with Daniel Kraus’s sterility formula had made her Victor’s. As the pack’s security chief, he had complete autonomy when it came to dealing with those who would harm any member of the tribe.

When he caught up with her, Ali was in for the punishment of her life.

If he caught up with her.

He grimaced, his paws digging into soft dirt. She was good, he had to give her that. She’d obviously been well trained during her time away. She knew all the tricks for masking her scent and hiding her paw prints from all but the most determined pursuer.

Well, Victor was nothing if not determined.

The musky aroma of excited female hit him square in the muzzle, igniting the rage that fueled his fevered pursuit. His prey was close. So close, he could smell the carnal flavor of her arousal as it drenched the air with pheromones. She was obviously high on her success, confident in the knowledge that she’d gotten away with destroying the Zante werewolf pack—his pack.

Her pack too, once.

He caught sight of Ali’s hind legs as she ran, her sleek muscles pulsing under the soft white fur, her paws barely touching the ground. Desire stirred in his groin, sudden and unwanted. He slid through the foliage, keeping his belly low to the ground. Adrenaline flared, filling his mouth with saliva and hungry, desperate need.

She paused, her ears perking as she turned her head in his direction. He stilled his movements in mid-stride and gritted his teeth. Had she heard his approach? He’d hoped for the element of surprise, but at this point, he’d take the slightest opening she gave him.

Her dark eyes narrowed as she scanned the area, and he flattened himself lower to the ground, grateful for the tall grass that grew unabated this deep in the forest. He didn’t dare breathe as she watched for signs of danger. If she caught his scent, she’d be on guard, prepared for his attack. Her obvious training would pose a problem, one he’d deal with if he had to, but one he preferred to avoid.

His gaze slid over the pure snow white gloss of her fur, and he found himself admiring the feral beauty of a were-female in full shift. He remembered what she looked like almost a decade ago, when she’d first learned to transform from a gangly teenage human into an exotic, glorious wolf. Her metamorphosis had always been flawless, her smooth limbs shifting with natural grace. He’d been enamored then. The memory of following her countless times as she ran through the night sparked in him, and he could recall the way her fur glistened, slicked back with the rush of wind, her low, sensual growls reaching his ears, stirring his blood.

She’d never learned how he’d felt about her, which, considering the current circumstances, was definitely a good thing. His feelings for her—for the girl she used to be—would only get in the way of what he had to do now.