The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance

her or Fuller.
    He stopped, used the wide trunk and low branches of a pine at the clearing’s edge for cover. The shadows around the house were deep; movement near the back porch caught his eye.
    Fuller. Hunched over, and using an eerie, loping gait that sent prickles of dread down Nathan’s spine. That gait didn’t look human or wolf, but simply mhuman. Moonlight reflected in Fuller’s eyes as he turned his head.
    He stopped, straightened - and stared directly at Nathan.
    Nathan held his breath, but his hopes that Fuller had just been searching the treeline and couldn’t see him were dashed when he hunched over again and began loping towards him. An eager, hungry growl carried across the clearing.
    Nathan stepped out of the trees, set his feet, steadily aimed his gun. “Drop to the ground, Fuller! Get down, or I will fire!”
    The werewolf kept running - grinning, panting.
    Nathan squeezed the trigger. Blood sprayed the snow behind Fuller’s left leg. But he kept on coming.
    Cold sweat trickled down the back of Nathan’s neck; he fired again: an abdomen shot that twisted Fuller to the side, briefly, before the bastard righted himself. If anything, he seemed to run faster. Nathan had time for one more shot. The chest was a bigger target than the head. The head was a kill shot.
    His next bullet ripped through Fuller’s scalp, laid white bone open to the moonlight. He didn’t miss a step.
    Nathan stumbled back, searching for the tree branch. He’d get higher, defend himself from a better position, if he had time.
    A dark form raced across the clearing and launched at Fuller. Nathan heard the impact of flesh and bone, saw the wave of snow that flew back from the two bodies hitting the ground.
    Nathan sprinted towards them. Growls filled the air, yips of pain. Emma’s?
    No, Nathan realized with relief as their twisting battle came to a halt. Emma pinned Fuller on his back with her large forepaw pressing into his bloodied chest. Her teeth closed over his throat.
    Fuller wheezed, his eyes opening wide. He flailed at Emma with his right hand. The thumb was gone, but a tiny protrusion of pink flesh had already begun to grow in its place.
    Nathan aimed his weapon at Fuller’s head. “Don’t move, Mark. Just stay still.”
    Fuller obeyed, dropping his fists to the snow at his sides. His chest heaved as he tried to draw in air. His frantic gaze met Nathan’s. “Can’t . . . stop.”
    “We’ll try to get you help,” Nathan promised. But he had a feeling they weren’t going to get Fuller out of this field. Madness filled the other man’s eyes, and Nathan didn’t trust that Fuller would stay down if Emma let him go.
    But he was staying down now, so Nathan asked, “Did you kill those women? Rape them, and leave them off the highway?”
    As if in ecstasy, Fuller’s eyes rolled back into his head. He ran his tongue over the grin that stretched his lips. “They were . . . so good. Want more.”
    Emma’s snarl echoed Nathan’s own rage.
    “And what were you planning to do here?”
    Fuller raised his right hand. “Knew . . . you’d find . . . fingerprint. Knew . . . you’d stop me. I can’t - don’t - want to stop.”
    Nathan shook his head in disbelief. No, he wouldn’t have found a match. Fuller had never been charged or booked. His prints wouldn’t have been in the system.
    Emma shifted her grip on his throat. Fuller’s voice rose an octave, took on a sing-song rhythm. “But when I came to your house, I smelled her. Oh, Miss Letty, Letty, Letty—”
    Emma tightened her jaw, cutting off the sick refrain.
    “Hold still,” Nathan ordered.
    Fuller lowered his hand again, but his other hand moved beneath his waist, pulling out—
    “Gun, Emma!” Nathan shouted. “Get back!”
    Her jaws clamped around Fuller’s neck as she twisted away. The rip of flesh was drowned by the roar of a gunshot.
    Emma yelped. Nathan shoved her to the side, stomped his boot into the bloody cavity she’d opened in Fuller’s throat. He aimed between the bastard’s eyes and fired.
    Nathan whipped around. Emma lay on the ground, blood spreading over and melting the snow beneath her.
    “Emma, Emma, Emma.” He fell to his knees, lifted her head onto his lap, stroked his hands over her fur, searching. It was a belly shot. Bad. Really bad for most wolves. “Tell me you’re going to be OK.”
    He heard the crack, felt her ribs bulge beneath his hands. “Jesus Christ, Emma.” He tore out of his coat, covered her with