Dakotah's Reading

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It was time to leave. The tightness between Dakotah Flemming’s shoulder blades, the sensation of being watched, the faint whiff of wolf she’d smelled on several occasions—all of it was confirmation of what her instincts had been urging for days.

She needed to get moving. Tomorrow. Sooner if she could find Roy and get her cut of the ride receipts. Tonight if she could still catch a bus out of the small town where the carnival had stopped, setting up in the hopes of drawing from the people coming for the psychic fair.

Fuck. If she’d known about the psychic fair, she would have bolted from the last town.

Her stomach twisted, exposing the lie for what it was. She’d caught faint traces of wolf in that town too, but she’d stuck around anyway, just in case Sarael called, needing help.

Dakotah shivered. Vague images of the man Sarael had been running from pressing in on her. Whatever he was, he wasn’t human. He wasn’t wolf. His scent was cold and alien even though she’d been aware of the blood rushing through his veins and heard his heart beating with lethal menace.

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