Blood coated her arm from the crook of her elbow to the long silver blade she clutched in her hand, which dripped into a small puddle at her feet, saturating the snow. Visible puffs of air escaped her pallid lips as her slender body pressed against the huge base of the tree, its jagged bark biting in her back. Looking through a veil of black hair, she eyed the area in front of her as she focused on steadying her breath.
Hiding was useless. She could smell it; it could smell her. And it was closing in.
One thing she wasn’t doing was hiding. She wanted it to come so she could butcher every feckless mutt in this country. Patiently, she waited as its pungent odor grew stronger while she brushed the snowflake flecked hair from her eyes.
Interrupting her concentration, the
