Dog kennels weren't good enough for dogs, much less a man who needed to stand tall without his fur on occasion. The three werewolves loping beside him would agree. Over their panting, he heard shots echoing behind them. All four picked up the pace while their hearts raced, thundering in his ears.Their paws scrambled over a rocky ledge as they snuffled and sneezed to rid themselves of the pollution.He wasn't entirely sure, but he judged their position to be in the foothills of the Appalachians, probably North Georgia. His PACk—Petrol Abolished Community—couldn't be far.The Alphas of his PACk would be appalled to learn of Wolfsbane's dog-fighting ring. He didn't have time to inform them now, though. He had to find Allie. First, he had to get out of here.The little white female who'd escaped with him fell back a bit. Weeks of living with petrol fumes coating her lungs had taken its toll. He didn't know her name. Males had been kept apart from the females, but he wouldn't have noticed anyway.
