Tom and Darren kept their eyes on the ground as they talked. Darren handed Duke’s leash back to Tom. The older hunter led the dog back up to the original trail before skirting around the smelly zone. Honey badger scent spray didn’t last as long as a skunk, but it would still be hours before it stopped being overwhelming near there. Riordan’s excellent sense of smell picked it up, even from yards away and tucked into his sheltered burrow, but as a badger, the smell came across as information, a giant “fuck off” sign, rather than an eye-watering stench. Unlike that horrid death tree full of corpses.

Whatever else he might be, and murderer was clearly one of them, Tom was a good tracker. Riordan had cleared his tracks towards the burrow as best he could, but he’d been working quick and still had to carry Daniel this far. At least picking his way carefully left fewer clear marks than a mad sprint for his life.

“Found another piece of that fabric, Tom!” Darren called from further away down the hollow, “And this piece has blood on it.”

Tom left off studying Riordan’s real trail long enough to go check out Darren’s newest find, Duke trotting contentedly at his side. The man ran a hand through his graying hair as he studied the piece of torn t-shirt and then the ground near where it had been found. Riordan couldn’t see them well at this distance even with their lights, which suited him just fine. If he couldn’t see them well, they certainly couldn’t see him.

“More of them critter tracks,” Tom grunted, fingers ghosting just above the pine needles covering the forest floor.

“Skunk?” Darren asked, disgust clear even in his bass grumble.

After a hesitation, Tom replied, “Probably. Tracks are bigger than I’m used to for skunk and the claw marks are deeper, but nothing else around here has tracks and stink like that.”

For such a big hulking guy, Darren did an impressive squeak. “Claw marks?”

“Oh for- Most critters out here have claws for digging, you idiot. A skunk’ll spray you good and bite you if cornered, but it’s hardly going to do any real damage.” Tom turned away from his partner and headed back towards the tracks he’d been studying earlier. Riordan could hear him add under his breath, “Damn good thing the boss didn’t hire him for his brains.”

Strangely, Riordan felt angry on Darren’s behalf at that comment. The large man was finding small scraps of fabric in dark woods after an extended foot chase. That wasn’t sitting there with his thumb up his ass like half the people Riordan had been forced to work with while doing odd jobs as a drifter. Granted, that anger was at least in part because he was always angry when he was in honey badger form, like a little buzz in the back of his head telling him to snarl and bite.

That anger pushed down his pain and fatigue. Cracked bones, bruises, blood loss, and pulled muscles didn’t disappear just because he was a badger now. All of that shit was still there, though healing steadily. A good night of sleep and he’d be mostly whole again. A couple of days and he’d be good as new. Shifters had to be put down hard and for good when you fought one or they would come back around.

Riordan really hoped like hell that these people didn’t know that.

It was one thing to think he was a sturdy human and assume slit wrists were enough to put him down for good. But if they saw his badger, they might be able to put it together and come up with shifter. Assuming they knew what that was. These two weren’t mages. Only really skilled mages could hide their nature versus someone else with magic sense. Mages like that would have found him instantly or, more likely, never bothered with complicated death magic rituals in the first place. The death mage boss they referred to clearly knew something about spells, but that didn’t mean they knew about shifters.

Mages and shifters tended to treat each other with disdainful tolerance. Both groups liked settling around places of power and there never seemed to be enough to go around. Riordan had worked with his team’s shaman, but never a pure mage. The more settled shifter groups had treaties with the major mage clans and vice versa, but even those tended to be mutual nonaggression pacts more than alliances. Neither group was common outside of their scattered community clusters.

All of that hopefully added up to the death mage’s goons being unlikely to know about shifters. It was a gamble Riordan was going to have to take as Tom picked his way closer to the shadowed burrow. His flashlight beam flicked across the hole and Riordan drew back, unable to hold back an angry hiss.

Duke’s ears perked up at the sound. Tom shortened his leash, approaching carefully. Riordan scooted back further, his butt hitting Daniel’s corpse and his long body scrunching up. The light swept into the burrow again and he bared his teeth, snarling. Duke barked and stepped forward again. That was all Riordan’s badger side could tolerate.

His old team leader once told Riordan he was going to get himself killed with his temper. Riordan simply agreed, but stated he’d take his enemies down with him. Boiling out of the burrow, he hit Duke as thirty-five pounds of angry thrashing badger.

Fighting as a honey badger meant never stopping moving, never letting up. Riordan snarled, snapping forward to clamp his short, sharp teeth around Duke’s front leg and shaking his head from side to side. He twisted, slamming his body into the dog as he dug his claws into the ground, sending both of them rolling on the ground. He released Duke, whipping back with a rattling growl.

Tom scrambled back, profanity spilling from him in a startled yell. In the background, Darren shouted a question that got lost as Riordan snarled and lunged again, this time at Tom. His teeth closed on the man’s thigh, tearing at the tough denim of his pants even as his paws swiped at his knee. He pressed his weight against that joint, back paws digging into the ground as he thrust forward and up. The kneecap started to slide out of position before Tom fell backwards around that pivot point. He hit the ground hard, body stretched out and head banging off the ground. He might be a good hunter, but he clearly wasn’t a scrapper since he hadn’t tucked his chin.

Before Riordan could rip into the stunned man, Duke barked beside him and made a lunging attack of his own. The dog was larger than him, some sort of German Shepherd mix. They were about the same body length, but Duke was taller, wider, and probably twice as heavy. The dog knocked Riordan off his master, teeth trying to savage their way through Riordan’s thick fur and skin without success. Riordan bent nearly in half as he whipped his head around and buried his own teeth in Duke’s ruff. He tasted blood but let go to find a place with less protective fur filling his mouth. The air rang with the sound of growls, snarls, and running feet as Darren pounded closer with each second.

Duke might outmass him, but Riordan was pure angry muscle and a much smarter fighter. He bit at Duke’s nose, forcing him to release his hold, and then hit the same leg he’d attacked earlier with a wicked body slam. Duke yelped loudly, rolling down the hill. Riordan turned back to Tom, who sat up and was reaching for the hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. His injured leg stretched out straight in front of him.

Riordan closed the distance between them in an instant, teeth clamping down on the man’s hand and the strap of the hunting rifle. He yanked, tearing skin and flesh and maybe cracking bone, Tom tumbling to the side with a cry of pain. Releasing, Riordan followed up with a swipe of his claws and another bite that broke the rifle strap. He scurried over Tom’s torso, leaving scratches and bruises and accomplishing his main goal by sending the rifle spinning off along the ground. He launched himself off of Tom, the man grunting loudly as badger paws dug into him, landing on the rifle to send it skittering even further away.

By this point, Darren closed in and Riordan snapped at the large man fearlessly. It was almost funny to watch him try to backpedal from a creature that didn’t even come up to his knees, but the gives-no-fucks ferocity that Riordan displayed would make any reasonable creature wary. It was honestly difficult not to try and climb the man and go for his throat. There was a time Riordan would have done that without a second thought, especially when threatened, but now the taste of blood in his mouth turned his stomach.

In an act of will, Riordan reined in his temper. He snapped and growled at Darren once more before dashing over to the rifle and running off with it. Even with his small body, he could run as fast as a human. Faster usually, since he always felt more balanced and streamlined as a badger. His injuries and the rifle in his mouth slowed him, but the men were decidedly distracted, Tom clenching his bleeding hand to his chest.

Once he’d gone far enough to be inconvenient to follow, Riordan buried the rifle by digging a quick hole, shoving it in, and kicking dirt back over it. He ran back as fast as his four legs would carry him, hoping they hadn’t tried searching his burrow in the minute he’d been gone.

The men were where he’d left them. Darren had wrapped Tom’s hand in something. The hunter pressed it to his chest, hissing with pain as Darren carefully bent Tom’s knee. The joint bent through the whole range of motion, but not without the pain of pulled or bruised muscles. Riordan scurried around the edge of their pool of light, causing Darren’s head to whip up in his direction. One of the flashlight beams followed and Riordan snarled and snapped when it hit him before dashing back behind some trees.

“Fuck, the hell beast is back,” Darren rumbled nervously, his eyes scanning for Riordan in the darkness.

“Keep it away from Duke,” Tom snapped. His good hand tangled in the dog’s leash, tugging gently. Duke crept closer, very clearly not putting any weight on his injured leg, and whined. Riordan felt vindicated to see both hunter and hound hobbled after being chased tonight. It was a pitiful payment for all he’d lost tonight, much less poor Daniel.

“I thought you said skunks weren’t a threat.”

Tom snorted. “That ain’t a skunk, asshole.” The old man pulled his good leg underneath him and reached a hand out towards Darren. “Help me up.”

Darren moved to his side quickly enough, stabilizing the smaller man with one hand easily. His other hand still held the flashlight towards where the trees Riordan had hidden behind. Of course, Riordan wasn’t there anymore, stalking through the woods on pitter paws. He made sure to rustle some undergrowth from behind the pair, making Darren jump. Sadly, the solid man didn’t drop Tom.

They stood there a moment, Darren supporting Tom, Duke whining by their side, and Riordan circling them in uneven cadences of mad dashes and quiet stalking.

“What, uh, what now?” Darren asked.

“Now we head back to the cabin and my dog and I get fucking rabies shots. Healthy animals aren’t that aggressive.”

“And the runners?”

“Fuck them!” Tom snapped, shoving at Darren. It hardly budged the man, but he still cringed. “Kent and Jimmy can come look in the morning. Duke lost the trail with that stink and ain’t in shape to track now anyway. They can pick it up when there’s light. The runners will probably croak in the night, injured and without supplies and still miles from any possible help. Hell, the boss owns most of the people that do live around here. I ain’t killing myself for this shit.”

He kicked at Darren with his bad leg, immediately regretted it and leaned against the giant swearing. Darren held him steady and then helped him limp back the way they’d come from, Duke hopping along beside them.