Werewolf Suspense (Book 1): Outage by T.W. Piperbrook

driveway. Could she take it? Could she find the keys? She fled the Hamiltons' doorstep and headed toward it. The snow was well past her ankles, like superglue trying to hold her back.  
    A minute later she was in the street. The new neighbor's house was still several hundred yards away. She continued on, the ice and snow wriggling their way into her boots.
    What had Rob's last moments been like? Had he already been dead when he hit the windshield? Had he felt himself being torn apart?
    Stop. Don't think about it. Don't think about—
    A tree branch plummeted to the ground in front of her, and Abby cried out. She veered around the fallen limb as she progressed from road to driveway. A few more branches cracked from somewhere above her.  
    If the creature didn't get her, the storm would.
    She was almost at the Jeep. Maybe it was open. Maybe the man had left the keys inside.  
    Maybe, maybe, maybe…
    She prayed for a miracle.
    Soon she'd reached the vehicle, and she searched for the door handle, casting aside snow to find it. The door was locked. She tugged several times, but to no avail. She tried each of the other doors in turn, but encountered the same result. The Jeep was secure. No way inside.
    She backed up a step, her heart racing so fast that she could barely think. The house. Try the house. She looked up at the silent building, expecting to find a light on, but the structure was dark. She made her way past the Jeep and toward it.
    She'd only gotten a few feet when she stopped.
    Something was gliding through the trees on the left side of the property. She saw a black object against a white backdrop, then caught a glimpse of eyes and teeth.  
    The thing had found her.
    Abby turned on her heel and ran.

Chapter Eight

    The beast watched her through the trees. It could smell her scent from several hundred yards away—the odor of fear and sweat, cutting through the air like the sharp edge of the knife she was holding. It didn't care about knives. There were a lot of things it didn't care about.
    It didn't have to. It could heal from most of them.
    Ever since the start of the storm, the neighborhood had become the beast's playground, its hunting quarters, and it would do whatever it pleased. The snow was little more than a prop in its game, a backdrop for the kill. It had waited for this moment for what seemed like forever, and now that it was here, the beast could barely contain itself.
    But it would. For the moment.
    The beast was getting better at controlling its rage. It had lived with it for so long that it'd been forced to. The man inside had learned to keep the beast's secret, knowing that exposing itself would lead to persecution.
    But soon all restraint would come to an end.
    The beast waded through the snow, the steam of its breath moistening its teeth. It could still taste bits of flesh on its tongue, remnants of the man it had killed. It would go back for the rest of him when it was finished with the girl. But right now the girl was more important. It had plans for her.
    It watched her stagger through the trees, retreating the way she had come. The beast kept its distance, letting her get ahead. Letting her think she was safe.
    Pellets of snow pummeled its fur, but the beast kept moving. Its tail sliced the air behind it. All around the forest, it could hear the padding of paws, the sound of creatures burrowing into holes. The beast was the largest and the strongest, and they all knew it.
    None of them would contest its presence.
    The world has opened itself up to the beast, and it planned to take full advantage.  
    The storm had come at last.
    It bared its teeth, letting the hunger build.

Chapter Nine

    Abby wasn't positive if the creature had seen her. Wasn't sure if she'd been spotted. But she knew she had to get away. Even if she had to run forever, she'd keep going until she found help.
    Between the new neighbor's house and the Hamiltons' was a wall of trees and brush. She dove through it, grateful for