Logan Rafferty shoved his way out of The Wolf Inn's doors, just wanting to be out of the noise and away from the people. Once he was out in the inky night of Dark Moon Falls, he ran a hand through his short-cropped dark hair as he blew out a breath of relief. He should have known better than to go in before last call to get his check from Lyall, especially on Thirsty Thursday when drinks were half-price for the ladies. Women filled the place as did twice as many men. It's not like Logan could cash the check at that time of night, anyway.

He heard the whoosh of the door behind him open and braced for more of what he just escaped. “You okay?" Lyall asked as he stepped up beside Logan, a concerned look pinching his dark brows. “I've never known you to be in such a hurry to get away, especially when I offered to buy you a drink." He then turned, glancing back at the door. “You're still not…?"

Logan shook his head, then brushed his dark bangs out of his eyes. “I'm fine," he said, cutting the other man off. He didn't want the man's pity over something that happened two years ago. “I just didn't pay attention to the time, that's all." He shrugged. “It was busier than I thought. I just need a minute."

Lyall didn't look as if he believed him, but just nodded his head. “All right. If you need anything, just let me know."

“I will. Promise," Logan assured the other man. He wouldn't, of course. Logan preferred doing things on his own. He had depended on others once, and the cost exacted was too high. Worse, they had counted on him and he failed them.

Lyall just nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line as he turned back toward the bar's entrance, still not looking convinced, but obviously knowing better than to push Logan.

There was nothing Logan could do about that, however. Two years living as he did had molded him into the independent loner he was, and he had no intention of changing that. He was better off alone. Dark Moon Falls was also better off.

Logan took a deep breath, sucking in the tranquility of the night and then exhaling the tension from his body. He hated crowds. His discomfort around people was the reason he worked nights when businesses were closed, cleaning up after the chaos people tended to leave in their wake as they went about their lives.

And they left a lot.

Careless. Selfish. They run through life in their self-absorbed pursuits, heedless of the flotsam and jetsam they litter the world with in their wake. Heedless of the pain they cause with their ignorance. Still, their disregard for their surroundings kept him employed and fed.

Logan turned and slid into the darkness behind The Wolf Inn, weaving his way among the cottonwoods and maples as he left the brick building and the town behind him. He wanted—needed—to be back in his cabin and away from—everything.

He didn't venture into town often and almost never during the day, preferring the isolation of the woods and his cabin. He hunted in the forest for his meat, kept a garden on the side of his cabin for whatever vegetables he wanted, and fished off the nearby stream. When he needed other supplies, he left a note on the counter at Keesler's and old man Darby would fill it for him, billing him later. A simple process that allowed Logan to maintain his solitary nature while still providing for the things he couldn't do without, like toilet paper. A lonely existence, perhaps, but it worked for him.

The night breeze rustled the branches overhead as he meandered through the giant cottonwoods, the forest quiet except for the night crickets that called to him as he passed. Everything changed once he crossed out of town and into the woods—his woods. The giant trees standing sentinel vanquished the noise around him as well as in his mind, replacing the constant chattering of the past with a soothing quietness that stilled his nerves, which threatened to snap with little provocation over the past two years. The scents transformed from those of life in the city to the lush fragrance of the trees and shrubs, the leaves and even the forest animals that populated the area. He never worried about where he stepped or what creatures might be around. These were his woods, his home, and he knew everything that dwelt within their perimeter. There was nothing to fear here, at least for him. Even the rogues knew enough to leave him alone, fearing the sharpness of his blade or the anger behind his fists.

And there was anger. Too much perhaps, especially after two years, but Logan couldn't control that, and because he couldn't control it, he chose to avoid people. Elias Grant, alpha of the Dark Moon Pack, helped Logan find his place in the woods, getting him established with business owners for after-hours work that would provide for him as well as protect him from unnecessary interaction with outsiders.

The snap of a twig jerked his attention to the west, bringing him up abruptly, nerves taut as he clenched his fists in preparation of a fight. It was a natural instinct for him, always battle ready. However, a whine broke the silence just before Dax, his German Shepherd, came padding out of the underbrush around some oaks, his tail tucked down, head lowered.

Logan glanced at the dog, then looked in the direction toward his cabin, eyes narrowed as if he could see through the darkness ahead to his front door. “What's the matter, boy?" he asked as the dog reached his side. Logan leaned down and scratched behind Dax's ear, still keeping his gaze fixed on the path leading to his front door. Something had obviously spooked the dog because Dax was usually a hyper, tail-wagging animal whenever Logan returned home, eager for his owner and some company. Logan took a deep breath, trying to determine if some rogues who didn't know better ventured into the area or if Dax had just caught wind of a bigger predator than himself. However, while the breeze told him it was neither of those choices, it brought with it the metallic aroma of blood.

All right, something is out there, Logan thought. Now to find out what.