Pure panic shot through me. My survival instincts kicked in instantly. I drove my elbow backward as hard as I could, making contact with something solid—a stomach or ribs. The attacker grunted, his grip loosening just enough for me to wrench away, stumbling forward and spinning around to face him.
He was massive—at least six and a half feet tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in black. A bandana covered the lower half of his face, and a hood shadowed his eyes. My heart hammered against my ribs as I backed away, measuring the distance between us.
I couldn't take him in a fight. Even with wolf strength, he outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds.
"Who are you?" I demanded, voice shaking despite my effort to sound strong. "What do you want?"
He didn't answer, just lunged forward with surprising speed. I dodged sideways, nearly tripping over an exposed root. The packhouse lights glimmered in the distance, but he stood between me and safety.
