Blood on His Hands

Somewhere in the distance, behind him, Marc heard a hound baying. He hesitated, breathing hard, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, straining to hear better. The hound bayed again, a lonely, fearsome sound.
Marc Solie is on the run. He has been for what seems like forever, though it's been less than two years since his little sister died and his family fell apart, since he started running from his pain and despair and pure, desperate loneliness.
This time it's dif...