Just take what you want. How's she going to stop you?

Hell with this, thought William. And without a word, he ran.

If Ilonka really knew so much about the curse of the werewolf, she ought to have known there was no chance of an ordinary girl outrunning him once she handed the potion over. Yeah, technically he was robbing her, but he was doing her a favor too by not going along with her insane plan. That made them even as far as William was concerned. He was out of the mausoleum and into the cemetery before she even knew what happened, bounding through the fog, leaping gravestones, making for the gate and the trackless wilderness beyond where she couldn't follow. He heard her running after him, but it didn't matter. It didn't even matter when she--whistled? What in the world?

And then he heard it: howling. A half dozen wolves were zeroing in on this spot, responding to Ilonka's call. Even now he heard the trap-trap-trap of their footfalls in the fog. William cursed. Not that he couldn't take the pack on in a fight if it came to that. But he couldn't risk fighting as long as he had the precious tanna potion, possibly the only one in the entire world, in hand. If the bottle broke, he was ruined. There was nothing to do but run. He was fast, sure, but was he faster than the entire pack? Only one way to find out. It would be a long night, he knew, before any of them tired. If he won the race, he'd be that much closer to the end of the job.

And if he didn't? Then he supposed at least the wolves would eat well tonight...