Chance Fur Hire (Bears Fur Hire 6) (16 page)

Chance was a good teacher, patient, and a good listener, and he also foresaw frustration and cut it off with compliments. Emily sucked at the wrist flick and got the fly stuck in the back of her shirt, but as time wore on and she waded deeper into the frigid stream water, she got her confidence up. And when Chuck brought in a shiny, silver fish, well, Emily was just about as excited as if she’d reeled it in herself. And from Abby’s squealing, she likely felt the same.

All it took was that first fish and the pictures that followed of Chuck proudly holding up his one-pounder, first Alaskan catch that got Emily real motivated to catch something, too.

Chance positioned himself near Abby, and when he got something on the line, he said, “Come here. Abby, come land this fish.”

Pink messy bun bobbing, Abby bounded through the water like a Labrador and switched Chance poles.

“Oh, my gosh, I’m getting it!” she yelled. “Chuck, take pictures! I’m really doing it!”

The click of the Rodericks’ camera was constant as Chance talked her through reeling in a fish on a fly rod. Abby jumped up and down on the bank, then ran in place really fast when Chance lifted the line with the flopping fish up for her to hold. She grinned big for pictures while she held the line.

Chance shot Emily a sexy wink, and she couldn’t stand it anymore. Couldn’t be away from him. He was amazing. Sure, she’d known he was a good guide, but hearing he was and seeing him actually interact with clients was totally different. He was giving these people an adventure of a lifetime. He was giving them an anniversary to remember, and Emily felt so lucky to be here to witness how capable he was out in the bush.

Dragging her feet through the water, she made her way toward him, pole in the air. Chance met her halfway and gripped her waist. Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear, “I don’t think anyone has ever looked so fucking sexy in waders.”

A giggle bubbled up her throat as she pushed up on her toes in the stony shallows of the stream and kissed him. The instant their lips touched, relief flooded her. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been when she’d thought him angry with her, and now she was having genuine fun.

“We’ll get you a fish, too,” he said.

Emily clamped her teeth gently onto his bottom lip, then whispered, “I’m going to catch my own.”

Chance squeezed her ass and growled a sound of approval. “That’s my girl.” He checked the fly on the end of her line, then made his way back toward the Rodericks to cut Abby’s fish loose.

And as she watched him with his clients, easy smile on his face as he complimented Abby and took the hook from the fish’s mouth, Emily fell in love with him a little harder. Uncle Victor and Dad had been so wrong about werewolves.

She hadn’t thought it possible to care for Chance any more than she already did, but then he would do something sweet and expose another side of himself that demanded her respect, and she would fall again. And again.

Her adoration for him sometimes surprised her and rendered her breathless, like right now as her mate stood on the banks of the stream, sunlight reflecting off the waves and illuminating his striking green eyes. Eyes he couldn’t keep from her for long. And she got it. She hadn’t been able to stop watching him today either.

Chance Dawson was unquestionably the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Today had been the best day of Emily’s life.

It shouldn’t have been. It should’ve been one of the scariest, but as the day had worn on, she’d convinced herself the plan she and Dalton had come up with was foolproof and pushed Uncle Victor to the back of her mind so she could relax into the Alaskan adventure.

They’d had a successful first day of fishing and had even seen a black bear and her tiny, fuzzy cub just fifty yards off the trail they travelled to Wolf Camp. Chance had put himself between his clients and the danger, but the momma herded her baby close and barely looked up. She was too busy desperately eating grass after a long hibernation. Abby had freaked out at the time, but afterward had gotten really excited about the pictures Chuck had taken of the momma and baby. The horses had been skittish but controllable, even Rosy, a testament to how accustomed to the woods and other animals they were.

It was full dark now, the woods only illuminated by the moon and the green northern lights in the distance, but in the middle of camp, the fire was built up and the row of fish they’d caught today were lined in a long, flat skillet. They were stuffed with herbs and lemon slices, each bound in string to keep the flavor in, and below the rack over the open fire were four foil-wrapped, butter-soaked baked potatoes.

Chance was a damn good cook over open flames, but that was probably part of the job description. He needed to not only feed his clients on the trail, but make it an enjoyable experience for them.

Chuck and Abby were across the fire, talking quietly, mugs of hot coffee steaming between their palms. Behind them were two tents Chance had set up quick as a wink.

Wolf Camp. Emily gave a private laugh as she settled onto a sitting log near the crackling fire. Chance’s hand was a comfort when he gripped her shoulder in a slow massage. His lips brushed her neck, and she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes against the world just to immerse herself in the feeling of safety he brought.

“We’ll do it tonight when the Rodericks are asleep,” he murmured against her ear.

And just like that, the warm, safe feeling was gone. She was suddenly glad she’d let Chance in on the plan, because with him in on it, she felt stronger. She felt braver. They’d been free to do what they wanted today because Hell Hunters followed strict rules, and Uncle Victor practiced tradition to a T. No human casualties. No human death on a Hell Hunter’s hands unless a human had sided with the “evil ones.” Like she’d done.

The Rodericks didn’t know it, but they had served as their safety net all day. But this was the place Dalton had picked to lure Uncle Victor from the shadows. Wolf Camp would be different after tonight.

Tilting her chin up, Emily kissed Chance, then nodded her understanding. A couple more hours, and it would be time to end this. He slipped his tongue past her lips once, then drew away with a crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Chance was nervous, too.

“I have an embarrassing question,” Abby said from her seat across the fire.

“You have to go to the bathroom?” Chance guessed.

Abby scrunched up her nose. “Yes. But I’m totally scared of bears, and it’s dark.” She swung her gaze to Emily. “Will you go with me?”

Huffing a laugh, Emily set her own half-empty mug of coffee down in the dirt and stood. “Let’s do it quick before dinner is ready. I’m starved.”

“Oh, Emily, thank you. I have been mulling over ways to ask you for an hour.”

Abby kissed Chuck and strode off toward the tree line, Emily following promptly with a roll of toilet paper.

In the woods, Abby stumbled over a log, turned, and squinted at the firelight. “I’ll be honest. I know the boys probably can’t see me, but I still feel super exposed out here. I’ve never peed in the woods before today.”

Emily smiled and pointed at a thicket that would shield her from the firelight. “They won’t see you over there.”

“What if there is a bear in there?”

“You would hear a bear. They aren’t quiet animals.”

“Can you come with me? Just…turn around while I go.”

With a sigh, Emily followed her into the thick alders and turned her back to give Abby privacy while she piddled.

“I’m totally night blind,” Abby grumbled as she picked her way back slowly toward the fire, and when at last they broke through the final line of birch trees, Emily looked around for Chance with a ready smile on her face. What she found was Chuck, rocking slowly on the ground, holding his calf with a white T-shirt that was soaked red.

“Chuck,” Abby rasped out, running a few steps and sliding to a stop before she reached him.

“What happened?” Emily asked, panic flaring in her chest as she dropped down beside him.

“I was carving on a limb with my knife and the blade slipped. Fuck, it hurts.”

“Let me see it.”

She looked under the cloth and swallowed a gasp. He’d cut deep into the muscle down half his calf. She’d seen plenty of injured animals in vet clinic she’d worked at before and had done many stitches over the years. “It’s okay. It looks worse than it is. Non-life threatening, and I can stich you up with the first aid kit. Don’t worry.”

Chuck lifted his chocolate brown eyes from his injury to her face, and there was something more than fear swimming in their depths.

“I can’t do this,” Abby whispered.

Emily pressed the rag hard onto Chuck’s leg and frowned over her shoulder. Abby was crying. “He’ll be okay, I promise.”

“Abby,” Chuck warned.

Gooseflesh blasted up Emily’s forearms. “Chance?” she called, standing slowly.

“We did something bad,” Abby sobbed.

Frantically, Emily scanned the camp, but he wasn’t here, and Rosy was missing.

“Chuck, I can’t. I can’t,” Abby wailed.

“Abby, shut up,” Chuck gritted out.

“She’s nice, Chuck! Emily, a man contacted us yesterday,” Abby said in a rush. “He paid us a lot of money to split you up. My business is failing, we’re drowning in debt, and he put fifty thousand dollars in our account and said he would give us another fifty thousand. All we have to do is split you and Chance up. That’s all. Just split you up for a minute.”

“Where the fuck is Chance?”

Chuck gritted his teeth so hard a muscle jumped in his jaw. Emily pulled her buck knife from her belt and leaned over him. She pressed the blade against his jugular and promised him, “I will split your neck open if you don’t tell me where my man is right now.”

Abby was sobbing louder, wailing like an Alaskan storm wind, but with fire in his eyes, Chuck jerked his chin toward the trail that led to the river. “Abby and I emptied the canteens earlier. Chance is getting water to clean my leg.”

They’d killed Chance. Oh God, they’d killed him!

Emily pushed off him, barely resisting the urge to slit his fucking throat. “You’ll get no first aid from me,” she yelled over her shoulder as she bolted for the radio in her backpack. She twisted the on button and sprinted for the horses. She yanked Gunner’s reins off the rope line and swung over his saddle. With a kick to his ribs, she glared at Abby. “Good luck sewing him up.”

Gripping the speaker button, she guided Gunner down the trail as she yelled into the radio, “Dalton, they split us up. Please tell me you have eyes on him.”

No answer.

“Dalton!” Silence. Fuck. She tossed the radio and held onto the saddle horn for dear life as Gunner hit his stride.

Something barreled toward them in the dark, and at the terrified scream of an oncoming horse, Emily yanked Gunner to the side of the trail just moments before Rosy blasted past. In the instant she ran by, Emily could see the terror in the horse’s rolling eyes. Chance, Chance, Chance.

She could smell it now—smoke. Gasoline. And the instant the rolling river came into view under the blue moon, the glow of tall flames clashed with the night. “No,” Emily murmured, her hair whipping around her face as Gunner raced toward the fire. Her future wavered with every pounding hoof beat Gunner drew them closer. Happiness, pack, family, her Chance. Her last chance. She was going to be too late to save him, too late to save herself.

Gunner’s hooves splashed through the shallow stream, and when she yanked on the reins, he skidded across the bank on the other side, his legs locked. Heart leaping into her throat, she slid from his saddle and bolted for the fire. She could see Uncle Victor now, hood pushed back onto his shoulders as he injected his leg with something. Two more needles littered the ground beside him. Adrenaline.

Chance’s wolf lay limp just on the edge of the glowing firelight, the red on his fur contrasting with the white. Think. Uncle Victor would’ve incapacitated him, injured him enough to subdue him but not enough to kill. Not yet. Traditions had to be upheld. If she could just get to him, if she could stop Uncle Victor, Chance could still live. He had to.

Emily pushed her legs harder and, as soon as she was close enough, dropped onto the ground full-force and skidded through the dirt on her knees toward Uncle Victor. She slashed her knife at the back of his leg, but at the last second, he jerked out of the way, her blade missing him by inches. Blinding pain seared across her back. With a gasp, she fell forward to escape the next arc of his knife, snaking her leg out to catch him at the ankles. Uncle Victor fell hard but caught her wrist, saving himself from a blade to the face. With a painful wrench, she lost the grip on her handle. She yanked backward to escape his next attack, sacrificing the arm to save her skin.

Victor released her and laughed a single, cruel sound that echoed through the valley.

Emily struggled to her feet and looked down in horror as red seeped from her wrist. He’d cut her deep—cut to kill, not just to maim.

Uncle Victor’s face was an unrecognizable mask of hatred in the firelight as he stood to his full height. His skin was pockmarked and a sickening shade of gray, and his head shaved clean. Sweat dripped down both sides of his face, and his eyes held a look of insanity.

“Niece, did you think I didn’t expect you to come running? Did you think I was going to give you a chance to maim me first? I made you!” he screamed, the veins in his forehead bulging. “All of your training came from me, you stupid girl.” He jammed his long blade at her dripping fingertips. “A dishonorable death for a traitor.” He spat. “Whore of a werewolf. You’ll burn tonight for the first time. The rest of your eternal suffering will be in the fires of hell.”

“You’d rather take the man I love from me than forgive them for existing?” she asked. “You’d rather take my life?”

Uncle Victor lifted his chin, his dark eyes flashing with pride. “It’ll be my last and greatest achievement.”

That’s all she needed. Those were the words that ripped the last lone thread of affection that bound her to an idea she owed her family some fucked-up sense of loyalty. He wasn’t worthy.

She was bleeding out. Dying. But one look at Chance, and she gathered her strength. His eyes opened, white as snow and full of pain, but steady on her.

His love had saved her soul in the end.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered before she ran at Uncle Victor, pulling a knife as she did.

She cleared her mind, gave into her training, her instinct, moved like water as he slashed and missed with every arc of his knife. Emily leaned back and watched Uncle Victor’s knife glide just centimeters from her face. With too much force into the miss, he stumbled backward, his back to the bonfire he’d built.

His body shaking and his eyes wide, he gasped a wet sound and looked down slowly at the damp darkness soaking his cloak. He had missed. She had not. The blade dropped from his hand, and he grasped a burning stick that stuck out from the fire.

“I wouldn’t,” she warned, too weak to get up now as her arms and legs went cold.
Pit, pat, pit, pat.
She was painting the dried leaves. “You lost.”

With a snarl of his lips, Uncle Victor wheezed out, “We both lost. You’ll watch him die, and then you’ll follow him to hell—alone.”

“You’re wrong, Uncle,” she murmured, angling her face to the side. In her peripheral vision, a huge gray wolf flanked her left side, approaching slowly with his teeth bared and the look of death in his snow white eyes. On her right was a pitch-black wolf with gold eyes. She swayed and gave Uncle Victor one last smile. As a single tear fled the corner of her eye, she whispered, “I was never alone.”

He shook his head in disbelief and backed up a step, gripping the burning log as Link and Dalton stalked him. Emily’s vision blurred, and she fought to keep her eyes open. Behind Victor, a white wolf leapt over the flames and landed on her uncle’s back.

Emily let off a soft moan and fell backward onto the pine-needle blanket of Chance’s woods. Uncle Victor didn’t scream or struggle, and Emily was grateful for that. She didn’t want to leave this life on a death song.

“Em,” Chance said, lifting her head. He was naked, covered in healing knife wounds. His skin was a pale, shimmering gold in the pulsing glow of the fire. “Oh my God, Em,” he said hoarsely as he gripped her bleeding wrist impossibly hard. It wouldn’t save her, though. He hadn’t seen the cut on her back, and she wasn’t going to spend her last moments with him fighting the inevitable.

“I have something to tell you,” she murmured, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t ready. Wasn’t ready for her time with Chance to be done. “You saved me.”