Ride the Wicked Woodsman (A Night Falls Alpha Werebear Shapeshifter Romance) (3 page)

I waved my arms, my legs barely able to keep me upright and moving toward him.

"Wolves," I croaked as loud as I could. "Get a gun. Please get a gun."

The scrabble of claws and padded feet over the small rocks of the cabin's clearing sounded behind me. I didn't look back, knew that the sight of three predators as they closed in snarling and gnashing their fangs would freeze all of the muscles that still worked inside me.

The man stepped off the porch, his hands empty but his gait confident and unafraid.

Was he a fucking loon? We needed a gun for what was behind me. Maybe a tank. Bare hands weren't going to do shit!

I collapsed onto my knees, the wind shifting one last time to reveal my mistake.

The man walking toward me, golden eyes glowing, wasn't a wolf -- but he damn well was a shifter. At least he didn't smell like any human I had ever scented before and the reflective gaze was something I had only seen in non-humans.

"Sanctuary," I rasped as the old stories of my grandmother rose up inside my mind.

This was the giant's den, not that of the wolves behind me. Whatever kind of shifter he was, he couldn't refuse a plea for sanctuary right outside his door.

"Get inside," he growled as he walked past.

I crawled forward a few feet before I could get my muscles working enough to stand. Then I stumbled toward the porch. I tripped going up the stairs and had to crawl the last of the way inside, my body braced against the door as I tried to stop shaking from all the adrenaline and fear racing through me.

What were my host's chances?

The three wolves chasing me were young. He was definitely adult.

Definitely alpha. My senses weren't so overwhelmed by being treated as prey that I hadn't caught and appreciated every nuance of his scent.

I just didn't know what species he was. I'd only ever encountered wolves and big cats in the city -- the wolves all working class or worse and the feline shifters up in their penthouses and McMansions.

This man was neither.

Cracking the door open, I peeked at the clearing outside.

The shifters had kept their wolf form and were arranged in a loose and shifting circle. They growled and snapped, but their tails and low-to-the-ground bellies gave them away. They were submitting, their fangless snarls nothing but a show to salvage some self-respect.

My host reached out, lightning fast, and snagged the nearest wolf. One arm was all it took to fling the protesting shifter out of the clearing and back into the woods. A yelp sounded as it slammed against a tree trunk.

"Who's next?" I heard him growl. "You, David?"

He made another grab, his arm extending with a slow, mocking menace. The gesture was enough to send the last two shifters racing out of the clearing, their companion limping after them.

Seeing my rescuer turn toward the cabin, I shut the door and scrabbled onto my feet. I wanted to retreat further into the room, but I had already left a puddle of muck and water on the floor of the entry area. Stuck between wanting to be a good guest and feeling like I was still prey, I couldn't move.

The door swung wide. He stepped inside, his gaze bouncing off the mess on the floor before he shut and locked the door.

Avoiding eye contact, I looked around the room. Except for the front door and a single door at the far side of the cabin, the mountainside seemed to be a single large room. One rocker had been positioned in front of the fireplace. There was a king-sized bed shoved lengthwise against a picture window that overlooked the front porch. Just off the front door was a wall with cupboards, a refrigerator and a gas stove and range.

No kitchen table, no chairs other than the one rocker. The man didn't want company, that much was obvious.

He cleared his throat with a low growl.

I turned to him, my arm tentatively reaching out as I offered an introduction.

"I'm Onyx--"

He cut me off, a snarl shaping his mouth. "What the hell were you doing alone in the woods IN HEAT?"

Cringing, I took a step back from him, my head shaking hard in denial. "I'm not in heat."

One long stride and he annihilated the distance between us. He grabbed me by both shoulders then dipped his head.

"I don't care how many skunk cabbage fields you rolled around in, you can't hide that you're in estrus. Your scent--"

Releasing me suddenly, he stepped toward the kitchen, his massive arm pointing at the door at the opposite end of the cabin.

"Shower before my entire home smells like carrion."

"I'm not in heat," I protested, more desperate to convince myself than him. All those years my parents had been waiting, all those years alone but surrounded by the pack. It wasn't possible that I had fled on the eve before I might finally gain some acceptance.

Fate couldn't be that much of a cruel bitch.

"You are," he snarled. "You had no business in these woods in your condition. You're lucky you made it to my door."

I swallowed down the lump in my throat and fought the angry tears that wanted to leak down my face.

"Gonna blame it on the girl, huh?"

His head jerked back like I had just punched him.

"That's not what I--"

This time, I cut him off. "That's exactly what you meant."

I eyed the door next to me, the one that exited to the woods and not the bathroom he had ordered me into.

Reading my intent, he quickly crossed in front of me, lifted a five foot length of what looked like a former railroad tie, and placed it in the top slats on each side of the door before grabbing a matching piece of wood and securing it in the bottom slats.

"There are more than those three pups roaming the mountain so close to a full moon."

Saying nothing, I stared at the door and estimated my chance of lifting not just one -- slim -- but both -- nil -- of the heavy beams while feeling completely wiped out.

Stepping back into the kitchen, he snatched an empty garbage back from a drawer and handed it to me.

"Put what you're wearing in here. I'll leave a change of clothes on the doorknob." His face twisted like he had a lot more to say, yet he finished with a simple, but double-edged, command.

"Go now and shower -- while I clean up the mess you made."

********************

The bathroom shocked me, much like Ned and Edna's had, but in the completely opposite direction. Despite the sparse accommodations of the single room cabin, my host -- who still hadn't given me his name -- had splurged big time on this part of his home. The shower and tub were separate from one another, both of them oversized to fit his massive frame and tiled with polished stone in earthy hues.

There were two -- yes, two -- shower heads on each of the three shower walls, one up high to match his height and the other somewhere around the spot his lower back would be and just perfect for blasting at my aching shoulder blades.

Like the fireplace with its single rocking chair, the lone sink in the middle of a wide vanity attested to my savior's solitary ways. The copious amount of what looked like grooming products in cute little apothecary jars placed neatly along the counter, however, made me question his gender orientation. I mean, he had to have at least twice what my little sister had and she was a highly spoiled sixteen-year-old pack leader's daughter.

I wanted to open the jars and check their contents, but knew my hands reeked with the skunk cabbage's scent still on them. Turning toward the shower, garbage bag in hand, I stepped in fully dressed and closed the glass door behind me.

Off went my shoes and socks. Unhooking my car keys and the motel key, I placed it on the ledge of the glass shower door. I pulled the slim wallet from my back pocket and took out the driver's license and library card that were its only contents. Next came the pants, my ruined underwear still at the motel. Then I shoved my sweatshirt and bra into the bag, leaving me with just the money belt wrapped around my waist.

Drawing in a deep breath, I slowly unzipped the pouch. I didn't care if the money had a stink about it, no matter how big the stink. I just wanted it to be in a salvageable condition.

Seeing that at least some of the roll was wet, I started chewing at the inside of my lips. With the cop checking out my car at the motel, I probably didn't have a vehicle I could return to. And I hadn't exactly packed for the trip. I'd seen an opportunity with the office drawer unlocked after Eric's attack and had acted on instinct, grabbing the money belt, my keys and phone and then fleeing while he prepped for round two by dabbing a little more marijuana and shooting up another dose of steroids so he could maintain that middle shifter state just a little longer than his beta wolf genes would naturally allow.

I hadn't even kept the phone. I just didn't want it immediately obvious to my parents that I had left on more than family errands. So the wet roll of cash and the clothes I had just shoved into the garbage bag were all that I had.

Slowly I peeled at the roll. I had put the smallest bills out front -- three ones, two fives, a ten, ten twenties and the rest in hundreds. The ones and fives were pretty soaked, but by halfway through the twenties, I only had to deal with damp edges. Relieved, I stepped out of the shower with my money and the garbage bag. Placing the bag on the floor and the bills flat on the counter to dry, I returned to the glorious shower and spent the next twenty minutes trying to forget the last few days of my life.

********************

With a towel wrapped tightly around me, I snaked an arm outside the bathroom and snagged the clothes I was supposed to wear while mine were washed.

Probably more than most people, I knew beggars can't be choosers, but I still spent a few minutes staring in dismay at the flannel men's button-front shirt and oversized matching pants.

I'm not little in the slightest. I'm built sturdy with plenty of curves for cushioning. But my host was a giant. I would have guessed he was about six and a half feet tall without the boots he had on. Even without being a shifter, his shoulders and arms were big enough he could have lifted the railroad ties that barred the cabin door with the same ease he had demonstrated earlier. And I would absolutely be swimming in the clothes once I put them on.

The week you've had and this is what you're worried about? Really, Onyx?

Right, I grumbled -- put the damn clothes on. Maybe once I wasn't covered in stink, my host might go so far as to introduce himself instead of throwing dirty looks at me and trying to shame me for taking flight in the woods.

Crap -- I hadn't even considered telling him about the cop.

A knock at the door finally slapped the paralysis out of me.

"Yeah," I hurriedly acknowledged and shoved the shirt over my head. "I need about another minute."

More like three minutes because I had to roll the pant legs and sleeves and figure out what to do with the extra material at the waistline after I had pulled the drawstring tight enough to keep the pants above my hips.

I left the bathroom looking like a kid trying on her daddy's clothing, head hanging and gaze locked on the floor because life had taught me to not look up around other shifters.

Arm extended, I gestured at the garbage bag filled with my clothes. "Not all of it is washable -- like the wallet."

Mind fixated on the roll of money in my hand and the driver's license and library card tucked into the waistline of the flannel pants, I followed after him as he walked the bag into the kitchen area.

"None of it is washable," he answered, tying off the bag and putting it in another bag, one of the big, thick ones like contractors use. "I'll obtain something suitable for you in the morning."

"Thank you." My hand with the money twitched. The roll was too big for my fingers to close around and I couldn't hold on to it all night. He would see what I was holding anyway.

"Do you maybe have something like a Ziploc bag? Something I can seal?"

He pulled a baggie from the cupboard and handed it to me. Except for the bills drying on the bathroom vanity, I stuck the money inside and then my ID and library card. My lips rolled against one another and my arms and hips kind of danced as I tried to figure out how and where I could secure the bag to my body.

My host plucked the bag out of my hand. "I'm not going to steal from you, she-wolf."

He flipped it around so he could read my driver's license. I had already given him half my name, had been intent of giving him the rest of it, but he was staring at my home address as well, something that would lead him straight to the people I had run from.

Remembering the keys that remained on the top of the shower door, I softly excused myself and padded into the bathroom. Grabbing the keys, I returned to where he had placed the Ziploc bag on the floor next to the rocker. He had also draped a big, fuzzy blanket over the chair and, at some point during my shower, built a fire.

Taking it as an invitation to park my ass, I sat down and slipped my keys into the baggie.

A variety of pleasant odors drifted from the kitchen. My nose told me the sizzling I heard was from eggs and some kind of fish. I also smelled peppermint and lemon, a little honey -- all of the scents reminding me I hadn't eaten sense the Madison truck stop more than a day before.

"Here," my host said, sneaking up on me and shoving a saucer and teacup in front of me.

"Thank you." This was the source of the peppermint and honey I had smelled.

He bent down, pawed at the baggie without opening it as he looked at the keys.

"That's the Crocker's place," he grunted. "Edna and her old man."

"Yes," I answered and took my first sip of the brew.

Tasty and soothing and unexpectedly kind of him to make it for me.

"That's not too hot, is it?" he asked, misreading the emotion pulling at the sides of my face.

His voice sounded concerned, like he had maybe added an actual injury to the earlier insults he had delivered after saving me.

"It's perfect," I answered. "Just what I needed."

He grunted, the sound communicating nothing to me.

"You haven't told me your name," I braved before hiding behind another sip of the peppermint tea.