Secret Worlds (497 page)

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THE LINGERING SHADOWS of night retreated, fading from pitch black to purple, and then blue, cloaking me in darkness where I laid in wait. I remained unmoving and silent beneath the tightly woven lattice of pine boughs that smothered the misty trail of my breath in the cold air. The first few rays of sunlight spread across the snowy field before me, turning it to a glittering blanket of thousands of tiny diamonds. I remained a silent sentinel, surveying my domain.

Watching. Waiting.

He would come eventually, and I was willing to wait as long as it took to exact justice for his crimes, but still impatience made my heart beat a steady tattoo against my ribs. I was forced to remind myself that I was a ninja, a cloaked assassin, the cold hand of death and vengeance. All I needed was for my unwitting prey to emerge.

What the hell is taking him so long? I don’t have all damn day.

It was little more than a faint whisper drifting on the breeze at first, yet the small sound lit a fire of excitement in my gut. Adrenaline flooded through me, singing in my veins. Still I waited.

Not yet,
I told myself.
Just a little longer.

I would have missed the first flicker of movement if I hadn’t been watching so intently. A few blades of winter brown grass rustled, frozen stalks creaking against one another as a pale head emerged, obsidian eyes darting to and fro. Raising his twitching nose to the wind, he scented the air and my lips split in a wide grin. The dumb beast was upwind, carrying his mouthwatering scent to me while whipping my spicy musk away into the trees.

A bark of vicious laughter burbled at the back of my throat, but I managed to smother it before it had a chance to break free. Licking my lips in eagerness, I watched as he pulled himself into the open, legs scrabbling for purchase on the frozen ground, his head swiveling as he listened for the slightest sound that would send him diving for cover.

Holding my breath, I sank closer to the ground where the drifts of snow and pine needles pressed against my belly and chest, the cold leeching into my skin. I cursed the noise my movement made. Across the open expanse of the field he froze, dark eyes roving back and forth.

God dammit.

Not even daring to breathe for fear of giving myself away, I watched as the tension eased out of him and he settled back into the belief that he was safe.

That’s it, nothing to worry about my friend. There’s no threat here.

As the minutes ticked by, he became bolder, moving further from the protection of his burrow and closer to the waiting jaws of death. In a way I almost pitied him, but he had trespassed and his death would serve as a warning for all.

Come on you pudgy bastard. Just one more step…

Another brave step forward and he reached the point of no return.

I burst from the trees like a rocket, my feet kicking up frozen clods of snow and dead grass as I covered the distance in just a few long, loping strides. I watched in delight as he froze for a fraction of a second before turning and sprinting back towards the safety of his hole. He was fast, but I was faster. He would pay for his deeds with blood.

I knew I had him even as his pumping legs carried him across the snow, and before he dove into the darkness I snatched him up with gnashing teeth. The excited thump of my heart echoed the terrified pounding of his, mingling to create a symphony of life and death, the music sublime to my ears. His shriek of fear and pain rose as the crescendo to our masterpiece, piercing the air and sending a flock of birds winging into the sky, dancing as dark specks against the swirled pink and gold of dawn.

The wriggling warmth of his body against my tongue drove my excitement ever higher. A low snarl rumbled through my chest, vibrating through my powerful jaws and into his small, fragile body, wringing another ounce of fear from him. The taste of his fear was almost as intoxicating as the rich coppery flavor of his blood, and together they merged into a heady bouquet that left me drunk with vitality.

One last wail of suffering echoed in my skull before the pressure of my jaws silenced him for good. A final twitch was all he managed before going limp in my jaws, and for a moment I found myself wondering if I had delivered too swift a death. I couldn’t help thinking that perhaps he should have suffered more, but as usual, the excitement and thrill of the hunt had swept me up and I had been unable to stop myself before it was too late.

Oh well, at least he won’t be eating my cabbages anymore.

Letting out a huff of satisfaction, I turned my eyes on the empty field as my breath drifted away on the breeze. Dozens of tiny eyes watched me, their weight like fingers ghosting through the fur along my spine, but no one dared to make a sound. This was
my
territory, and they were reminded of that fact by the stark splash of blood on snow. Turning, I trotted back to the edge of the tree line, sparing one last glance for my audience before I slipped into the gloom amongst the trees.

I emerged on the other side and paused at the bottom of my sloping backyard to regard my home. The single story log cabin looked warm and inviting, nestled beneath a layer of glittering snow, a thin wisp of smoke trailing from the chimney while the windows cast golden squares across the garden. Trotting between the raised beds that housed my cabbages and other vegetables in the spring, I made my way to the back door. Stopping on the mat I let the dead rabbit slip from my jaws, landing beside my large tawny paws.

The change flowed through me in a cascading wave of overwhelming pleasure that hovered just on the edge of pain. A thousand tickling fingers stroked over me as the fur drifted from my body, carried away on the chill breeze before dissolving into nothingness.

One moment I loomed as a massive brindled wolf, and the next I stood naked and shivering, my nipples erect as much from the pleasure of the shift as from the cold wind that skittered across my skin. Stooping to retrieve the rabbit from the mat, I pushed open the door and stepped into the warm kitchen.

“We’re having rabbit stew for dinner,” I called out, depositing the rabbit in the large farmhouse sink.

I’ll deal with
you
after breakfast
.

Opening his eyes wide enough to reflect the golden light from the fireplace, Loki regarded me with sleepy disinterest, which to be fair, was a pretty permanent fixture on his fuzzy face.

A large and solid Siamese of indeterminable age, he had strolled in through the open door, bold as brass, the day I moved in and staked his claim on my grandmother’s afghan draped over the back of my inherited sofa. That was eight years ago, and he had been my steadfast, albeit lazy, companion ever since.

“Damn cat.”

I stalked past him to my bedroom to retrieve my fluffy pink bathrobe, pausing long enough to give his silken ears a scratch.

Wrapped up in my robe and Killer Bunny slippers, I shuffled back into the kitchen and switched on the ancient coffee pot. Pulling a mug from the cabinet, I trailed my fingers over the familiar wood that my grandfather had carved by hand. I had to marvel at the devotion he must have felt for my grandmother to craft them when he bought the place after they got married. The growl of my stomach roused me from the warmth of my memories, spurring me into motion. After collecting bread and peanut butter to make toast, I poured myself a cup of coffee strong enough to strip paint off a door.

Just as I took the first perfect bite of my toast, humming contentedly as the warmed peanut butter coated my tongue and the roof of my mouth, there was a sharp knock on my front door, the unexpected intrusion startling me out of my hedonistic delight.

What the fairy fart?

I glared at the peeling paint on the back of the door, willing whoever was on the other side to feel my ire. Living in the last cabin at the end of a long dirt road that required four wheel drive for half the year, I rarely had visitors. Rarer still at... glancing at the cuckoo clock hanging next to the fridge I confirmed that, yep, it was indeed seven thirty in the morning.

Every once in a while I got the occasional lost hiker wanting to know how to get back to town, but I couldn’t think who the hell would be knocking on my door in the middle of November. Lingering in the kitchen, I waited in silence, hoping that whoever was out there would just go away. Another, more insistent, knock on the door let me know otherwise.

Washing down my bite of toast with a gulp of coffee, I stalked through the living room to the door, none too pleased that my breakfast had been interrupted. I reached for the handle just as another knock landed on the wood, the strike firm enough to make the door rattle in its hinges.

“Hold on, there’s no need to get your boxers in a bunch!”

Throwing back the lock and opening the door just enough to peek out, a sudden gust of wind sent a column of freezing air straight up under my robe, making me all too aware that I was naked underneath the pink terry cloth.

Through the crack in the door I could see two men that would have looked rather imposing if it weren’t for the fact that their faces were bright red from the cold and their shoulders were hunched up around their ears. Their demeanor screamed law enforcement, and a ball of apprehension settled heavily in my gut.

“Ms. Cray?” the first man asked in a rough voice that spoke of a pack-a-day habit. My nose wrinkled at the strong odor of cigarettes wafting in through the door.

“Yes…” I replied, drawing the word out in a questioning lilt as I eyed him with suspicion.

“I’m Special Agent Johnson and this is my partner, Special Agent Holbrook,” he said, inclining his head minutely to the man standing just behind him.

“You got any I.D. to go with those spiffy titles?”

With a frown, Agent Johnson withdrew a leather bifold from his pocket and presented his credentials. Leaning forward into the gap in the door, I peered at the gleaming badge, not really sure what I was looking at.

Hell, Loki would know what to look for as much as I do.

Ascertaining that it at least didn’t appear to have come out of a Cracker Jack box, I nodded at the agent as if I had some inkling of what I was looking at.

“I guess you gentlemen had better come in,” I said, stepping back and opening the door.

Pack-a-day was the oldest of the pair, though his age was hard to pin down. A smooth face with only a small cluster of wrinkles around his bright blue eyes would have made me peg him as early forties, but the stark white hair combed back from his face made it a harder guess. He bore the wide and stocky frame of an ex-football player, though it looked as if there was a little softness about his middle.

To say that Agent Holbrook was drop dead gorgeous would be an understatement. He was a dark haired Adonis with wind flushed cheeks.

Forest green eyes studied me with a mixture of curiosity and appraisal. Narrower through the shoulders than his partner, he was tall and lean, the tailored cut of his long coat accentuating his narrow waist. It was the look in his eyes, however, that brought a sudden rush of heat to my middle, awakening the slumbering wolf, causing her to unfurl inside me. It was a rare thing for her to be roused so soon after a run, and I found my interest piqued by the reaction he inspired.

I figured it was a safe assumption that I wasn’t the only one interested when his gaze tracked down to the neckline of my robe with no attempt at subtlety. Glancing down, I realized that I was affording the two agents a rather generous view as the front of my bathrobe gaped open.

Seeing as I spend a good portion of my time naked as I shift between woman and wolf, I’m not easy to embarrass, but the unabashedly appreciative look in Agent Holbrook’s eyes brought a flush of pink to my cheeks. Even as I cleared my throat and pinned him with a glare that let him know he had been busted, my blush spread all the way down my chest in response to the smirk that curved the edges of his mouth.

“How can I help you, Agent?” I asked Johnson, tightening the belt on my robe and ignoring the smile that continued to curve his partner’s lips.

“I understand that you are familiar with Mr. Samson Reed?” Johnson asked.

All traces of blossoming arousal fled in the blink of an eye as my hand moved instinctively to cover my stomach. The puckered scars marring the skin of my belly flared white hot with remembered agony while my mouth went suddenly dry.

“You could say that,” I managed to choke out, my mouth filled with the sour taste of bile.

“Mr. Reed escaped from White Sands Supernatural Penitentiary two days ago. We came here to tell you that…” Johnson continued to explain, but his words faded into static as the world grew fuzzy around the edges of my vision, the floor slanting sharply to the right.

A large hand clutching my elbow in a strong grip brought me swimming back up to conscious thought, and I found Agent Holbrook standing close. Heat radiated from him along with the woody scent of his cologne, and, beneath that, something sweet like caramel or dark molasses. Electricity crackled in the air between us, sending jolts of sensation up my arm where his fingers touched me.

“…had better sit down, Ms. Cray,” he was saying in a voice that flowed smooth and rich like sun warmed honey, the hint of a southern accent lending another layer of richness to his voice.

Unable to find my voice through the twisted knot of fear lodged in the back of my throat, I nodded and let him steer me into the living room where he deposited me on the couch. Loki let out an irritated meow at being disturbed before sliding off the back of the sofa and slinking off into the safety of my bedroom.

My brain buzzed with a dozen nonsensical thoughts, distracting me from the deluge of panic that was cresting like a tidal wave just on the edge of my consciousness. If I acknowledged my rising fear, it would surely drown me in seconds. In an effort to protect me from the mounting horror, my brain chose to focus on something a little more interesting.