Winter of the Wolf (12 page)

She puled her elbow out of his grasp. “I’m not exactly sure. It happened too fast.” She aimed the pistol and fired savagely. Again and again until the hammer clicked on an empty cartridge.

“Not bad,” Shay said absently, trying to think of al the animals with jaws that large. Not a helhound—it wouldn’t leave a victim alive. A dog? A bear? “Did your biter also take a chunk out of your leg? Is that why you limp?” Her face whitened, but her fingers were steady as she reloaded the pistol. “That’s why.”

Shay stepped back and let her work. In al his years, he’d never seen a female like this. Enough fear to fil a lake and a mountain of determination to match it. “You’ve started puling to the left,” he remarked. “Take your stance.” to the left,” he remarked. “Take your stance.” She assumed the posture she’d been taught—perfectly.

But her aim was getting worse. Not because of her arm injury, he decided. But her alignment was off. He closed his hands over her shoulders.

She yelped and jerked away, but too late. He’d felt the gouges in the muscle.

“It got your shoulder too?” he said gently. Rage swept through him with the need to tear apart whatever had done such damage to a female.
This
female.

“Yeah.”

“Give me the pistol.” He held out his hand and, after a second, she complied. He unloaded, ignoring the protest in her eyes. “You’re done for today, lass. Any more and you’l damage those muscles.”

“But…I need to practice. I need to. They’re my muscles, anyway.”

She had the biggest blue eyes he’d ever seen, and by Herne’s hooves, it was hard to say no. “You can shoot every day. But not this long.”

“I don’t even know how long this was.”

“Look.” He tucked his arm around her waist and turned her to face the target. After an initial startle, she alowed the contact. No scent of fear, just female fragrance with a hint of vanila. He’d enjoyed holding her the morning after the Gathering, and her lips had been sweet.

Gathering, and her lips had been sweet.

What the hel was wrong with him? Human, remember?

He let her go—
bad wolf
—and pointed to the target. “See the holes where you started shooting and where you started improving. But this last round? Your aim slid off to the left as you started to hurt.”

She huffed out a breath. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.” He grinned at her and caught a responding smile. “When your aim starts to veer, then quit.

You’l be able to go longer each day.”

She sighed. “Okay. That sounds okay.”

With his free hand, he pushed her silky hair behind her ear and let his fingers trail down her neck. Silky skin, warm and damp with a female’s compeling fragrance. The tiny freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks cried out to be licked.

Human. She’s human. He stepped away. Then took another step for good measure. “Let’s go.”

* * *

At midnight, Zeb headed back to the cave. He’d patroled the eastern half of town, Shay the west. He’d found nothing new, but they wouldn’t relax. With the moon in the last quarter, they had only a week before the deadly dark night.

Under the Wild Hunt, he shifted and dressed, grumbling about the Cosantir’s latest order—to report in after each about the Cosantir’s latest order—to report in after each patrol.

“
How else will I know if you get yourself killed
?” Calum had asked and then amended, “
I’d prefer to know if one of
you is missing before I check my territory after closing
.” A chiling reminder that—how a Cosantir’s tie to Herne let him locate any shifter within his domain.

Scowling, Zeb climbed the steps to the closet, through the locked room, and into the halway. He liked this competent Cosantir—one who gave a damn about his people and his cahirs—but sometimes he felt as if he was on a leash.

Living in an overcrowded den didn’t help. If he’d been dumped into a house with anyone but Shay, he’d have torn his fucking throat out by now. If Shay gave him any more crap, he’d do it anyway. Messy, bossy, talkative mutt.

The babble of the people as Zeb entered the bar room made him flinch. The country music was loud, the place jam-packed. Saturday. He’d forgotten it was the weekend.

Fucking Cosantir’s orders.

He growled, and people melted from his path like sheep from a mountain lion. That only pissed him off more.

A colege-aged brat had taken Zeb’s preferred spot at the end of the bar—the one where his back wasn’t turned to the door. The kid glanced over, paled, and backed away. Zeb didn’t quite sneer.

Calum worked his way down, filing orders as he came.

Seemed strange to have a Cosantir doing something so Seemed strange to have a Cosantir doing something so menial, but running a bar would be a fine way of keeping track of everything in town. Sneaky werecat.

Calum handed him a dark beer and raised his voice to be heard over the noise. “Problems?”

“Al quiet.”

“In that case, refrain from terrifying my customers.” Zeb snorted. “I scare everybody. What—”

“No, Zebulon.” Calum gave him a level look. “Cahirs can be intimidating, yes. However, when you stalk in here as if you’d enjoy gutting someone, then you frighten people.

Control that.”

He moved away, leaving Zeb glaring at his back. Or what?

Fucking arrogant bast—

“What’s the problem?” Shay stepped into the respectful space everyone else had left. “You look like you got a paw stuck in a trap.”

Every place he went, some asshole was talking at him.

“Fuck that. If I want your opinion, I’l beat it out of you.”

“By the God’s bals.” Shay thumped his bottle of beer down. “You and what army?”

That did it. Zeb snarled and punched his fucking roommate right in his loud mouth, knocking him back against the other customers. Satisfaction blasted through him. That’s what the healer ordered. No Herne-aided strength, just fists.

Shay wiped his lip, glanced at the blood on his hand, and Shay wiped his lip, glanced at the blood on his hand, and scowled. His hands fisted; his knuckles cracked with hard pops to accompany the country music. “Been a while.”

“Too fucking long.”

Shay feinted to Zeb’s head, then delivered a solid punch to his gut. Zeb absorbed the pain with a grunt and nailed Shay across the cheekbone. The crowd scattered with shouts and screams. A chair hit the floor.

Shay roared, and the battle was on.

Bree stared at the two men, toe-to-toe, slugging each other. When one of Shay’s punches sent Zeb crashing backwards into a table, she flinched.

“Oh, hel, are they rehearsing for
Battle of the Titans
?” Vicki set her tray on an empty table. “Wel, let’s break it up.”

“Us? Are you insane?”

“Barmaid/bouncer. That’s my job description.”

“Not mine. I just help out for fun.” Bree heard a deep, raspy roar.
Zeb
. Customers shouted. A woman screamed.

“Vicki, they’re huge. Your husband won’t let you—”

“You think?” Vicki nodded at the bar. Calum jerked his head at the fighters in a very clear order. Laughing, Vicki strode toward the fighting.

“Oh heavens. Why can’t they be normal-sized guys?” Bree pressed a hand to her churning stomach. How could she fight men the size of the monster?
I don’t want to
. Her she fight men the size of the monster?
I don’t want to
. Her pistol was in her purse in the kitchen. Could she just shoot the idiots?

She hurried after Vicki. She couldn’t let her friend do this alone, but if her heart pounded through her ribs, there’d be bones al over the floor, and Vicki’d have to clean them up.

As she pushed past the crowd, she saw Zeb kick Shay halfway across the room.

“Perfect. You take Zeb. I got Shay,” Vicki directed.

Bree

winced.
Oh thanks
. Shay might have been reasonable. Taking on Zeb was sheer suicide. She pushed her fear down into her gut. Okay, fine, she’d fought big guys before—lots of them—and won. Her black belt hadn’t been earned by sitting home knitting.

As Zeb stalked after his opponent, Bree slid into his path, stance balanced and ready. “No fighting in the bar.” Two points for her—her voice hadn’t squeaked.

He didn’t answer, just gripped her shoulder to push her aside.

She slapped his hand away and stayed in front of him.

“Move, little human,” he growled, wiping the blood from his face.

Human? What kind of derogatory term was that? “I’m not little,” she growled back, “and I’m not moving.” He grabbed her shirtfront faster than she could block.

With no apparent effort, he lifted her off her feet like an With no apparent effort, he lifted her off her feet like an errant puppy and set her to one side. She brought her fists down on his forearm, broke his hold, and planted herself in his path again.

“Fuck, you’re stubborn.” He gave her a lethal look. “I could hurt you. Badly.”

The whiplash of fear made her mad. She glared back. “I’d do my best to hurt you. Badly.”

He exhaled loudly and glanced over her head at someone behind her. “You got a problem too?”

Easing sideways, Bree folowed his gaze.

Hands on hips, Vicki blocked Shay who had the same frustrated expression as Zeb. “Are you finished?” Vicki asked Shay.

“Hel.” Shay looked at Zeb. “Are we done?” Zeb cupped Bree’s face with a battered hand. His thumb traced her lips so very gently that a tingle shimmered through her. “Guess we’re done,” he murmured.

Shay tugged on Vicki’s hair, then limped over to Bree.

“Brave little warrior, aren’t you?” He tucked her disheveled hair behind her ear before turning to Zeb. “Most fun I’ve had in weeks. C’mon, I’l buy you a beer.”

Bree stared as the two guys walked to the bar, side by side. Around her, people set tables and chairs in place and picked up spiled drinks. A few muttered about
damned cay-heers
, whatever that meant. She shook her head. “They try
heers
, whatever that meant. She shook her head. “They try to kil each other and now they’re best friends?”

“Guys. Assholes. No difference.”

As Bree folowed Vicki to the bar, Calum smiled and set out their working drinks. Diet cola for Bree, water for Vicki.

“Efficiently done. Thank you.”

Even as the compliment sang through her, Bree narrowed her eyes. “Seems like a man would worry about his wife getting hurt.”

“My mate could take those two with one arm tied behind her back,” he said mildly. “Even without the unfair advantage.” At a hail from a customer, he moved down the bar.

“What advantage?” Bree asked Vicki.

“Being female.” Vicki drank some water, glanced over at Zeb and Shay. “Any shif—um, around here, most men would die before they’d hurt a woman. As long as we were obstinate enough to stay in their way, they couldn’t fight. But if Calum had intervened, the guys would have happily turned it into a three-way brawl.” She sighed. “It would’ve been more fun if they’d thrown a punch or two.”

“Jeez, you’re as crazy as they are.” Bree frowned at the bartender. “I’m not sure whether to be horrified or impressed that he’d risk you.”

“Calum uses al his resources, even me. It’s one of the reasons I love the overbearing bastard.”

Calum apparently heard. His eyes turned darker as he Calum apparently heard. His eyes turned darker as he gave his wife a look that should have been x-rated. Even weirder, she could swear she heard Vicki purr.

Bree suppressed a sigh. What she wouldn’t give for some man to look at her as if she was his whole world.

Chapter Eleven

Heart pounding, Bree tore out of the house, gagging at
the taste of blood. Mr. Harvey had tried to force his
thing
into her mouth and she’d bit it. Her scalp hurt from
where he’d gripped her hair. She reached the end of the
block and turned. She couldn’t go back. No one would
ever believe a fifteen-year-old over a foster parent
.

Bree startled awake, heart pounding, then felt a brush of fur against her arm and the warmth of a furry body against her side. Elvis was sprawled beside her on the smooth boulder in the forest glade. She relaxed.

Over the past few days, the amber-eyed dog had joined her on most of her lazy-paced hikes. His limp was almost gone now. And she was healing as wel, both mentaly and physicaly. She slept late every morning, read books from BOOKS, and quizzed the townspeople about her photo.

Unfortunately, no one remembered her parents.

Afternoons, she practiced her shooting—and was getting better. Even though Shay had cut the target in half, she could stil hit it, although she was nowhere near as accurate as the men were. Wasn’t it a shame she couldn’t bring them back to Seattle for protection?
Hi, guys. Would you help me pack…

and if a nonexistent monster crashes through the door,
you please kill it. Oh, and bring your guns. You’ll need
them
. She roled her eyes, imagining their reaction.

No, she’d return to Seattle by herself. But she wasn’t stupid. She’d stay in a hotel while she searched for an apartment. Then maybe she’d give herself a giant moving-out party so she could pack and load her stuff surrounded by people. With luck, the noise would drown out her memories of Ash’s laughing, scolding voice. Of her screams.
Of my
screams
.

Her shudder attracted Elvis’s attention, and then he was licking her face and neck, washing away her grief, and making her giggle as she tried to fend him off. “Ew, dog spit.

That’s just gross.”

He gave her a canine grin, tongue loling out, totaly unrepentant.

“It’s late, buddy. We’d better head back.” After a final swipe of his tongue over her chin, he jumped off the boulder and started down the trail.

Folowing behind him, she grinned. The bossy dog never Folowing behind him, she grinned. The bossy dog never let her go in front…which might be a good thing. “You know, I’d probably have gotten lost if you hadn’t been with me.” His tail wagged with his obvious agreement.