Winter of the Wolf (38 page)

Before Shay could answer, Angie bustled out from the Before Shay could answer, Angie bustled out from the kitchen, three cups in one hand, and a pot of coffee in the other. “Anyone want to order?”

She had no takers.

“I’l leave you the pot then.” She patted Bree’s shoulder.

“Cal me if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Angeline,” Calum said, receiving a pleased smile in return. He turned his attention to Bree. “Can I help you with something, Breanne?”

I don’t know him. I can’t do this
. She tried to push her chair back, but it ran into Zeb’s foot.

He jerked his head at Calum in a silent,
tell him or I will
.

She gave him a pleading gaze.
Later. I’ll tell him later
.

His return look was cynical; he knew she’d never bring it up.

Fine then. “Before I came here from Seattle, I got hurt.

The one who—” She couldn’t finish.

Shay’s hand closed over hers. “Breanne, he needs to know.”

Calum’s eyes narrowed.

Gripping Shay’s hand with al her strength, she continued,

“I was attacked by a helhound. It kiled my friend, before”—

would this ever get easier to say?—“before it turned into a m-man and r-raped me.”

Calum’s eyes darkened. His mouth set into a tight line.

“Continue.”

“Continue.”

“That’s al. Except my lease runs out in three weeks, and I have to return to pack up my apartment.” She added a hasty,

“It shouldn’t be more than one night.”

“You are not going anywhere near that city,” Zeb gritted out.

Odd how he didn’t scare her anymore. “I’m sorry, Zeb, but I am.”

Shay’s grip had changed from gentle to nearly crushing her hand. “Even if it’s not the new moon, the helhound could return for you in human form. Zeb and I wil go instead.”

“No,” she said, despite the warmth filing her. The relief.

Please come with me
. “This isn’t your job. I can defend myself.”

“Breanne. I’l see what I can arrange to get your apartment packed,” Calum said softly.

Someone else could do it? The rush of relief made her dizzy. She’d not even thought of it because, face it, she could barely afford a rental truck. Hiring expensive movers? Hah.

But would her apartment manager let a moving crew in? “I—

I probably need to be there.”

“No.” His eyes were almost black, and when his gaze met hers, her throat closed as if a hand had clamped around it.

“You may not leave this territory—not for several months—

not until there is no chance of you shifting by accident.” His gaze turned to the men. “Cahirs do not fight in human His gaze turned to the men. “Cahirs do not fight in human lands. Your gifts from Herne wil not be there for you, not in a city of metal, so far from His forests. You are forbidden, cahirs.”

Both Zeb and Shay scowled at him.

Bree’s hands closed into fists. God, she was tired of being told what to do. “And if I go anyway?”

When his attention swung back to her, her heart stuttered.

“The penalty for bringing attention to the Daonain is death, sentenced by Cosantir’s judgment, dealt by a cahir’s hand.

Do not force your lovers to kil you, Breanne,” Calum said very softly. His black gaze swept around the table like the hot wind before a forest fire.

She didn’t take a breath until he walked out of the diner.

* * *

As he and Shay silently left town, Zeb needed to pound on something. Unfortunately, Shay had already split al the firewood.
Fucking mongrel
.

“Wel, that went wel,” Shay muttered.

“Why the hel did you tel him we wanted to go in her stead?”

Shay gave him an are-you-that-stupid? look. “We’re supposed to be guarding Cold Creek. Calum might want to know if we weren’t.”

Yeah, he was that stupid. “Fuck.”

Yeah, he was that stupid. “Fuck.”

“Exactly.” Shay scowled. “She doesn’t realy want to go back. I could see it. I think it’l be okay, don’t you?” Anger had smoldered inside him since he’d realized why she’d bought a fucking pistol—the one
he’d
taught her to shoot. “You’re so smart. You figure it out.” Shay growled and shot a fist into Zeb’s mouth, knocking him backward.

Pain blasted through Zeb’s jaw. He wiped the blood off, lowered his head, and charged. His skul impacted Shay’s gut, sending them both to the ground.

The next few minutes were a tangle of blows and grunts and snarls until Shay threw Zeb off. He landed hard and roled, expecting to get flattened.

Shay hadn’t moved. He sat a couple of yards away, sucking in air. Blood dripped down his chin; his jaw had a long graze. As his mouth curved in a rueful grin, he winced and fingered his lower lip. “I feel better. You?”

“Yeah.” Zeb stood with a groan—Shay’d gotten in a sneaky kick to his ribs—and puled his brother to his feet.

“Guess we’l just have to keep an eye on her.”

* * *

That went wel, didn’t it? Bree thought sarcasticaly as she walked into the grocery store. Picking up a few items for the walked into the grocery store. Picking up a few items for the barbecue tomorrow had been her excuse to stay in town.

Otherwise, she’d have been lectured al the way back by two overprotective, women-can’t-do-anything cahirs. She shook her head as fuzzy warmth mingled with frustration. They wanted to protect her. It felt odd…and wonderful.

She nodded at Mr. Baty, who was stocking the soup section. At least Calum had forbidden the men to go to Seattle. Because Zeb was right. Even cahirs could die. The thought of them being hurt made her stomach twist. One friend—one friend was al that creature was going to take.

The Cosantir wouldn’t let her go to Seattle either.

Overbearing bum. She touched her throat, remembering how she’d choked. Fine, she understood his concern that she’d change into a wolf. But he was used to the new shifters being teenagers. She hadn’t had an accident—and didn’t that sound as if she’d wet her pants?—a
shifting
accident for at least a couple of days.

She puled in a slow breath and admitted,
I don’t want to
go back
. Not for anything. She hadn’t even been protesting

—not realy—when he’d come down on her with his Cosantir crap. She glared at the shelf, then picked up a bottle of almond extract.

Honestly, if he arranged a moving company, and somehow got past her anal-retentive apartment manager, she’d be delighted.

delighted.

So, yeah, she wouldn’t be able to tel people goodbye, except in a letter. She needed to send in her resignation too.

She’d staled long enough.

But… Her shoulders straightened. Although the guys thought they’d won, they weren’t going to get everything their way. She sniffed. Her target practice would continue. With any luck, she’d never see a helhound again in her whole life.

But if she ever did, she’d have something in her hand a little more effective than a pot of spaghetti.

* * *

The last few days had gone wel, Zeb decided, as he set out the 2x4s he’d cut for the cabin’s stoop.

Last Saturday, after being huffy as a wet bobcat for a couple of hours, Bree had returned to her normal sunny self.

On Sunday, the barbecue had drawn even more people, human as wel as shifter. The pack had behaved politely, although Gerhard had avoided any interaction—and Bree had avoided Calum in much the same way.

As Zeb attached the first piece of wood, he smiled, remembering how the tiny cubs had tumbled around the trial play area he’d created. Every evening since then, he’d worked on building a smal slide. By the time he and Shay moved on, perhaps he’d have finished the playground he’d moved on, perhaps he’d have finished the playground he’d conceived. It would be something tangible he could leave behind. There probably wouldn’t be much else to show he’d been alive. Cahirs who fought helhounds rarely lived out their lifespan.

And he would be fighting the demon-dogs until he died.

The wavery old glass of the cabin showed his face. Almost hidden by his dark tan was the new mark he’d discovered yesterday—the blue antlers of the oathbound.
Brothers
share
, he thought with a wry smile.

A familiar snapping noise split the quiet afternoon and echoed through the mountains. A pistol.

Zeb’s hand tightened on the hammer. By Herne’s big bals, Bree was shooting again, even though the Cosantir had refused her permission to leave.

If she were planning to obey, why would she need to practice?

He struck the nail so hard that the board split in half.

“Fuck.”

A few minutes later, he stepped into the target-shooting area behind the little female. Her fluffy pink sweater made her look feminine and helpless, but the Smith & Wesson counteracted the impression.

She held the pistol with perfect form, squeezing the trigger as gently as he’d taught her. The memory of the example he’d used,
stroking a man’s balls
, made him tighten. He stil he’d used,
stroking a man’s balls
, made him tighten. He stil hadn’t had time to teach her al the ways two people could pleasure each other.

As he got closer, fury cut so deeply through him he could hardly speak. No round buls-eye anymore—she’d created a helhound-sized creation with eyes as the target. “You.

You’re…” His voice failed him.

She whirled and took two hasty steps back. “Zeb, I’m—”

“No. No, you wil not.”
You will not go to Seattle. You
will not face a hellhound. You will not let it rip you to
pieces
. Growling uncontrolably, he gripped her forearm and peeled the revolver from her grip. “No.”

As he left her, cursing him in words no female should use, he knew he’d never get a chance to teach her about loving…

but at least she’d be alive to hate him.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Most of the pack had already disappeared into the forest.

Idly scratching his back on a cold tree trunk, Shay waited outside the cave entrance for his brother. Since he’d been stuck dealing with deliveries, and Zeb had been working on the cabins, they hadn’t talked al day.

Finaly Zeb appeared, stil in human form.

Finaly Zeb appeared, stil in human form.

The sun had set not long before, and the lower foothils were stil silhouetted in pink-gold. To the east, the silvery glow around the white-topped peaks heralded the moon’s rising and gave enough light to see the holows in Zeb’s face and the pain in his dark gaze.

“She stil not speaking to you?” Shay asked before Zeb could trawsfur.

Zeb shook his head. “Now ask me if I care.”

“Hel, I know you care, or you’d give her pistol back.” The lodge had been an unhappy place since the blowup.

Breanne had spent the last couple of days with Angie in town. Zeb was acting as if he had a foxtail in his paw, snapping at anything Shay said.

Breanne was too sweet to stay angry very long, but time was running out. “Gather’s tomorrow.”

Zeb gave him an irritated look.

“You think she’l do al right? Are you going to be there?” The grating sound was Zeb clenching his jaw. “I’l be there.”

* * *

Bree walked across the parking lot to the Wild Hunt as the moon rose above the mountains. In the quiet night air, she heard the pack heading up the mountain: an occasional howl or bark from a younger wolf, a whine or yip when a more aggressive one chastised another. Wolfy socializing. She sighed. The one pack run she’d experienced had been so wonderful. Surrounded by the other wolves, she’d felt for a moment as if she realy belonged. And now, her instincts clamored for her to forget everything and join them.

Her human brain knew that would be the stupidest thing she could possibly do. Zeb would be there. Tears pricked her eyes. That arrogant, over-protective know-it-al. She hadn’t been planning to go back to Seattle against the Cosantir’s orders, but would he give her a chance to say that?
Nooo
. He’d pissed her off so bad she’d have put a bulet in him—if he hadn’t taken her S&W.

She grinned ruefuly. Actualy, she was awfuly close to forgiving him.
It’s hard to hate someone who risked his life
for me.

But there were other reasons to stay away from the pack run. Three of them: Thyra, Gerhard, and Dieter. Maybe by the next hunt, some of the animosity would have died down.

For now, her appointment with Vicki provided a good excuse to be absent, and Angie would make her apologies to the alpha.

The cozy atmosphere of the tavern wrapped around Bree as she entered. It looked like a typical Saturday night.

Waylon Jennings played on the jukebox with a young couple doing a two-step nearby. One pool table in the alcove had doing a two-step nearby. One pool table in the alcove had basebal-capped men in flannel shirts and work boots, the other was surrounded by clean-cut colege boys in Abercrombie and Fitch. Most of the tables in the room were filed, and Bree craned her neck, trying to locate Vicki.

Bearing a tray of drinks, Rosie slowed long enough to nod toward the fireplace. “Over there.”

“Thanks.” Bree made her way over.

“’Bout time, slowpoke. I thought maybe you’d gone with the pack.” Vicki shoved a chair out with her foot. “Bree, this is Heather. She runs a software business down in Rainier territory.”

“Hi.” Bree nodded at the other woman whose lanky frame held more muscles than curves.

“Good to meet you.” Dressed in jeans, a white turtleneck sweater, and a turquoise flannel shirt that matched her eyes, the redhead pushed a mug across the table. “That one’s yours.”

The beer was cold with a nice bite. Bree drank a good third before setting it down with a sigh. “I needed that.”

“The Wild Hunt has the best beer on tap.” Heather smiled.

“I’m not sure if I attend Gathers in Cold Creek for the beer or the males.”

“I thought the guys traveled and the women stayed put.” Bree studied the ful bar with a quiver of anxiety. How many of the men were shifters that she’d…meet…tomorrow night?