Winter of the Wolf (6 page)

Then again, she’d never had a home as a kid, so maybe she’d skipped the homesick stage and needed to go through it now. Her lips curved in a wry smile. Naptime would be good right about now, too.

But she couldn’t keep from staring at the metal bars on the window. They looked easy to open from inside, so could someone—something—open one from outside?

Unable to shake the thought, she raised the window, then went outside. Stretching her arm past the window and bars, she tried to reach the clasp that would let her push the bars open. Couldn’t. She put her face against the glass to check how far her fingers fel short.

“If you’re breaking in, try the door. It’s open.” The man’s voice sounded like gravel.

She spun and bumped into the cabin wal. Pain ripped through her shoulder. Darn it. Bracing her feet, she raised her fists and got a look at the person.

fists and got a look at the person.

Her spine chiled as if gripped in an icy hand. Wiling her lungs to work again, she stared at him. The man was even taler than her landlord, and one cheek had the same knife-like blue mark. Sinister white scars marked his neck. His forearms. His powerful hands. His eyes were so dark a brown they were almost black with a terrifying coldness—

like there was no human home in there.

The guy looked like he kiled puppies for fun.

“I’m not breaking in,” she said, trying not to act like a petrified rabbit. Slowly, she eased away from the wal and lowered her fists. “This is my cabin.”

Straight black hair reached past his shoulders, and he had the dusky complexion of someone of mixed Native American descent. His brows lifted. “We have a renter?”
We
? Please say this cruel-looking character wasn’t her landlord. He wasn’t anything like Shay. Wel, other than being seriously huge. Shay’d been pretty nice, al in al; this guy looked like he could rip apart a bear. With his bare hands. “Shay rented me this cabin.”
Not you
.

“I’m Zeb Damron. Shay and I run this place together.” He loomed over her—far too much like her nightmares—and held out his hand. “You got a name?”

“Breanne Galagher.” She gritted her teeth.
I am fine. I
am. I can touch him
. She’d been through this fear as a teen after Mr. Harvey tried to force her. She just had to gut it out again. So when his scarred-up, calused hand engulfed hers, she squeezed hard, trying to crush his bones and show him what a tough bitch she was.

His expression didn’t change. “I make you nervous.” There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in his voice, but no triumph either. Just a flat statement.

She jerked her hand away. “Wel—”

“Don’t lie.” His nostrils flared. “Or would terrified be a better word?”

Definitely. Her teeth gritted together. “Maybe I just don’t like pushy guys.”
Oh yeah, Bree, piss off the huge
landlord
.

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “Sorry.”

“I—” How had he gone from scaring her to making her feel rude? “You… There’s no one around—”
Good going,
dummy, point out how isolated this is
. “You’re big. And a guy.”

“No male would harm a female,” he said, his wording uncannily like Shay’s. His dark brows drew together, his eyes intent. “You don’t believe that.”

“I know it’s not true.”
The weight on her, pinning her
down
. A shudder ran through her.

He folded his arms over his chest and studied her. The roled-up sleeves of his flannel shirt displayed wrists as thick as her upper arms. “Little female, if you are bothered by a male, tel me. I’l take care of him for you.” His cheek male, tel me. I’l take care of him for you.” His cheek creased. “Part of the Wildwood service.”

He was serious. He was realy serious. How could a man scare her spitless and make her feel safe at the same time?

But he smeled of clean pine forests and nothing like the monster. She managed almost a smile. “Um. Right. Thank you.”

He nodded and moved back into the forest. Silently.

* * *

Zeb walked into the lodge and sniffed. The scent of beef and onion filing the air was enough to make a hungry wolf howl. He found Shay in the kitchen, stirring something in a Crockpot. Every counter was covered with vegetable peelings, meat, and dirty dishes.

Zeb tried not to wince. “Supper?”

“Aye. I found the grocery store. Tiny place in the center of town. And you’re cooking tomorrow,
a mhac
.” Zeb growled. Shay’d grown up in one of the more isolated Daonain vilages that stil clung to the older ways and languages. Over the last two years, Zeb had learned a few words. “I’m not your fucking son.”

Son, my ass
. Typical dominant wolf, going al paternalistic.

He needed a pack to babysit, not a partner. “You’re not even ten years older than me.”

even ten years older than me.”

Shay snorted. “I feel older. By the way, I rented out the next-door cabin.”

“Met her. Pretty little human. Scared though.” She’d triggered every protective instinct in his body—only it had been him she was afraid of. Zeb checked the fridge. Shay had bought dark and light beer. Good male. He grabbed one of each and took a chair at the kitchen table, pushing away the scattered newspapers. Beer or not, having a person in his living space was weird. And this messy mongrel? Fuck.

“Definitely scared.” After putting the lid on the pot, Shay sat down and rested his injured leg on an adjacent chair.

“She acted like a trapped mouse when I blocked a door in the cabin.”

The dark malty beer was cold with a smooth bite. “Huh.

Figured it was me. I told her that.”

“Zeb, you have al the tact of a dwarf.”

Now that hurt. Dwarves were the rudest of al the OtherFolk, even worse than gnomes. “She said I was big and that the cabin was isolated. At least she didn’t run away screaming.” Zeb sipped his beer. Yeah, he’d seen terror in those big blue eyes, but she’d stood her ground. She’d even raised those little fists. Admirable.

Shay’s brows drew together. “Isolated? Could she be afraid of
males
?”

“Maybe. She moved as if she was damaged, smeled of

“Maybe. She moved as if she was damaged, smeled of fresh blood, and not the moon cycle type. Then again, she’s female—they’re not designed to be understood.” He never spent time with females outside of Gathering night.

“Aye. And human. Their mating patterns are strange.” Shay rubbed his chin. “We should find out if she has a reason to worry. Wouldn’t want some asshole coming here and bothering our first renter.”

“You do the finding out. I’l instruct the male on manners.”

“I’l talk, and we both beat the shit out of him.” Zeb scowled. Shrugged. Whatever. As long as he didn’t have to try to quiz her. Tact wasn’t on his short list of talents.

Shay set his drink down. “Supper’s stil got a while to cook. Let’s do some scouting.”

Be good to know what to expect before the next new moon. Most of the snow was gone, but tracks might remain in the wet dirt. Helhounds were heavy. “Your leg up for it?”

“By Herne’s hooves, do I look like I need a momma?” They stripped and went out the side door into an area concealed by trees and bushes. The previous owner had been a careful Daonain.

The first quarter moon was high in the black sky. Carrying the chil of snow-capped peaks, the wind swirled the brush and made the bare tree limbs clatter. Zeb
trawsfurred
to his animal form, feeling the gift of the Mother’s love run through him, hearing the siren song of the wild. He flicked his ears him, hearing the siren song of the wild. He flicked his ears forward to catch the rustling of tiny animals in the dead grass, the slow flapping of an owl overhead. Shay’s scent mingled with the fainter ones of deer and cougar drifting down from the mountain.

Shay shifted as wel, turning into a big-boned, heavy wolf with light silver-gray fur.

Zeb glimpsed yelow light through the bushes, showing the little human was stil awake. Good thing he’d barred her cabin windows. She’d be safe. Then again, helhounds preferred shifters to humans, so she’d be ignored as long as it caught a shifter scent first.

Shay barked, getting his attention, and loped into the forest. Zeb folowed.

* * *

On Monday, Bree sat on a bench and scoped out Cold Creek. The mountain town was a friendly little place, she decided. The traffic lanes were separated by fancifuly landscaped islands that ran down the center of each street.

The iron benches, antique streetlights, and tal trees on the rectangular, plaza-like spaces gave the town a sit-down-and-stay-awhile atmosphere.

Life was slower here. No one rushed—they stroled and stopped to chat with friends. And apparently, they walked, since only two or three cars were parked on each block. She shook her head, feeling like a foreigner.

Last night the lack of traffic noise had unsettled her more than the owl hooting and rustling noises outside her window.

Then her cabin had been freezing when she got up, even colder than the time it had snowed in the city.

She bit her lip as a solid lump of homesickness settled in her stomach.
I want my apartment with my own stuff—my
cooking things, my books, my comfy bed piled high with
bright pillows and soft, soft sheets. And I want to go to
work and create pies and cakes that make people happy
.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she rocked back and forth.
I want Ashley. I want my friends.
Eric would miss her

—she always babysat him on Sunday afternoons. Would he think she’d forgotten him?

Under one of the leafless trees, two toddlers were ignoring their mother to play in a puddle of melted snow. Bree sighed, her heart aching, wishing she had a couple like them. Like little Eric. But the chances for that were slim and getting slimmer. No man had interested her—ever—and now just the thought of having sex gave her the shakes.

Wasn’t being scared fun?

With a sigh, she straightened her spine, recognizing the cold feeling deep inside her. That and the headaches, the weird bursts of tears and laughter, and the sudden fears were uncomfortable, but she’d experienced the feelings before and uncomfortable, but she’d experienced the feelings before and knew they’d eventualy fade. She’d survived an almost-rape as a teen; she’d survive now and be al the stronger for it.

One more verse; same as the first.

As part of her cure back then, Sensei had taught her to defend herself. Time to do the same now, only she needed something more effective than fists. Ignoring the throbbing in her leg, she headed across the street.

Old-fashioned with a wood floor and redolent with the scents of metal and oil, the smal hardware store could have fit into a corner of a Wal-Mart. A counter on one side held sporting goods and weapons, and she bent over it, trying to figure out what to get.

The young clerk edged closer, obviously itching to help, and she appealed to him. “I want a pistol. Something big that could stop a”—
monster
—“bear.”

“
You
want a weapon?” His eyes widened before he caught himself. “Oh. Right. Let me show you what we’ve got.” He lined up pistols on the countertop, and she settled on a

.50 cal Desert Eagle. It was impressively huge.

“There’s a five day waiting period before you can take it home.” He tucked the pistol back in the box.

“I know.” Or she’d have bought a pistol in Seattle. “Um.” She glanced at his name badge. “Warren, I don’t know anything about shooting. Is there a gun range where I could learn?”

learn?”

“Not in Cold Creek. People around here use rifles, not pistols. Wel, the sheriff carries a handgun.” She shook her head. She’d had her fil of law enforcement buttheads.

He brightened. “Hey, there’s the two new ca—um, two new men who just moved here. Both of them use pistols for hunting…stuff. They’re good from what I hear. Realy good.” Wel, that was a glowing recommendation. “Wonderful.

What’re their names?”

“Shay and Zack or Z…Z-something. They run the Wildwood Lodge.”

Bree gulped, and her anticipation flattened as if Mr.
Z-something
had put his oversized boot on it.

Chapter Five

A good night’s sleep and a day of lounging about had done wonders for Bree. Her iPod and Elvis kept her company as she dusted and cleaned to the bouncy refrain of

“You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog.”

But the cabin wasn’t big, and now she was bored out of her mind. No friends, no job. She couldn’t even exercise until she healed some more.
Pfft
.

she healed some more.
Pfft
.

She glanced at the photo and bracelet on the coffee table.

Time to go on a parental search.

After a shower—her third of the day—Bree puled on a sweatshirt and tucked the picture into her jeans. Smoke from the woodstove stil wafted from the chimney as she stepped outside. After a glance at her car, she headed down the snowy dirt road on foot. The walk would do her leg good, and it was a pretty day. A gentle snowfal had stopped mid-afternoon, leaving the sky a wondrous blue and the air crisp.

The trees swayed in the light wind. Snow dusted from the taler drifts, tickling her cheeks with cold kisses.

When she reached the end of the short Wildwood road, her injured thigh had started to burn. She slowed her pace, grinning as she spotted a wingless fairy peeking at her from a tree hole. The forest had a whole bunch more of them than Seattle did.

To the right, a bird screeched in alarm and whirred out of a tal oak. Bree spun around and froze.

A giant dog stepped out of the bushes onto the road.

When the beast’s jaws opened, displaying long, sharp fangs, her skin went cold.
No no no, not again
. She took a step back, her heart thudding against her ribcage.

It stopped, and its plumy tail waved.

Fear sweat roled down Bree’s back as she stared at the animal. Then she let out a sigh. It had fur. A dog’s face.
Way
animal. Then she let out a sigh. It had fur. A dog’s face.
Way
to panic, idiot
. This wasn’t any horrendous bony-plated monster, but just a dog with fluffy fur, pretty yelow-brown eyes, and a waving tail. A wagging tail was good, even she knew that. Not that she’d met many big dogs in apartment complex-land.