Winter of the Wolf (8 page)

After a glance at the wal heater, she grabbed a log from the basket, knelt by the stil-warm woodstove, and opened the door. Live coals remained under the white ashes.

A flurry of sparks rose as something in the coals moved. A lizard-like head rose, and black beady eyes glinted at her.

Bree fel backwards onto her butt, yelping as the impact jarred her wounds. The thing stared at her, wiggled its reptilelike body, and settled down.

Whoa. She stared back. Almost the same size as the wingless fairies, but jeez, she’d never seen any of them in a fire. It didn’t seem evil, not like the monster. Or a cockroach.

In fact, it was almost cute, in a reptilian sort of way with luminous scales that glowed as red as the coals. Its head turned toward the log she’d dropped, and it squirmed again.

“You want more fire?” she asked slowly.

A very enthusiastic wiggle.

“When did my life get so weird?” She set the log on the coals beside the lizard-thing. The wood ignited quickly, sending up pretty yelow flames. Bree watched the lizard as its long tail flickered back and forth. How could anything live its long tail flickered back and forth. How could anything live there?

But it leaped into the fire and spiraled in the flames as if with a lover. After shooting up the stovepipe in a fountain of sparks, it dived back into the coals, as playful as a dolphin in the waves. A flame-dancer. Grinning, Bree leaned back to enjoy the show.

Eventualy, her leg announced it needed to be stretched, and she rose to her feet. “Sorry, buddy, I need to get moving.”

The lizard-thing responded with an impertinent lash of its tail as she closed the glass door.

She prowled around her slowly warming cabin and scowled at the il-equipped kitchen. Why hadn’t she packed some of her copper-bottomed pots and pans? And a few knives. Her herbs. She shook her head. Might as wel be cooking over a campfire—at least that would have the benefit of a smoky flavor. Did lizard-things visit campfires? Were they like flower-fairies in that only she could see them?

“I wish I knew if these things realy exist, or if I need to be locked up,” she muttered. To settle herself, she put on Leonard Cohen for some moody music, made coffee, started some bread, and set the dough to rise.

Inventiveness at an end, she walked a circle around the place—
cabin fever, anyone
?—and noticed the blue curtains at the front of the cabin glowed. She peeked through them.

at the front of the cabin glowed. She peeked through them.

The light came from the ful moon. Wel, duh, no wonder she was twitchy. She always got restless and achy at ful moons.

Like her friends with PMS—something else she’d never experienced.

PMS.
Criminy, I almost forgot
. She went into the bathroom to rummage through her toiletries bag. Dang dang dang. No birth control packets remained, and she’d taken the last pil yesterday. Her mail order pharmacy would have already shipped her next three months, so the box probably sat in her apartment mailbox. By the time she could get it forwarded here, her cycle would be al screwed up.

She might as wel go off the pils for a month, then restart them in Seattle with her next period. Not even dawn, and the day was going downhil.

After puling on her jacket, she stepped onto the porch and let the frigid air shock the temper out of her. Leaning against the rough porch post, she stretched her throbbing leg and looked around at the night.

The huge, golden moon hung over the western mountains, and the light was so heavy it seemed to reverberate in her bones. Around her, the forest talked to itself—bare branches creaking, a gurgle from the unfrozen center of the creek, the rustle of animals. That skittering sound in the dry brush—

what would that be?

A smal chittering made her look up in time to see a tiny body disappear into a tree trunk hole. Guess she’d made body disappear into a tree trunk hole. Guess she’d made enough noise to wake up a fairy. Could her parents see them? God, she had to figure out who she was and where she came from.

At least her first goal was on its way to being accomplished. She’d bought a pistol. And she’d found an instructor. One that scared her to death, with his Vin Diesel,
I-prefer-to-slaughter-people-rather-than-talk-to-them
attitude. But slaughter was exactly what she needed to learn.

And quickly too.

In three weeks, she’d have to return to Seattle and pack up her apartment. What if the monster found her again? “
I’ll
be back for another taste
, ” it had whispered before she passed out. She swalowed against the urge to vomit. Pushed away the need to shower and scrub and scrub and scrub.

Slow breaths. Feel the clean air. Watch the beautiful
moon slide behind the mountains
.

As her stomach settled, she heard voices. A woman’s laughter. Bree glanced down the narrow road to her left. The lodge was dark and quiet. Maybe she was hearing people at the tavern? As the crow flew, it would be about a block or so away, and she’d noticed how clearly sound carried in the quiet mountains. But weren’t bars supposed to close at two a.m.?

Sounded like fun though. She sat down on the single porch step and listened. Men and women caling goodbyes, car step and listened. Men and women caling goodbyes, car doors slamming. She’d missed the sound of people. After being surrounded in a busy restaurant every day, she found the cabin awfuly lonely.

The faint crunch of boots on snow made Bree stiffen.

Zeb and Shay walked down the road, two huge men who moved as gracefuly as animals. They realy were gorgeous.

Ashley would have flirted herself sily with Shay. Bree sighed, feeling very alone.
I miss you, Ash
.

At the lodge, Zeb lifted his head as if he were sniffing the air and said something. Shay looked toward her. As his partner went into the lodge, Shay headed toward Bree’s cabin.

A shiver of nervousness ran up her spine, and she rose.

Suddenly, the night seemed far too empty, and she had the urge to run inside and lock the door.

His gait silent in the wet dirt, he stroled closer. “You’re either up early or you haven’t been to bed. Problems?” The moon behind him left his face in shadow and seemed to make his body bigger than it realy was. His shoulders blotted out an entire mountain range.

She smothered a gulp. “No. I just couldn’t sleep. Were you at a party over there?” She nodded toward the Wild Hunt.

When he leaned against the porch post, she relaxed. He’d turned so she could see his face, the curve of his lips, the turned so she could see his face, the curve of his lips, the strong jaw. Not a man-monster stinking of rotting meat; just a powerful man with the soapy fragrance of a recent shower.

“We went for a while,” he agreed. “Why can’t you sleep?

Is something wrong with the cabin?”

She laughed. A true innkeeper. “Not at al. I was listening to the woods, trying to figure out what I’m hearing. Not that I can tel—I’ve never been away from Seattle before.”

“A city girl. Let’s see if I can help.” He tipped his head to listen, and then pointed toward the road. “There’s a skunk over there.”

Bree leaned forward. “Where?”

Shay moved behind her, extending his arm along her line of sight. “By the big patch of snow.”

A smal black and white animal waddled along the tree line, tail arching in the air. “Oh, it is! I think I saw him before.”

The chuckle was deep and smooth. “Good eyes, a leannan, he lives around here. This spring, he’l invite a new female to his den each night.” He set a hand on her shoulder and turned her slightly. “A doe is in the brush.” Squinting, she made out a brown shadow and the movement of a head. The deer stepped onto the road and into the moonlight so gracefuly it took her breath away.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Yes.” His hand stil rested on her shoulder, very warm,

“Yes.” His hand stil rested on her shoulder, very warm, very big, and she could feel his breath on her neck, the heat from his body on her back.

When she tried to edge away, his arm came around her waist, puling her back against a hard chest. “Shhh, look to your right.”

Her need to escape disappeared when a smal animal—a dog?—trotted across the lodge clearing. Its coat flashed with red in the moonlight. “What is it?”

“Fox.”

“Wow.” As the fox disappeared, Bree realized her position. The man’s arm crossed her stomach like an iron bar, and his hand gripped her hip, holding her in place. Her breathing hitched. She puled away, almost surprised when he released her. She retreated a step, and her nervousness dissipated when he didn’t move. She smiled at him. “That was awesome. How do you see them so wel?”

“Experience.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “I enjoy sharing my forest.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.” Maybe she should make him a pie or—

“A leannan, it’s done like this.” One finger tilted her chin up, and he brushed his lips across hers. Firm yet velvety soft.

Just the slightest lingering. He’d moved back and stepped completely off the porch before she had a chance to panic.

He gave her his slow smile. “That’s how a female thanks a He gave her his slow smile. “That’s how a female thanks a male.” He turned and strode away.

Pressing a hand to her tingling lips, she tried to summon the wilpower to cal him a pompous jerk. She couldn’t. Deep inside her, heat flickered to life—something she’d never felt before.

Chapter Seven

On Sunday, four nights after the Gathering, Shay walked into the Wild Hunt for the Cosantir’s meeting. The tavern was already noisy with shifters seated at tables and lined along the wals.

Late
. He scowled over his shoulder at Zeb. The antisocial mongrel had staled, hoping Shay would go without him.

In front of his bar, Calum talked with people at the nearest tables. After nodding at the few people he’d already met, Shay chose an unobtrusive position in the rear. As cahirs, he and Zeb were much larger than other males, and only werebears liked being stared at.

“If I could have your attention.” When Calum’s quiet voice cut across the conversations like fangs through a soft rabbit, people stiled. “After the deaths of Chris Anderson and people stiled. “After the deaths of Chris Anderson and Nancy Ming, I requested two more cahirs for our territory.” He nodded toward the back. “Daonain, welcome Seamus O’Donnel, known as Shay, and Zebulon Damron, known as Zeb. Both wolves.”

After the applause and welcoming cals ended, the Cosantir continued. “It’s not common knowledge, but they’ve each kiled more helhounds than any other cahir.”
We have
? After the first few, he’d lost count.

“They know their business,” Calum said. “That business is what they wil discuss tonight.”

Zeb grunted like someone had hit him. “Fuck.”

“Shay.” Calum’s gaze targeted him. “Tel the Daonain about helhounds. Assume we know nothing. Better you sound patronizing than we miss vital information.” As Shay straightened, Zeb said under his breath, “Better you than me.”

Shay shrugged. He didn’t mind talking, but where should he start? “Fae shapeshifters and humans interbred creating us, the Daonain.

“Helhounds are more of a mixture. First, an insane Fae-shifter in reptile form mated with a demon.” He snorted. Talk about disgusting sex. “The offspring raped a human female creating the first helhound—a mix of demon, Fae, and human.”

Many in the crowd looked appaled.

“Like us, helhounds have animal and human forms. Unlike us, in human form, they can occasionaly impregnate humans.

The helhounds would die out otherwise, since only males are birthed.”

Murmurs told him some information was new to them.

Being isolated, the Cold Creek residents had been lucky so far. But now civilization encroached, and where humans went, demonkin folowed. “In both forms, the helhounds smel like rotting meat—”

“And moldy oranges,” Zeb added.

“Tel us about their forms,” urged the older female who owned the diner.

Shay set a foot on an empty chair and leaned his forearms on his thigh. “The light-hating demon heritage means a helhound only trawsfurs to animal on new moon. It wil
always
shift at least once that night.

The room went silent. An old guy with as many scars as Zeb growled, “They don’t attack if it’s not the dark of the moon?”

“In helhound form. In human form, they’l rape, assault, or murder at any time at night.” His mouth tightened as he remembered one sickening night when he’d been too late to save a smal boy. “Demonkin feed off violent emotions. In animal form, it craves flesh. Although humans are good fodder, a shifter is like heroin, and the magic in our blood incites them to madness.” He stopped, his wel-worn grief a incites them to madness.” He stopped, his wel-worn grief a dul ache as he remembered how his brothers had been torn apart. “It won’t bother to attack a human if it scents a shifter.”

“That means they could be living in our town. Could be anyone.” A middle-aged female’s shril voice escalated to hysteria. The scent of fear rose. Shay saw Calum straighten.

“No.” Zeb’s flat, hard response silenced the room. “Use the brains the Mother gifted you. We can scent them in both their forms.”

Several shifters eased back in their chairs.

Surprisingly, Zeb continued. “They need the anonymity of cities. A helhound is born from rape. Around twenty, it first shifts and demon instincts take over. Since they don’t associate with each other, they don’t know their own history.” He frowned at Shay, obviously annoyed he’d been sucked into speaking.

“And you were doing so wel,” Shay said, earning himself a dark look. “Once a helhound discovers a tasty shifter community, it wil return each new moon. Other nights of the month, one might show up in human.” He stopped, unable to think of anything to add.

“Good background, cahirs.” Calum’s gaze pinned Zeb like a cat’s unsheathed claws. “Zebulon, what should our people do to protect themselves?”

For a moment, Shay thought Zeb would refuse.

For a moment, Shay thought Zeb would refuse.