by Amy Pennza
Because Haley Michaels was everything good.
And that was exactly why he couldn’t have her.
There were other reasons. She was too young for him, for one thing—and too young to realize it.
She deserved a male her own age. A whole male. A mate who could run the forest beside her.
Someone who could give her everything.
As he traced the scars above his eye, blood from his hand dripped onto his cheek. A fat drop quivered on his cheekbone, then slipped down his face and plopped in the sink.
He lowered his hand, his gaze on the gash from the sink.
It wouldn’t heal. Not as a werewolf’s injury should. His cuts never did.
But what was one more scar when he already had so many?
Haley didn’t care about the scars. She didn’t care about appearances at all.
Another reason he couldn’t have her.
She didn’t yet understand that scars could be a warning. Sometimes things on the outside were there for a reason.
Yeah, she was everything good. And he’d brushed against evil years ago. That filth still clung to him.
He’d be damned if he let it touch her.
And that meant he couldn’t touch her, either.
He looked in the mirror again, his damaged eye gazing blindly back at him. The scars crisscrossed his face, running over his features as if he’d been cut apart and stitched back together.
Coward. Cripple. Cruel bastard.
Pain scrabbled sharp claws up his thigh, digging into his hip. In the mirror, his good eye lightened as his wolf rose to the surface, its jaws stretched in an angry roar.
It wanted the female. The beast cared nothing for good versus evil. Those were human concerns.
Bard clenched his fists. Warm blood trickled over his hand.
The beast howled. His gums ached as his fangs threatened to descend.
Blood rushed into his face, but his scars stayed a livid white.
Always, always they reminded him of what he couldn’t have.
The face in the mirror mocked him.
Coward. Cripple. Cruel bastard.
The smell of blood grew stronger, snuffing out the wildflowers.
In the mirror, his mouth opened on a soundless howl.
His bloodied fist flew, smashing the glass into a thousand pieces.
14
A crashing sound rent the air, making Haley freeze in the act of stuffing clothes in her suitcase. She swiped at the tears on her face and listened, straining to hear more.
Nothing.
Maybe Bard dropped something. Or fell.
She turned her head toward the bedroom door. What if his leg failed him again and he hurt himself? He could have hit his head this time. He could be sprawled on the ground, unconscious and injured.
Somewhere below, a door opened followed by faint footsteps with Bard’s signature limping gait.
Her concern evaporated. He was fine. And anyway what the hell did she care if he was hurt? He made it clear he didn’t want her help. He didn’t want anything from her, except maybe to see the back of her.
Well, he was getting that. As soon as she packed her bag she was leaving. Good riddance to Washington, its mercurial Alpha, and its oddball residents. As far as she could tell, the territory didn’t have a single redeeming quality. She hadn’t even seen its fabled horses. There was nothing good about Elder Lake.
Out of nowhere, Benjamin’s face rose in her mind.
She dropped the sweater she was holding. How could she have forgotten about him again? Heart pounding, she dug through her clothes and found her phone. Standing, she took it to the window and tilted it up. Her background photo, a candid shot of her and Lizette on a New York City balcony, appeared.
Haley frowned. Lizette. Her best friend. The person she called when she was sad or confused or angry.
But she hadn’t. She hadn’t thought of Lizette at all. She’d barely thought of anyone from home.
Of course, she also had a slight run-in with an avalanche.
Yeah, she’d had an all around shit day.
Her phone’s display showed no signal. Not even a paltry single bar.
“And the hits just keep coming,” she muttered. She put her forehead against the window and gazed blindly at the falling snow and the forest beyond it. She needed a way to contact Max. The New York Alpha might be a thousand miles away, but he would figure out how to get her out of Elder Lake.
And she needed to get out of Elder Lake. Like yesterday. Waiting until morning wasn’t an option. For one thing, she’d gnaw off her own leg before riding in a vehicle with Bard again—
She brought her head up, an idea forming in her mind. She didn’t have to gnaw off her leg. She just had to shift to four of them. In wolf form, she could run to Ben’s family’s cafe and use the phone. It was a place of business. Of course it had a landline. She’d call Max and ask him to send help. The New York Territory had diplomatic relations with wolves all over the country. There had to be someone close by who could help her. All she needed was a ride to the airport where Max would have a ticket waiting for her.
She could be out of Elder Lake within the hour.
Heart racing, she turned and tossed her phone on the bed. Then she faced the window again, flipped the lock on the top of the frame, and slid the whole thing up. Cold air and a flurry of snowflakes swirled into the room. The guest bedroom was on the side of the house.
Perfect.
The wind gusted, and snow pelted her midsection, making goosebumps form on her arms. She leaned forward, her gaze on the ground. It was about a twenty-foot drop. Nothing she couldn’t handle in wolf form.
Shivering, she spun and went to the door. She’d locked it when she ran upstairs, but there was no harm making sure. Not that a lock would keep Bard out if he truly wanted to enter. It wouldn’t even buy her time. But the perception of privacy made her feel better.
Door secure, she went to her suitcase and dug until she found a small drawstring bag. Every wolf had one. It was lightweight and just big enough to hold shoes and a change of clothes. She stuffed her phone, an outfit, and a pair of lightweight tennis shoes inside. Boots would have been nice, but hers were too heavy. They were also downstairs, and she wasn’t about to risk running into Bard to get them.
Bag cinched, she stood and stripped, wincing as she remembered her bra and button down were still on the living room floor.
Don’t think about that. Or him.
She’d made a decision. Now she needed to act on it.
Fully nude, she got on all fours and closed her eyes.
Then she called up her wolf.
It answered, the beast stretching inside her like a cat uncurling in the sun. The taste of copper filled her mouth and her fangs punched through her gums. Pressure built in her jaw, as if someone had poured boiling water in her head. She shook it, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain.
Just when it became unbearable, her lower jaw cracked, the sound like a gunshot in her head. The bones in her face slid against each other, rearranging themselves in a gruesome dance that made her stomach toss and pitch with nausea. Saliva flooded her mouth, and she opened her eyes on a gasp.
On the floor, her human fingers sprouted black hairs, distracting her from the agony unfolding in her skull. The skin on the backs of her hands bubbled like water boiling in a pot. The pops and ripples grew increasingly agitated, until the flesh split, exposing purple-tinged bone.
“Ungh . . .” Her moan became a gurgle as her vocal cords stretched and her throat grew longer. She stared at her fingernails, her gaze laser focused. It was a trick Remy taught her. “Keep your eyes on one thing. Don’t think about anything else happening to your body.”
Easier said than done because there was a lot happening to her body. A series of pops filled her ears as her spine shifted, reforming itself to accommodate an extra set of legs. The bones in her legs grew and then shrank, snapping into her new shape. Skin slid and stretched over her
bones like putty, the magic of her race letting it reform without ripping her veins and arteries apart.
Tiny electric shocks fired all over her body—a million miniature lightning bolts striking all at once as hair covered her skin. She tossed her head. Once. Twice. On the third toss her human nose bulged and formed into a snout. At the edges of her vision, whiskers shot out like plant shoots filmed in a time lapse.
At last she stood on all fours, her body fully transitioned. Everything was brighter, the colors of the room sharper and bolder through werewolf eyes. She knew if she padded to the dresser and peeked in the mirror she’d see a grayish wolf with black-tipped ears and eerie blue irises.
But there was no time for that.
The open window beckoned, the floorboards below it dusted with snow.
It’s now or never.
Then it has to be now, she thought. Without another moment’s hesitation, she took the drawstring bag in her mouth, ran to the window, and jumped out.
Cold air blasted her lungs as the ground rushed up. She hit hard, snow exploding under her paws, then broke into a sprint. The bag between her jaws jostled up and down as she flew down the house’s long driveway and onto the road. Remy or Dom would have scolded her for not heading into the forest, but she didn’t want to risk getting lost. The road led straight into Elder Lake.
Her labored breaths and the crunch of snow were the only sounds as she ran, her paws eating up the ground. The ruts left by Bard’s tires were nearly gone, the grooves filled in with snow. Wind battered at her, sending an icy stream of flakes into her eyes and mouth. She put her head down and kept going. The trees on either side of the road flew past, silent sentinels to her flight.
For the first half hour or so, needles poked at the pads of her paws as she plowed through snowdrifts. Then her feet went numb.
Crap. She hadn’t thought about frostbite. Her body would heal on its own, but not if things got too serious. She let out a canine snort. It would be just her luck to escape Bard only to end up needing a Healer for a frostbitten foot.
Ahead, a glow shone from around a bend in the road.
Headlights.
Bard’s voice filled her head. “Every wolf in Elder Lake answers to me . . .”
Panic gripped her, and she darted off the road. Without any feeling in her paws, she tripped over her own feet and slid, sending a spray of snow into the air. White covered her vision. Then she was rolling. The earth spun, and scenes flashed in front of her as she tumbled: black sky, white ground, black sky, white ground.
Then boom. Her body slammed into something hard and the flashing scenes stopped. For a second, she was too stunned to move. Her brain worked like a clunky, wooden machine, parts clacking against each other. Snow continued to pelt her face. Wind whistled in her ears and through her fur. Something dug into her back.
She shifted, scraping against something hard, and got all four feet beneath her. Hunched on the ground, she did a quick mental inventory of her body, turning her head and wagging her tail. Her muscles ached—and she’d have a few bruises when she shifted—but she was otherwise unhurt. Except her bag was missing. She must have dropped it when she fell. Sucking in a breath, she surged to a standing position.
An evergreen soared above her, its needles heavy with snow. The trunk, which was massive, must have broken her fall as she slid down what she now realized was an embankment. It was a steep climb back to the road. A sigh built in her chest. Going up was going to be a lot harder than coming down.
Why couldn’t she catch a freaking break? A whine slipped from her throat.
As if in response, the wind gusted harder, sending a ribbon of snow swirling around her.
Right. Thanks.
Suppressing a sigh, she gathered her haunches beneath her, preparing to launch her body up the incline.
A strangled scream cut through the air behind her.
She whirled, fangs bared, her heart pounding like a drum.
There was nothing but trees.
Fur standing on end, she peered between the trunks. But the forest was too thick. Not even her wolf vision could penetrate the darkness.
She shook snow from her snout. Maybe it was an animal. A deer or a fox. There were all kinds of predators in the woods. Fortunately, none of them would approach her. Even regular gray wolves gave werewolves a wide berth.
A low moan emerged from the trees, and she froze. There was a gurgle, then another scream.
That wasn’t an animal. It was human.
A wounded human.
She didn’t think. She just crashed into the forest, her ears pricked toward the sound. Almost immediately, the scent of blood hit her nose. She followed it, leaping over a fallen tree branch. The trees were so tightly packed together the forest floor was almost clear of snow, making it easy for her to wend her way around rocks and roots.
About twenty feet in front of her, there was a clearing in the trees. A shaft of moonlight shone down like a spotlight. In the center of the clearing, a dark shape huddled on the ground.
She stumbled to a stop, unsure what she was seeing.
The shape moved. Or, rather, lifted its head. Blue eyes glowed from inside a hood.
A gray hoodie. One she’d seen before. Red bangs flopping over a wide forehead.
Recognition slammed into her. The man in the street in Elder Lake. She’d made eye contact with him outside the Ruperts’ cafe.
They made eye contact again now, and her heart froze in her chest.
Madness.
His eyes burned wolf blue, but there was no humanity behind them. His face and jaw were stained red.
At his feet, another shape sprawled, arms and legs flung in unnatural directions.
She knew that shape, too. Joel’s body glistened red in the moonlight.
A snarl reached her, and she jerked her gaze up.
The man bared human teeth. He started toward her.
“HALEY!” Her name echoed off the trees, and footsteps crashed, the sound coming from the path she’d just taken.
The man stopped.
“Haley?”
She couldn’t turn around. She couldn’t take her eyes off the redhead. Not if she wanted to live.
“Haley, where are you?” Twigs snapped, and the footsteps grew closer.
Ben. Hope surged inside her. A Stalwart was just what she needed. She opened her jaws, showing the man in the hoodie her fangs.
He twitched, his whole body jerking. His gaze darted from side to side, as if he sensed a threat but wasn’t sure where to look.
Even in her predicament, irritation nipped at her. Why couldn’t someone see her as a threat for once? She cranked her jaw wider.
Hello? Big, scary werewolf here.
He spun and ran, his gray hood bouncing against his back.
Satisfaction flared in her mind.
“Haley!”
She turned as Ben emerged from the trees, his face plastered with worry. His coat flapped open, and his pant legs were haphazardly stuffed in the tops of his boots. “Are you all right—” His gaze went from her to the clearing, and his nostrils flared. “Jesus . . .”
The satisfaction she felt evaporated. She shot past Ben and ran to the clearing. Joel lay on his back, one leg bent at an odd angle, his head turned to one side. As she neared him, the ground squished under her paws.
Blood. A lot of it.
Ben appeared on Joel’s other side, his mouth a grim line. He went to his knees and put a hand on the other man’s neck. “He’s alive. Barely.”
Haley glanced down Joel’s body. Where was all the blood coming from? Belly wounds bled like crazy, but Joel’s clothing was intact, his shirt unstained.
Ben straightened Joel’s head, exposing the opposite side of his neck. He recoiled, his face draining of color.
Joel’s neck was a ragged mess, muscle and tendons on display. A large chunk of flesh dangled by a piece of skin, revealing purple veins and glimpses of bone. The meat wobbled as he drew a shallow breath.
> Ben ripped off his coat, balled it up, and pressed it against the wound. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”
Haley met his gaze and whined. That was the least of their problems. There was a killer on the loose! Or an attempted one, at least.
“What are you doing out here?”
She tossed her head in the direction the man had gone.
Ben didn’t seem to notice. He lifted the coat away and swore. “This is too much for him to heal on his own.”
Frustration boiled up. Why wasn’t he asking how it happened? She leapt over Joel’s body and nipped at Ben’s arm.
“Hey!” He scrambled back, nearly losing his grip on the bloodied coat.
She danced away, tossing her head once more.
“Haley, we need to get Bard.”
Maybe, but they also needed to stop the man in the hoodie before he attacked someone else. But she couldn’t communicate that to Ben. Not in wolf form.
Out of options, she gave him what she hoped was an exasperated look, then went behind a tree. Some wolves were fine with shifting in front of others, but she never liked it. Nudity was one thing. Letting someone ogle her internal organs was another.
Her transition was more painful than usual—a result of her long trek through the snow followed by changing on an empty stomach. Even so, she forced the transformation, urging herself to go faster. Her muscles spasmed, and she almost bit through her lower lip as she clenched her jaw while her fangs were still engaged. After a minute, she huddled naked on the forest floor, her bare feet numb on a carpet of dead leaves and frost.
Before she could stand, Ben was at her side, his arm under her elbow as he helped her up. “What are you doing? It’s fifteen degrees out here.”
“B-believe me, I know.” She clenched her jaw so her teeth wouldn’t chatter.
He swore and put his arms around her. “Let me give you my shirt.”
“N-no.” She pushed on his chest, and he let her pull back. “Ben, listen. It was a latent. A m-man in a gray hooded sweatshirt. Red hair. I saw him in Elder Lake earlier today.” Her mind spun. Was it really just that morning? A headache started in her temples, and her vision dimmed. She blinked several times and focused harder on Ben’s face.
