by Juniper Hart
Don’t judge her, Laurel told herself. She deserves to let loose more than any of us.
“Again!” Anatoli cried, raising her glass. Preston didn’t hesitate this time, but Laurel could see he was growing annoyed with popping up and down at her beck and call. He knew better than to say anything, however.
After topping up Anatoli, Preston turned to Laurel and flashed her a weak smile.
“You better catch up,” he joked. It took everything inside her to wrench her eyes away from Anatoli and return Preston’s smile. She pressed her glass back up to her lips again.
Instantly, she felt the alcohol rush through her body, the liquid running in hot streams through her veins as she sank back against the loveseat.
“Isn’t that better?” Preston asked, slipping onto the seat beside her. He glided his arm seamlessly around her shoulder and Laurel tensed instantly, her head whipping toward the director. To her utter disbelief, Anatoli was sprawled on the sofa, her mouth open, half snoring.
“What the hell?” Laurel gasped. “What is going on?”
“I think she got some bad news today,” Preston explained, closing his palm around her shoulder. Laurel’s eyes widened and she sat back in disbelief.
“And what are you doing?” she demanded. He laughed.
“Trust me, she isn’t going to wake up,” he promised. Laurel was aghast by the implication.
“First of all, you don’t know that, and secondly, what are we? Sixteen? I’m not doing this with the director in the room.”
And thirdly, how do you know so much about the director? I thought you were just a lowly recruit like me.
Suddenly, all the doubts she’d had from home came flooding back in a torrent, the concerns that had almost kept her in the States smothering her.
“Seriously?” Preston growled, removing his arm. “You can’t be such a tease and then balk when I make a move.”
Laurel stood, her emerald eyes flashing in anger.
“I can be any damned way I please,” she hissed back, folding her arms over her chest. “You need to learn how to handle rejection better.”
Without waiting for him to respond, Laurel turned and stormed to her room, slamming the door with enough force that she hoped she woke Anatoli from whatever coma she had drunk herself into.
When she was alone, Laurel sank against the door, her heart hammering in her chest. She hadn’t been alarmed by what happened with Preston, only deeply disappointed.
He’s like a high school boy. What was I thinking?
Her raw nerves had little to do with Preston and more to do with Anatoli.
What kind of news did she get that sent her over the edge tonight? Is that why she’s still here? Because she’s hiding out?
Laurel pressed her lips together and ambled toward her bed, sinking onto the cot.
I deserve answers. This is my life too, she decided, falling back onto the pillow. The following day, she would confront Anatoli, hangover or not.
Tomorrow is going to be a tough day, Laurel thought, closing her eyes.
5
The benefit of sleeping in such a situation was the deep darkness that enshrouded Laurel during sleep. The combination of the whiskey and the lighting afforded her an easy slumber despite her raw nerves.
Yet when she woke, she was already on edge, entering the living room where Anatoli sat with a scowl on her face. Laurel had hoped to be awake earlier, if only to prepare herself for what needed to be said.
“Good morning,” Laurel said brightly, not wanting to start the day off on a sour note. “How did you sleep?”
She certainly didn’t look like someone who had downed half a bottle of whiskey eight hours earlier but that wasn’t surprising. Laurel knew that was the witch’s healing at work.
She probably fixed herself some magic concoction to override the headache she was sure to have this morning.
In fact, the harder Laurel stared at her, the more she realized that Anatoli looked better put together than her.
The director didn’t answer her and instead turned her eyes back toward the satellite phone in her lap, the corners of her lips twitching slightly.
“Morning,” Preston called, a slight edge to his voice as he strode into the common area from the bathroom, nothing but a towel draped around his waist. “Can you put some coffee on, babe?”
Laurel reeled back at the pet name, her eyes wide and stunned as he sauntered toward her winking.
Babe? Make coffee? What the hell is happening here?
Slowly, she raised her head, feeling the burn of Anatoli’s eyes against her skin and Laurel shrugged innocently. It was clear that Laurel didn’t believe her.
Oh no! The director thinks…whatever Preston is allowing her to think. What is wrong with this idiot?
“You going to stand there all day?” Preston asked, smirking. “The coffee isn’t going to make itself.”
Through ground teeth, Laurel spun and glowered at him.
“Preston, may I have a private word with you?” she hissed, grabbing his arm before he could refuse and dragging him into his bedroom.
“What’s up?” he asked, grinning maniacally, and Laurel almost slapped his face.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded. Preston shrugged.
“You were all concerned about Anatoli learning about us. I thought we better just lay our cards on the table and be honest.”
Laurel’s mouth gaped open and she stared at him in disbelief.
“Is that what you gleaned from last night?” she demanded when she was finally able to find her voice. “That’s what you thought when I said no?”
“Isn’t that why you said no?”
His confusion was almost palpable, and Laurel was baffled that such a book-smart man could be such a clueless tool.
“No,” she spat back. “I said no because…because I’m not interested in you.”
Definitely not anymore, she thought grimly. I dodged a bullet with this guy.
Hurt and humiliation colored Preston’s face, leaving Laurel to immediately realize her mistake.
I still have to live and work with this guy. I shouldn’t have been so harsh with him.
“Pres, look,” she rushed on before the matter could escalate. “I like you a lot. You’re fun and smart, but it’s not going to happen with us. Once Anatoli leaves, we’ll head into town and I’ll wingman you for a nice Icelandic wolf or human, all right?”
Preston’s jaw twitched and he shook his head.
“Never mind,” he growled, spinning away to leave her alone in the bedroom. Laurel pursed her lips together to smother a groan. She desperately wanted to stay in the bedroom all day, or at least until she knew Anatoli was gone.
Go face this, she urged herself. You didn’t do anything wrong.
She made her way out into the living room where Anatoli glowered at them both.
“I expected better from both of you,” she snarled, her fangs elongating slightly as she stared at them hatefully. “Is that why you plied me with liquor last night, Preston?”
Preston balked and looked away.
“Nothing happened between us,” Laurel told her, quickly jumping to Preston’s defense. “I swear.”
Anatoli snorted.
“You know, there are many who don’t much believe the words that a fox speaks. I wonder why that is.”
Indignation shot through Laurel but before she could further argue, Anatoli held up a hand.
“Never mind all that now,” she barked. “Don’t you have jobs to do?”
The protests died on Laurel’s lips, knowing now that anything she said would be looked at with scrutiny and suspicion. Preston had seen to that.
Stifling another sigh, she moved toward her desk and slipped her earbuds into her ears, turning up the music on her to drown out the feeling of animus that seemed to be overwhelming her from all angles.
She still hadn’t forgotten about the questions she’d wanted to ask Anatoli, but now was clearly not the
time.
I might not even get a chance to ask her today, Laurel thought miserably. She was losing hope in the idea that she would ever learn the truth.
I’ve lost the guy, I’ve antagonized my superior, and I’m trapped in the middle of nowhere indefinitely. This can’t get much worse.
She turned up the volume on the device even though she could hear nothing but the music in her ears.
Oh well. At least I’ll always have my work.
With the beats pulsating in her ears, Laurel didn’t hear the wind pick up outside the unit. It was the ominous sign of things to come.
6
Throughout the workday, Laurel was overcome with an intense urge to call her mother via Skype. She and Amber had always shared a deep, psychic bond and ever since the phone call, Laurel could sense that her mother was reaching out to her.
Don’t even think about it, she warned herself, shaking her head as she tried to focus, but there was little to do anymore. She had exhausted all the samples already and was pretending to work, even though there was nothing left to do.
I need to go out for more samples, she realized and the thought filled her with a modicum of hope. It would give her much needed time away from the tension swimming in the unit. It had been hours since she’d shared a word with anyone but that didn’t change the fact that the heaviness only seemed to grow with each passing second.
With great reluctance, Laurel realized she would need to instigate communication, if only for a moment.
What if one of them offers to come with me?
The idea made her aghast but there was no way around it.
She cleared her throat, removing the earbuds from her ears, and rose from her desk.
“I’m going out to collect some more samples,” she told them.
Anatoli remained on the sofa, her eyes glued to her satellite phone like she was expecting a call. Preston didn’t raise his head from his microscope. Neither reacted to her words.
“Okay?” she said when her statement was met with silence.
“You’re a big girl, Laurel,” Anatoli growled. “You don’t need to be babysat, do you?”
Laurel was slightly irked by the question, but she forced a smile on her face and shook her head.
“No, of course not,” she agreed. “I was just letting you know.”
Content that she would have a couple of hours to herself, she reached for her kit and stuffed it into a handled satchel before slinging it over her shoulder. It wasn’t until she was outside that she realized how much the wind had picked up.
Dark gray clouds hung over the landscape and the smell of ozone filled her nostrils.
It’s going to storm, she realized with some surprise. There had already been one day of rain earlier in the week. She had read up on the weather patterns of the area and while the wind was commonplace, rain was much less frequent.
She silently vowed not to venture too far off and closed the door behind her, casting the duo one final glance before trekking out in a different direction this time. If one of the pair decided to come after her, she didn’t want to make it easy for them to find her by going in the same place that she always did.
Plus, it’ll be good to venture out of my usual spot and see what else I can find. I’m getting too comfortable where I am.
Despite the high velocity of the wind, Laurel continued into the nature reserve, shielded by the trees. The blustering was much less in those parts and she relished the tentative peace of the woods as she moved.
Every once in a while, she would pause and look around, noticing how much darker it seemed under the protection of the greenery, and Laurel relished the dimness. She had forgotten how much she appreciated darkness until coming to Iceland.
In a couple more months, it’ll be dark all the time, she reminded herself. I may as well enjoy it.
The deeper she walked into the woods, fighting against the intensifying wind, the more beauty surrounded her. She chanced upon a small waterfall and spring, the steam rising to show that it was made of hot water, and her breath caught again.
In some ways, it didn’t feel like she was on Earth at all but on a brand-new planet, one that hadn’t been ravaged by war and greed.
That’s what I’m doing here, isn’t it? Trying to put an end to all the fighting and corruption?
She thought about how much her mother would love Iceland. She vowed that if she ever made it out, she would bring Amber there one day.
Before long, Laurel found a new species of leaf she had yet to examine and she pulled her kit out of her bag, but the wind was making collection a chore. To make matters worse, she felt the first splattering of rain begin to fall as soon as she’d laid out all the slides and petri dishes.
This was a really bad idea, she thought grimly, wishing she’d been more vigilant. Under normal circumstances, she would never have gone out but the need to escape the oppressive blanket that had unfolded at the unit had overwhelmed her common sense.
I need to get back. I can’t stay out here.
The drops fell harder now, pelting at her face in droves and Laurel looked helplessly at the soaked kit on the forest floor. Whatever samples she’d collected were damaged, useless. Hastily, she shoved everything back into her satchel, flung the drenched canvas over her shoulder, and shifted into her fox body.
The wind howled, knocking her sideways as she began to sprint back in the direction she’d come, but as she moved, she realized nothing looked familiar. With no choice but to stop, she raised her head to the sky and sniffed the air, hoping for a whiff of something familiar, but there was nothing.
Again, the wind blew her off balance and Laurel dug her claws in the foliage, struggling to keep her balance, but the action was futile. She was no match for the gale that was sweeping her around the unfamiliar location like a rag doll. Her visibility was diminished, even with her animal eyes, and the breath was knocked out of her.
She whirled about, looking hopelessly for a sense of direction.
For the first time since arriving in Iceland, the sky had gone black and there was nowhere to look.
Don’t panic. Just think, she growled to herself. Morphing back into her mortal frame, she dug into her pack, looking for a compass, but there was nothing to help orient herself. There was nothing she could do but find shelter and wait out the storm before making her way back to the camp.
Gritting her teeth, she stepped forward again, blinking against the driving rain—and her howl of excruciating pain ricocheted through the forest, startling the nesting birds in her midst.
The jaws of the bear trap seized her ankle, the bone crunching sickeningly as Laurel fell forward and landed on her face. She looked down at her foot in utter disbelief.
Shock overcame her as she suddenly realized the intense peril in which she found herself, half-drowning among the storm. It was no longer beautiful but terrifying and dangerous. The terrain was no longer breathtaking but rife with horrors. Was that a bear trap to catch shifters or bears? Had she walked into a nightmare brought on by the Cabal?
Stop it! she snapped at herself, struggling to keep it together, but it was impossible through the blinding pain. The jaws of the device hooked deeply into her flesh and bone, the agony shooting spikes through her body. Even as she tried to pry the clamp off, she knew it was an exercise in futility. If she’d had the strength through her pain to unhook the device, the rain diminished any capacity for her to grip the steel properly.
It wasn’t just that she was injured; she was trapped, easy prey for anything or anyone who might want to get her.
Yet there was another thought that scared her more.
What if no one ever comes?
Laurel had never been more frightened in her life and she began to howl, her voice snatched away by the wind.
7
This is treacherous.
The thought was irrelevant and did nothing to help Nicoy with the situation at hand. He steered the truck against the blinding rain, his visibility n
onexistent.
“You should pull over,” Xander said, his voice thick with tension. “You’re going to crash.”
Nicoy ignored him, leaning forward to peer into the strange darkness with intent eyes.
“Nic, you need to stop!”
“We’re almost home,” he insisted, jaw twitching with concentration. The storm had come on abruptly, much faster than he had expected, and while he appreciated Xander’s concerns, he didn’t want to be stranded in a ditch.
I thought we were going to make it home on time, he thought grimly but again, he knew the notion was neither helpful nor useful.
“Nicoy!”
A slight sense of relief overcame him as a familiar tree appeared, his shoulders relaxing as he nodded toward the ancient birch he knew well.
“There’s Old Ivory,” he told Xander. “We’re almost home.”
Xander grumbled something that Nicoy didn’t hear but it didn’t matter. In a few minutes, they would be safely inside their cabin, battening down the hatches and waiting out the freak weather.
It was the second storm they’d had in a week, and Nicoy had to wonder if the gods were trying to forewarn them of something. In the decade he’d lived in the remote area of Iceland, he’d never seen anything like it.
Don’t be dramatic, he told himself sternly. Weather is weather. It’s going crazy everywhere.
It was one of the reasons he’d left the world behind, after all. He was sick of the insanity, the politics and corporate greed that had chewed him up and spat him out back at home.
Boston isn’t home. Hesteyri is home.
Nicoy had seen to that, finding a place at the furthest end of the earth he could take himself, removed and hidden from the woes of his life in the States.
But you can never escape the weather, can you?
“Holy shit!” Xander exclaimed suddenly. Nicoy reluctantly turned his head and cast his housemate a wary look.
“What?” he demanded angrily. Xander should have known better than to cry out like that.
