Winter of the Wolf

by Cherise Sinclair

  Stifling a laugh, she raised her eyebrows and waited.

  “Shay and I just moved here.” He paused and added, “I grew up in the Canadian mountains.”

  Mountain man fit him wel, but she couldn’t imagine him as a child. “Is your family stil there?”

  The muscles of his face tightened to rival the hardness of granite. “No family.”

  Her heart softened with pity. “Me, neither.”

  “No luck with your picture?”

  “No. Nobody’s ever seen them.” No family. Al alone now. Grief slid through her. I miss you so much, Ashley.

  They walked another minute in silence, then his hand on her arm stopped her. He pointed and whispered, “Bobcat.” With gray-brown fur and black-tufted ears, it looked like a cat on steroids. “It’s so pretty.”

  He actualy grinned, a brief flash of white teeth in his dark face. Her heart hitched. For a second she saw him, not as a huge protector or a threat, but a man. Not a gorgeous one…

  but devastatingly masculine.

  Swalowing hard, she started walking again. Faster.

  The shortcut ended on Wildwood’s dirt road by the lodge.

  He didn’t speak as they went past the lodge and turned onto the narrower road to her cabin.

  the narrower road to her cabin.

  After unlocking her door, she started in, only to be blocked by a muscular arm.

  “Wait.” Zeb stalked through the cabin, checking any hiding places. When he returned to where she stood in the door, he nodded. “Good night, little female.”

  “Don’t cal me that,” she said.

  He touched her cheek with his knuckles again, an infinitely gentle slide that set her nerve ends quivering. “But you are.” His gaze ran from her toes to the top of her head, leaving heat behind. “Definitely little.”

  He inhaled, and a crease appeared in his cheek. “Very female.”

  He bent and brushed his lips across hers. “Very soft.” His mouth moved over hers again, so lightly, not taking, but coaxing until she leaned into him, lost in the feel of the firm lips against her own.

  She jerked back. What was she thinking? “Um.” She gave him a wary look.

  His expression unreadable, he ran his finger over her damp lower lip. “Goodnight, little female.” He walked out, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  She stared after him and jumped at a loud thump.

  “Lock it.”

  She did.

  For the first time in three weeks, she slept the entire night.

  For the first time in three weeks, she slept the entire night.

  Chapter Ten

  The mid-day sun was bright and clear as Shay roled down the windows of his truck, hoping the brisk air would chil his temper before he reached the lodge. Cold Creek was too smal to avoid Gerhard, but if the alpha-hole bared his fangs at Shay one more time, he’d be spitting teeth for a month.

  No, dammit, punching him was a bad plan, since the alpha would take it as a chalenge. Be polite, furface. Shay growled in frustration and turned onto the dirt road. Most of the items on his checklist were completed: spare linens stocked, a new refrigerator in the back of the truck for cabin five, a routine test ordered on the wel water, septic pumping done. The Wildwood business was coming together nicely.

  After parking at the side of the lodge, he jumped out, itching as if ants had crawled into his clothes. Damned metal truck. He scratched his chest, wishing he could trawsfur and rol in the dirt.

  As he stepped onto the porch, the distinctive crack of a pistol split the mountain silence. Shay stiffened. The sound had come from behind the cabins, somewhere in the forest.

  Another shot. Two more. Someone either was in trouble or Another shot. Two more. Someone either was in trouble or was hunting in posted territory.

  He glanced toward Breanne’s cabin, feeling a quiver of unease. Her car was there, but no one moved inside.

  Best go investigate. With luck, the shooter would be a trespasser, and he’d have a valid target for his frustration. He strode through the lodge, out the side door, started to pul off his shirt, then stopped. Running around as a wolf might get him peppered with bulets. With a grunt of annoyance, he stayed human and headed into the forest.

  Three more shots. Shay broke into a run.

  A few minutes later, he sniffed the air. Not trespassers—

  Breanne and Zeb. He slowed as he reached a clearing, then stopped to watch.

  Their backs were to him. Zeb fired a few shots, al hitting the hand-drawn paper target, before handing the pistol to Breanne. Shay lifted his eyebrows. Shooting lessons? The thought of an armed female was unsettling, but maybe humans did that sort of thing.

  His partner had set up a decent firing range. A massive tree had toppled sideways and created a holowed-out area in the slope that would stop any stray bulets. Zeb’s jacket and a backpack with a gun case and boxes of bulets lay nearby.

  Silently, Shay watched as Zeb demonstrated the proper stance. Frowning in concentration, Breanne copied the stance. Frowning in concentration, Breanne copied the position like a cub imitating its mama.

  No need to disturb the lesson. Shay started to head back when the breeze shifted.

  Zeb sniffed and turned. “Hey.”

  Breanne spun around, pointing the pistol at Shay’s chest.

  He hastily stepped behind the tree next to him.

  Zeb pushed her arm down and tugged the revolver from her hand. “Don’t point unless you’re going to kil. Kil the bad guys, not your landlord.”

  She bit her lip and nodded, then gave Shay a tentative smile. “I’m sorry. What are you doing up here?”

  “Heard the gunfire.” He came forward. “Nice shooting, Zeb.”

  Zeb shrugged off the compliment and returned to instructing. “Sight with both eyes. Breathe out. Squeeze gently, like you’d stroke a male’s bals.” His lips quirked.

  “Oh wel, sure,” Breanne muttered. Her pale skin pinkened.

  Was anything more attractive than a blushing female? Shay barked a laugh.

  She heard. Her finger yanked on the trigger viciously, snapping a shot out, before she looked straight at Shay.

  “Stroke it like that?”

  Zeb glanced over, amusement in his eyes.

  “Hel, a leannan.” Shay shook his head. “You’d have me

  “Hel, a leannan.” Shay shook his head. “You’d have me walking bow-legged for a week.”

  Even though her flush increased to a deep red, she laughed. Low and melodic, the sound ran up his spine with a gentle caress.

  Obviously affected the same way, Zeb cleared his throat.

  “Keep shooting.”

  Too intrigued to leave, Shay grabbed some earplugs from the packet on the ground. Shoulder against a tree trunk, he put them in, blotting out the irritated chatter of a wood pixie above him.

  That was a very focused female. Each suggestion Zeb made

  was

  implemented

  immediately

  with

  fierce

  determination. Her aim continued to improve until she hit the target more times than not.

  After about fifteen minutes, Zeb checked the sun. “Time’s up. I promised Alec I’d pa”—he glanced at Breanne and amended— “buy him a beer. Shay can watch you.”

  “No.”

  “I have time.” Shay couldn’t think of anything more fun, in fact.

  “Little female, mind what Shay says.” Zeb tapped one finger against her chin and got a frown. After grabbing his jacket, he jogged down the trail toward the lodge.

  Lower lip between her teeth, Breanne looked forlorn for a second, then straightened her shoulders. Shay could almost hear her saying, I’m not scared. Ignoring him completely, hear her saying, I’m not scared. Ignoring him completely, she reloaded and fired until her revolver emptied.

  He moved closer once her weapon was empty. He wasn’t about to frighten a skittish female with a loaded gun, especialy considering the way she reac
ted to Zeb’s stroking balls joke. He laughed silently. When he was playing Elvis, he’d discovered she had a wry sense of humor. One he liked.

  But sometimes he forgot she didn’t know him in human form.

  “Hold for a moment.”

  She looked at him.

  “Focus on the target, a leannan. The front tip of your gun should be fuzzy.”

  As she raised the pistol, her gaze changed from the barrel to the target. “Got it.” Her next shots were al on the paper, although scattered.

  “Better.”

  Her grin lit her face. After setting the pistol down, she puled off her jean jacket. Her bright red sweater hugged high, firm breasts, and Shay’s mouth went dry.

  He yanked his gaze away. What the hel was wrong with him? She was human. Only a desperate male shifter—one who couldn’t win a Daonain female—would mate with a human.

  She pushed her sweater sleeves up and raised the revolver again.

  Keeping his attention off her softer assets, Shay studied Keeping his attention off her softer assets, Shay studied her arms. She had some good muscle tone, except… He walked around to her right side and scowled at the pink-red marks above her wrist. “What happened?”

  Breanne grimaced. “Um. Something bigger and faster than me. I’m healing though.”

  Outraged to think something would attack a female, Shay moved closer. “That must have hurt.” Without thinking, he took her arm and turned it to expose the underside. Serrated markings, dimpling of the skin where a human doctor had stitched the tissue together. Pink and fragile. Probably less than a month old. “What bit you?”

  She puled her elbow out of his grasp. “I’m not exactly sure. It happened too fast.” She aimed the pistol and fired savagely. Again and again until the hammer clicked on an empty cartridge.

  “Not bad,” Shay said absently, trying to think of al the animals with jaws that large. Not a helhound—it wouldn’t leave a victim alive. A dog? A bear? “Did your biter also take a chunk out of your leg? Is that why you limp?” Her face whitened, but her fingers were steady as she reloaded the pistol. “That’s why.”

  Shay stepped back and let her work. In al his years, he’d never seen a female like this. Enough fear to fil a lake and a mountain of determination to match it. “You’ve started puling to the left,” he remarked. “Take your stance.” to the left,” he remarked. “Take your stance.” She assumed the posture she’d been taught—perfectly.

  But her aim was getting worse. Not because of her arm injury, he decided. But her alignment was off. He closed his hands over her shoulders.

  She yelped and jerked away, but too late. He’d felt the gouges in the muscle.

  “It got your shoulder too?” he said gently. Rage swept through him with the need to tear apart whatever had done such damage to a female. This female.

  “Yeah.”

  “Give me the pistol.” He held out his hand and, after a second, she complied. He unloaded, ignoring the protest in her eyes. “You’re done for today, lass. Any more and you’l damage those muscles.”

  “But…I need to practice. I need to. They’re my muscles, anyway.”

  She had the biggest blue eyes he’d ever seen, and by Herne’s hooves, it was hard to say no. “You can shoot every day. But not this long.”

  “I don’t even know how long this was.”

  “Look.” He tucked his arm around her waist and turned her to face the target. After an initial startle, she alowed the contact. No scent of fear, just female fragrance with a hint of vanila. He’d enjoyed holding her the morning after the Gathering, and her lips had been sweet.

  Gathering, and her lips had been sweet.

  What the hel was wrong with him? Human, remember?

  He let her go— bad wolf—and pointed to the target. “See the holes where you started shooting and where you started improving. But this last round? Your aim slid off to the left as you started to hurt.”

  She huffed out a breath. “You’re right.”

  “Of course I am.” He grinned at her and caught a responding smile. “When your aim starts to veer, then quit.

  You’l be able to go longer each day.”

  She sighed. “Okay. That sounds okay.”

  With his free hand, he pushed her silky hair behind her ear and let his fingers trail down her neck. Silky skin, warm and damp with a female’s compeling fragrance. The tiny freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks cried out to be licked.

  Human. She’s human. He stepped away. Then took another step for good measure. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  At midnight, Zeb headed back to the cave. He’d patroled the eastern half of town, Shay the west. He’d found nothing new, but they wouldn’t relax. With the moon in the last quarter, they had only a week before the deadly dark night.

  Under the Wild Hunt, he shifted and dressed, grumbling about the Cosantir’s latest order—to report in after each about the Cosantir’s latest order—to report in after each patrol.

  “How else will I know if you get yourself killed?” Calum had asked and then amended, “I’d prefer to know if one of you is missing before I check my territory after closing.” A chiling reminder that—how a Cosantir’s tie to Herne let him locate any shifter within his domain.

  Scowling, Zeb climbed the steps to the closet, through the locked room, and into the halway. He liked this competent Cosantir—one who gave a damn about his people and his cahirs—but sometimes he felt as if he was on a leash.

  Living in an overcrowded den didn’t help. If he’d been dumped into a house with anyone but Shay, he’d have torn his fucking throat out by now. If Shay gave him any more crap, he’d do it anyway. Messy, bossy, talkative mutt.

  The babble of the people as Zeb entered the bar room made him flinch. The country music was loud, the place jam-packed. Saturday. He’d forgotten it was the weekend.

  Fucking Cosantir’s orders.

  He growled, and people melted from his path like sheep from a mountain lion. That only pissed him off more.

  A colege-aged brat had taken Zeb’s preferred spot at the end of the bar—the one where his back wasn’t turned to the door. The kid glanced over, paled, and backed away. Zeb didn’t quite sneer.

  Calum worked his way down, filing orders as he came.

  Seemed strange to have a Cosantir doing something so Seemed strange to have a Cosantir doing something so menial, but running a bar would be a fine way of keeping track of everything in town. Sneaky werecat.

  Calum handed him a dark beer and raised his voice to be heard over the noise. “Problems?”

  “Al quiet.”

  “In that case, refrain from terrifying my customers.” Zeb snorted. “I scare everybody. What—”

  “No, Zebulon.” Calum gave him a level look. “Cahirs can be intimidating, yes. However, when you stalk in here as if you’d enjoy gutting someone, then you frighten people.

  Control that.”

  He moved away, leaving Zeb glaring at his back. Or what?

  Fucking arrogant bast—

  “What’s the problem?” Shay stepped into the respectful space everyone else had left. “You look like you got a paw stuck in a trap.”

  Every place he went, some asshole was talking at him.

  “Fuck that. If I want your opinion, I’l beat it out of you.”

  “By the God’s bals.” Shay thumped his bottle of beer down. “You and what army?”

  That did it. Zeb snarled and punched his fucking roommate right in his loud mouth, knocking him back against the other customers. Satisfaction blasted through him. That’s what the healer ordered. No Herne-aided strength, just fists.

  Shay wiped his lip, glanced at the blood on his hand, and Shay wiped his lip, glanced at the blood on his hand, and scowled. His hands fisted; his knuckles cracked with hard pops to accompany the country music. “Been a while.”

  “Too fucking long.”

  Shay feinted to Zeb’s head, then delivered a solid punch to his gut. Zeb abso
rbed the pain with a grunt and nailed Shay across the cheekbone. The crowd scattered with shouts and screams. A chair hit the floor.

  Shay roared, and the battle was on.

  Bree stared at the two men, toe-to-toe, slugging each other. When one of Shay’s punches sent Zeb crashing backwards into a table, she flinched.

  “Oh, hel, are they rehearsing for Battle of the Titans?” Vicki set her tray on an empty table. “Wel, let’s break it up.”

  “Us? Are you insane?”

  “Barmaid/bouncer. That’s my job description.”

  “Not mine. I just help out for fun.” Bree heard a deep, raspy roar. Zeb. Customers shouted. A woman screamed.

  “Vicki, they’re huge. Your husband won’t let you—”

  “You think?” Vicki nodded at the bar. Calum jerked his head at the fighters in a very clear order. Laughing, Vicki strode toward the fighting.

  “Oh heavens. Why can’t they be normal-sized guys?” Bree pressed a hand to her churning stomach. How could she fight men the size of the monster? I don’t want to. Her she fight men the size of the monster? I don’t want to. Her pistol was in her purse in the kitchen. Could she just shoot the idiots?

  She hurried after Vicki. She couldn’t let her friend do this alone, but if her heart pounded through her ribs, there’d be bones al over the floor, and Vicki’d have to clean them up.

  As she pushed past the crowd, she saw Zeb kick Shay halfway across the room.

  “Perfect. You take Zeb. I got Shay,” Vicki directed.

  Bree

  winced. Oh thanks. Shay might have been reasonable. Taking on Zeb was sheer suicide. She pushed her fear down into her gut. Okay, fine, she’d fought big guys before—lots of them—and won. Her black belt hadn’t been earned by sitting home knitting.

  As Zeb stalked after his opponent, Bree slid into his path, stance balanced and ready. “No fighting in the bar.” Two points for her—her voice hadn’t squeaked.

  He didn’t answer, just gripped her shoulder to push her aside.

  She slapped his hand away and stayed in front of him.