by V. Vaughn
If they didn’t find Easton and Dena, nothing would save her.
Desperate, she boosted herself higher, standing on the seat. Miguel steadied her with one hand on her calf. In the tightness of his grip, she felt his urge to pull her back down to safety. But he didn’t, because he knew how important this was, because they were his kids too.
And because after that one terrible omission, where he didn’t tell her about the wolf, he’d always tried to boost her up, not hold her back.
For just an instant, the wind stilled, letting the snow drift down delicately. Through the cleared air, a patch of desert color—cinnamon and silver—laced with a multi-colored puddle of brighter hues near the base of the wall caught her eye. “Miguel, over there!” Her whole body yearned in that direction, wanting to turn the four-wheeler with the force of her will.
He followed her frantic gesture as if he were one with her. “Hold on tight. I’m going to find a way down.”
Plunking into the seat next to him, she lost sight of that bit of red, but she clung to the cage—and to her hope.
With wolf muscle and sheer will—his and hers combined, she thought—he wrestled the tipping UTV down the ragged slope between the scrub and rock. The wind whipped back, whirling the drifting snow off the ridge above their heads until she was blind. And still she strained to see ahead.
That wasn’t ever really an option, was it? To truly see ahead? She could only point in what she hoped was the right direction and forge onward.
Finally Miguel steered the UTV onto flat ground, letting out a sharp, relieved oath that smoked the air. Before she had to say a word, he whipped the wheel around since they’d overshot the glimpse of red.
A tiny sound, chased by the wind, reached them first.
A baby’s cry.
6
Solange lunged from the UTV before Miguel cut the engine. A metallic whiff of blood tainted the icy air, and he held back for a single moment, his chest seizing in fear at what they’d find.
But nothing stopped his mate so he hopped out a half-step behind her, grabbing the insulated bag.
He almost didn’t see what she’d seen. Tucked into the shelter of the ridge was a large agouti wolf curled tight. And in the center of the curl was Dena, wrapped in her Doctor Who scarf, who in turn was wrapped around a smaller shape, the three of them like a family of nesting dolls in the snow.
Solange had the blanket out of her messenger bag and was bundling it around the exhausted trio as Miguel hunkered down beside them
“We shouldn’t have left,” Dena sobbed. “East said no, but I thought it would be okay. I thought—”
Solange hushed her. “We’re here. It is okay.”
Miguel put his hand on his son’s shoulder. East was bigger than his father or his brother, and in his wolf form was bigger yet, thank God. Coiled as he was, his tangle of four long legs kept Dena off the snow. His flank was a sturdy windbreak, and the massive plume of his tail covered his mate from lap to chin, almost hiding her tiny bundle.
“I can’t look,” Dena said with another hiccupping sob. She hugged East’s sleek head when he nudged into her with a whine. “It’s too soon, and she came so fast.”
“Of course she did,” Solange said firmly. “She’s a wolf. Even the little ones are troublesome. Now just let her breathe a bit…” She eased aside Dena’s grip and the fluff of East’s tail. “We heard her yell over the wind, so I know her lungs are good. See? She’s all golden-brown and squirmy. And look at all that black hair. She probably doesn’t even need your fur.”
Miguel loosened the lid on the second thermos, releasing the sweet scent of cider, chasing away the smell of blood. He steadied it for Dena while Solange tucked the dark-eyed baby back inside her clothes. Not letting go of the baby or her wolf, Dena drank deeply before leaning back with a sigh.
Solange exchanged glances with Miguel, and so only he saw the glimmer of thankful tears in her eyes. Whatever his lack in size, his wolf wanted to curl up around all of them. Instead, he handed her the cider.
She took a sip, her hand shaking just a bit. “Well, it was a bit early to open this particular present, but it is Christmas Eve. Still, I think you should head back to town and check in at the clinic just for everyone’s peace of mind.”
Dena struggled to sit. “My cousin’s truck is high centered in some ruts under the snow. I know we should’ve stayed with it, but it wasn’t far to your place, and I couldn’t let East go alone. I just couldn’t.”
Solange tucked the scarf tighter around her. “Maybe it’s selfish of me, but I’m glad you’re watching out for him.” She leaned down to kiss Dena on the forehead and East between his flattened ears. “You two take the work rig.”
Dena peered up at them. “But what about you two?”
Miguel reached down to take her elbow. “I’ll watch out for her.”
East’s wolf rumbled low in its throat but let them support his mate to the UTV and get her settled. Miguel shrugged out of his coat, despite Dena’s protests, and bundled her up while Solange cocooned mother and baby with the extra blanket and tucked the food under her feet.
“Just go slow and you’ll be fine,” she ordered. “If you have to shift, eat up all the snacks first, for energy. There are snickerdoodles in there.”
Miguel looked at the wolf. “There’s a pair of overalls in the storage bin. Get changed while I talk to your mother.” He took Solange’s hand and angled her away. “You should go with them,” he murmured. “Blaze and I will get the Begay cousins and dig the truck out tomorrow or the next day.”
“The rig is a two-seater,” she said. “I don’t want to overload it.” He took a breath and she pierced him with a hard stare. “Don’t try to tell me how much it can bear. I want that thing running smooth and fast all the way back to town with my new granddaughter.”
He gave her hand a little tug. “And how much can you bear?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I might be a grandma three times over but I can still take a walk in the woods on a snowy evening.”
This wasn't the poetic ramblings of Robert Frost, though; this was the high desert in winter, beautiful and dangerous. But so was his mate.
When they rejoined the new little family, East was just buttoning up the overalls. The borrowed clothes didn't fit quite right, leaving his wrists and bare feet poking out, but it was better than nothing. Solange pulled off her gloves and forced them on the boy.
"Mom," he said with just a hint of a teasing whine and the wider hint of a smile. He held up the bright red gloves that said "Let It" on one hand and "Snow" on the other.
"Keep those hands on the wheel, hijo," she said sternly. "And get my girls home."
He nodded before slanting a glance at Miguel. "Dad…"
"I'll get our girl home too," Miguel promised. He took off the silly holiday hat he’d picked up in town and set it on East’s head, wrapping the long tail around his throat like a scarf.
He tucked Solange’s bare hand under his arm while East quickly reviewed the controls of the UTV. He started up the engine with a roar, leaned over to kiss Dena, and gave them both a nod.
Solange lifted her other bare hand in a little wave, and they watched the four-wheeler head toward the road back into town. She let her waving hand fall to the front of Miguel's jacket, her knuckles turning white as the snow as she gripped him. "They're okay." The words were part prayer, part demand, part question.
He put one arm around her back, pulling her close. "I wouldn't have let them go if I didn't think so. Look, it stopped snowing."
With one finger under her chin he tilted her gaze away from the retreating UTV and up to the sky where the descending sun was a silver disc through the clouds. Her gray eyes caught the argent light, shining like a wolf’s, and the breath caught in his throat.
She let out a breath, summery-sweet with the scent of the cider. "It's hard to let them go, no matter what the circumstances."
"Yeah," he murmured.
Peeking
one last time over her shoulder, she turned her resolute steps back for the hacienda. Though she jammed her hands in her pockets, her chin was up as they followed the four-wheeler's tracks. "I could've done without the scare, but I have to say I'm glad she had the baby here, and not California." She slanted a glance at him. "Does that make me a terrible, selfish person?"
"No, I think that makes you Grandma."
She chuckled. "Thank you for the absolution, Grandpa."
"Maybe you could forgive me someday," he murmured.
The crunch of her boots on the snow fell silent as she turned to face him. "Miguel—"
But he went on without pausing, "Because you're going to be mad at me again."
She tilted her head. "Why?"
"I think we should shift and run back."
She glared at him. "No. I might not be much in this shape, but—"
He shook his head. "Don't," he said with just enough bite to stop her. "The weather's cleared up enough to get the kids back to town, but we're going to be much slower. It'll be dark soon, and the temperature will drop. I'd feel better if we both had fur coats."
Her furious gaze snapped away from him, but after a moment drifted back, skipping over him top to bottom in a visual caress that rippled the small hairs on his body. "You should change," she said. "You're the one missing your jacket. I have mine."
He shook his head. "If you go on two legs, so will I." He'd chickened out last time, shifting in her kitchen to end the argument, but he wouldn't do that again.
He'd walk the rest of his days like this if that's what it took to keep her beside him.
They'd only gone a little farther, when she growled, "You make me cold just looking at you."
Without breaking stride, he took a long step in front of her, sliding a kiss along her lips as he went. Her shoulders were hunched with cold and ire which made her short enough for him to reach for a change.
When she gasped, and pink flush brightened her cheeks, he grinned at her. "Warmer now?"
She sputtered. "Okay, fine." She reached for him, anchoring herself on his shoulders, and pulled herself close.
The sweetness of the cider and the spice that was only her swirled through his head in a hot storm of sensation. He delved deeper, their tongues tangling. Their panting fogged the air so that the sun—just breaking out through the clouds—ignited little iridescent shimmers in their breath. His hands threaded up into her hair, knocking her hat askew, and his fingertips burned with wanting more. She'd always been able to make him forget any risk.
But when she pulled back, shrugging out of her coat, he blinked. “Uh. Now I’m feeling colder.”
She flung the heavy parka at him. “Just admit it. You were trying to get my clothes off.”
“Always,” he agreed. “Sex in the snow is not going to be me under the best of circumstances, but for you…”
Another rainbow-hued snort puffed from her. “Not sex. Shifting.”
Already pounding, his pulse stuttered harder. “Solange. I don’t want to force you. Not again.”
She plucked at the pearls snaps on her shirt, not quite parting them. “You’re not forcing anything,” she muttered. “I don’t have a choice. It’s going to get cold and dark, and if I don’t do this, we’ll still be trudging through this snow.”
Like they’d been trudging through the chilly distance between them for years. But once again, she didn’t have a choice. What if she resented this, if it dredged up all her hatred again?
He’d rather she froze him out than froze to death.
Matching her item for item, like they had the same losing hands at strip poker, he got naked. Then he stood shivering while she fussed with folding their clothes under a uniquely gnarled juniper.
“Ready?” he said finally, barely able to stop his teeth from chattering.
She wrapped her arms around herself, which did lovely things to her breasts. “You go first.”
“No. After you.”
“I…I can’t.” Dark lashes hid her gray eyes as she looked down. “I hoped the cold would make her come.”
Her wolf.
Slowly, the chill like nothing compared to the ache in his heart, he stalked across the snow toward her. She lifted her gaze warily to watch him.
“She isn’t gone,” he murmured. “She’s always been with you.”
“I forced her away.”
Just as she’d forced him. “Not away. Just…deep. Asleep. Waiting.”
She shuddered, not from the cold. “I never wanted this.”
A howl of pain ripped through his guts but he kept his voice gentle. “Follow me home, where it’s warm and safe, and you’ll never have to do this again.”
He shifted, letting the transmutation sweep across him like winter changing to summer—warmth taking over the cold as his skin sprouted thick fur, bones lengthening, blood running faster, a brightness in his soul. Shifting was glorious to him. But he was wolf-born, had always known what he was, always loved and been loved in every shape he held. She was the only one who’d ever made him doubt himself.
Maybe she’d been right to push him away. Maybe there could never be another chance for them.
But he buried the thought like a kill in snow. She needed him now. Just as he’d done with his grandpups, he let his risen wolf call to hers, luring it forward. Guiding pups was an invitation to play a game of hide-and-seek, to chase, to sing in harmony: Find your beast, explore your strength, make the union a wild and lovely song.
Solange had rejected all that. Just this once, maybe she’d follow him.
Since the other choice was death.
Refusing to let the peril sour this moment, he danced around her, dropping into a low bow in the snow. Play with me, my love.
The warm, brown hue of her skin was blanched by the cold, and the snow around her bare feet had stopped melting as the chill overwhelmed her. It was too late. He didn't blame her for her fear and regretted all the chances he'd missed to show her the glory of what they were. Tensing, he stood up straight, ready to change back and figure out another way to lead her out of this mess.
But then she took a tentative step forward out of the small hole she'd made in the snow. Her bare feet made no sound in the fresh drift where the wind had covered up the four-wheeler's tracks. Another step, and she dropped to her knees. His heart twisted more painfully than her body as she fought the shift.
The first time, even fevered, she'd done it so easily, not knowing what was happening, but now she struggled. Nothing he could do mattered more than what she did for herself.
Whining, he brushed up alongside her, as if he could cover her in his own fur. She hissed out an anguished breath, even as she crawled forward another step.
He yearned toward her with everything he was, but it wasn't enough. She'd always been so stubborn, and the beast inside her was a worthy match. But she'd pushed it away for so long, now the game wasn't lighthearted, childish fun; this was life or death, and the beast had gone defiant and wary in its years alone.
He tried to lure the beast with his own, but her wolf was having none of it. It demanded Solange be the one to call.
Her hair hanging around her face, blinding her, she struggled forward another step, her knees dragging a scar in the snow like a wounded animal.
"Come here," she growled. Though he knew she wasn't talking to him, he pressed closer, practically crawling with her. "We can crawl all the way, or you can come here and we'll run."
His wolf leaped at her command, leaving him breathless, and between one blink and the next, the hollowed drag marks of her stubborn path became the splayed star of the wolf's footprints.
He sprang after her, the slate gray wolf almost as large as East's. Parts of her—her belly, the underside of her tail, the décolletage of her thick ruff—were tipped in white, so she moved across the desert like a storm cloud, vaulting rocks and sage and drifts of snow with effortless grace.
Awe stole his breath. He should've known her beast would be as stron
g and fierce as she was, no matter how long she'd held it at bay.
The last of the daylight gleamed across the pure white, and even the shortest tangle of pinyon cast shadows that seemed to spear all the way to the horizon. Side by side, they sped over the snow, the smoky ribbons of their breath spiraling away behind them.
He was sorry to see the earthy orange wall of the hacienda.
But as the sun dropped behind the hills, and the world turned to blue and gray, he knew their run was over.
7
Solange skidded to a stop at the door, her pulse hammering. They’d made it, just as the dark closed around them.
But…oops, no thumbs.
Miguel reached past her, in his upright shape, and unlatched the door. “Oh, that feels good,” he sighed as the warmth swirled out like a welcome. “C’mon.”
She padded after him, her paws tingling as if the red Saltillo tiles were flames, and the wolf danced sideways.
He slanted her a look. “Want to run some more?”
She sneezed at him. With a crooked smile, he led her to the master bath and started filling the big old clawfoot tub.
When she tilted her head at him in question, he explained, “It’ll help your return to be warm and…human again. Come here and I’ll lift you in.”
With another huff, she backed up a step. Or the wolf did. She wasn’t quite sure.
Not looking at her, he poked through the jars on the ledge beside the tub. “French lavender? Japanese cherry blossom? Turkish fig? Huh. Now I’m hungry.”
She—or was it the wolf?—studied the lean stretch of his muscles as he bent across the tub. Against the white ceramic, his flushed skin was as coppery as the sun faces he designed. The steam coiled around him like a lascivious tongue.
Er, was her own tongue hanging out?
Without really thinking about it, all four of her feet bore her to his side. He reached over to bury his fingers in her neck fur. “I like the way you smell now,” he murmured. “Sage and snow.”
She rested her chin on his thigh, inhaling. Her chest felt tight from the unaccustomed exercise but loose from the mineral-tinged steam. The welcoming heat spread through her, but her nerves seemed to shiver with anticipation. How could she feel two ways at once?
