North Wolf

by M. A. Everaux

  She felt groggy and slightly nauseous as she sat up. Her hair was a mess, and she was still in her nightgown. But her hospital room was gone. It made no sense.

  Instead, she found herself lying on a gorgeous sleigh bed in a beautiful bedroom, with dark wood furniture, oatmeal-colored carpeting, and books on nearly every wall. Through the window, the only thing visible was snow and trees. Lots of snow and trees.

  Not sure what else to do, she pushed back the heavy, deep brown comforter, slid from the bed and stood. Her legs were shaky, which was no surprise since she usually spent two-thirds of her days sleeping. Walking slowly to the window, she pressed her hand against the pane. It was very cold. Far colder than it usually got at home, which meant she was definitely not at home. So, where was she? It seemed to be the sixty-four-million-dollar question, and she had absolutely no idea. She didn’t think she’d get to phone a friend, either.

  “Ah,” said someone behind her. “So you’re awake. And not a moment too soon, either.”

  Not wanting to fall down and look the fool, Gwen turned carefully, keeping one hand clamped to the windowsill. In the doorway stood an elderly man. A gentleman really, with thick, silver hair and a full beard. His eyes twinkled and his mouth smiled. He seemed friendly, and, dressed as he was in dark wool pants and a high-necked charcoal gray sweater, he didn’t look like a serial killer or rapist. But then, she’d never met a serial killer or rapist.

  “Where am I? Did someone kidnap me?”

  His smile faltered slightly. “No dear, no one’s kidnapped you, in the normal sense. You’re in northern Canada, actually. You were removed from the hospital because my sons thought you weren’t receiving proper help there.”

  Proper help? It didn’t sound right. Who in the world plucked someone from a mental institute because they weren’t getting proper help? Unless…

  “Are they doctors?”

  “No,” the man said, stepping into the room. “But they were extremely concerned.”

  Resigned, Gwen dropped the subject. There was no way it was going to make sense. “Can I go home now?”

  “Do you wish to go home? Back to the hospital?”

  She held her breath a moment as she tried to get her head on straight. Everything was still fuzzy, subject to the waning affects of the drugs in her system. Everything in her said she should be running away from the maniac, even if he did remind her of an older Cary Grant. Stealing someone away wasn’t normal. For any reason. If only she had the energy to actually care.

  “Like you’d let me. If you guys are holding out for a ransom, you picked the wrong girl. My mother doesn’t have any money to pay a ransom with.” She let her weight rest fully against the wall as her legs tired.

  He sighed. “What would it take to make you feel safe here? Would you like to call your mother perhaps? Assure her that you are well and unharmed?”

  “No,” she said wearily, then seized on the one thing that no decent criminal would allow. “I want to call the cops.”

  He nodded regally and left the room. Seconds later, he was back with a cordless in his hand. He placed the phone on the bed and stepped away. “You can call information and get the number. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

  Gwen picked up the phone, half-expecting to find no dial tone. There was. With her breath held, she quickly dialed zero, and prayed it was as easy to get an operator in Canada as it was in the United States. When the operator came on, she let out her breath and asked for the nearest law enforcement office.

  “Dawson Detachment,” a rough, tired-sounding voice answered.

  Gwen clutched the phone harder. “Uh, hi. This is the police?”

  “Yeah. Can I help you with something?”

  “Um, I just woke up and I don’t know where I am. I think I’ve been kidnapped.”

  There was a moment of silence. “This some kind of joke?”

  “No. No joke. I think you should maybe come and get me. Except you’d have to find me first. Do you have maybe caller ID? Can you figure out where I am by the phone number?”

  He sighed. “Yeah—hold on. Oh. Sweetheart, you sure this isn’t a joke?”

  “No,” Gwen repeated firmly. “This isn’t a joke.”

  “Well, you’re calling from Connor’s place. And honey, if you’re there, you haven’t been kidnapped. Were you drinking last night maybe? Connor’s a nice man. He wouldn’t have brought you home if he wasn’t worried. He’s one of those types who like to help his fellow man. You want to leave, just tell him. He’ll drive you himself, and probably hand over all his cash if you asked for it. Hey, you see him, let him know there’s a big storm coming through. And tell him Dan says hi.”

  He hung up abruptly. Gwen numbly tossed the phone back to the bed, slightly dazed. When she looked up, the bearded man was standing in the doorway again.

  “You’re Connor?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Police Officer Dan said to tell you a large storm is coming through.”

  He smiled and folded his arms over his chest. “Are you satisfied that you’re safe here? That I’m not going to lock you in a closet and starve you until your mother pays an exorbitant amount of money?”

  The way he said it, it certainly sounded ridiculous. And she couldn’t imagine any respectable kidnapper condescending to steal someone from a county psychiatric hospital. “What happens now?”

  “Your mother had you committed?” he asked carefully, going over and fluffing the pillows on her bed as if they weren’t having an odd conversation at all.

  “Yes.”

  “So you can’t go back there. And your father is deceased. Do you have any friends or relatives you’d like to live with?”

  Friends? Relatives? Not a one, or at least none who didn’t believe she was crazy. And how did he know this?

  “No.” She could see her answer didn’t surprise him.

  “Well then,” he said, straightening up and smiling. “Why don’t you stay with us for a bit, just as a trial? If you’re unhappy, you can go back to hospital, or we’ll see about making other arrangements for you. If you’re content, you’re free to stay as long as you wish.”

  Gwen stayed silent, not sure what to say. Sane people didn’t just stay with strangers because it was convenient. But where else could she go? She was twenty-two, with no job skills, and without even a high-school diploma. She had suicide scars, and that scared most people enough. Besides, she was crazy, so that was excuse enough.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked, curious despite everything else.

  His smile became slightly melancholy. “I have been all over the world, and seen more than enough horror for ten lifetimes. I’d simply like to help.” He cocked his head. “Are you scared?”

  Gwen frowned in thought for a moment. “No. I don’t think so. There’re still too many drugs in my system to be scared.”

  He lifted his eyebrows but didn’t comment on that. “Then relax, child. You’ve had a long journey. Bathe, dress and come to the kitchen. You’re just in time for lunch.”

  “Lunch? But it’s nighttime.”

  “This is the far north. It’s dark most of the day during winter.”

  He left her with a smile, and Gwen was once again alone.

  She did shower, and it felt divine. It seemed like forever since she’d been allowed to shower without someone watching her, waiting to see if she was going to kill herself with the pink Daisy razor that was so dull it was barely able to take the hair from her legs. She washed her hair twice, and her body, and used the man’s razor that was already in the shower to shave.

  The man had said for her to dress, but in what? She stood in the room, wrapped in a large towel and looking hopefully for anything to wear. There were no suitcases or boxes of clothes sitting around. Nothing was laid on the bed for her. In the end, she sighed and opened the dresser, hoping to find something.

  What she found were her own clothes. All of them, not that she’d actually had that many at
the hospital. Relieved, she threw on a long-sleeved undershirt and a T-shirt over it, and her favorite pair of jeans. She looked at herself in the mirror and stuck out her tongue at the reflection. She looked like a fifteen-year-old in the mall. With her hair hanging loose down her back, and her face scrubbed pink, she didn’t even look old enough to drive, not that she had her license.

  After pulling on her warmest socks, she left the room and headed toward the voices. There were two of them, one deeper and very British, obviously the gentleman Connor, and the other mellow and lighter.

  She was passing a dining area, which was directly opposite the living room, when the voices stopped. She walked faster in the same direction, and halted at the doorway to the kitchen. Connor was there, cooking up a storm on a large gas stove. A large roast was steaming, sitting nearby on the granite countertop looking unbelievably juicy. A younger man leaned lazily against the cream-colored wall and watched Connor work, a smile on his face as he saw her.

  “Hello,” Connor greeted her, as he wielded a knife expertly, slicing thin pieces from the roast and laying them on a serving platter. He looked completely comfortable in his kitchen. And unlike her mother’s, his wasn’t all dolled up with doilies and decorations. In fact, his kitchen had little decoration at all. It seemed to be far more utilitarian, designed more for convenience than appearance, with little clutter, dark cabinets and lots of counter space.

  Gwen clasped her hands together nervously and peered over her shoulder. The dining table was set with four places. “Hi,” she replied nervously, turning back around, eyeing the younger man cautiously.

  He was blond, tan and very handsome, and blessed with almost perfectly symmetrical, classic features. He reminded her a bit of Paul Newman. With his lean, muscular frame and shaggy hair, he was just plain beautiful. Like a model, but the bad-boy variety. He was dressed in jeans and a white silk dress shirt that somehow worked for him. He wore it casually, as if it was no big deal to be so stylish with such little effort.

  “Dear,” the older man spoke, “why don’t you fill the glasses on the table with water. I’ll be ready here in a minute.”

  Feeling slightly stupid, Gwen nodded. “Um, what’re your names?” She pointed to the blond, her face flushing when they both looked over at her.

  “Ah,” Connor said, putting down the knife and wiping his hands on a towel. “Forgive me, Gwen. I forgot.”

  “You know my name,” she pointed out.

  “Yes, of course, just as you know my first name, although let’s forget that fact right now. We’ll start at the beginning, which is where we should have started. I am Connor Lowell, and this is my youngest son, Christian Tanner. I don’t believe you’ve met my older son, Eben, but you’ll be seeing him in a minute.”

  Gwen stared at the blond man, Christian. “Your last name is different?”

  “I’m adopted.” He gave her a cocky grin. “You didn’t think these good looks came from him, did you?”

  Adopted. It reassured her a little. Some people needed to feel they were helping others. It was obviously why they’d taken her. The two sons were older, so maybe they felt their father needed another project. Officer Dan had said nearly as much.

  Smiling slightly in relief, Gwen nodded and went to the table to fill glasses. That, at least, was something she was qualified to do.

  They were seated and dishing out food and neither of the two men suggested that they wait for the third. Taking the peas as they came her way, Gwen thought on that a minute, trying to figure out what it all meant. Her mother would have had a fit if everyone wasn’t at the table within a minute of her declaring supper time. In fact, she had. Any time her father was stuck in the field or dealing with a cow that was sick.

  But in this household, it wasn’t anything. In fact, both Christian and Connor seemed perfectly content to start without the other man, and didn’t give it a second thought as they cut bread, handed off bowls and platters.

  Gwen filled her plate without even thinking, and passed everything on carefully. The house itself was lovely. She could see the living area from the table, decorated elegantly and simply with little clutter and high quality leather furniture, made more for comfort than show. It would have looked too somber and dark if not for the bright, earthy-colored throw rugs covering the hardwood floor, and the handwoven blankets that were draped over the back of the sofa. A large fireplace dominated the room, a flickering fire already burning merrily.

  “You’ve lived here long?”

  “Oh, it must be fifteen years now,” Connor said. “I moved quite a bit before, traveling the world and such, but this is my favorite place. It’s why we settled here.” He passed her a bowl of potatoes and smiled.

  “You have a lovely home,” she commented, setting the bowl aside.

  “Thank you, child.”

  They were quietly talking and eating when another presence entered the room. Gwen stopped in mid-chew as all the hairs on the back of her neck stood up in warning. The other two men fell silent and turned. Connor smiled. “Come sit down. You’re late.”

  There was no answer. Beside her, Christian smirked.

  “I take it your project is going well?” Connor went on, oblivious to the tension in the air.

  The chair across from her was pulled out by a large, dark hand, corded with heavy muscles. It was scarred in multiple places, with one scar obviously from an animal of some type. It looked like a claw, running vertically with three lines. The wound itself had to have been deep to leave such scars.

  Gwen dropped her fork when the man sat down. She managed not to run away, but it was close. With his pale blue eyes locked on her, the urge was strong.

  He wasn’t perfectly handsome, like Christian. His beauty was far too savage and wild. If anything, he was scary, with a capital S, although she couldn’t figure out why. Everything about him screamed out solid and dependable. But it didn’t quite fit.

  He was large and strong, with hugely wide shoulders and thick arms. Even without the muscles, she could tell he would have been large just from the thickness of his wrists. He was one of those people who were just built that way. While his size was threatening, it was his face that made him so attractive. It was rugged and as scarred as the rest of him appeared to be. His nose had a bump at the bridge, testament to the break that had caused it. His cheekbones were sharp, and with his coppery, burnished skin and black-as-ink hair, he was beautiful. Exotic. Far different than the usual Iowa farm crowd she was used to. With a blink, Gwen jerked her gaze away from him and stared down at her plate. Her hand shook as she picked up her fork again. She tried scooping up some peas, but they just fell off the tines. Agitated, she set her fork down and let her hands fall to her lap.

  “Gwen,” Connor said, “this is my eldest son, Eben.”

  Gwen barely nodded and kept her eyes down, desperately wanting to leave the table.

  Christian leaned close to her and whispered, “Just breathe. He gets better after the first hour.”

  “Now,” Connor said, oblivious to her anxiety, “isn’t this nice?”

  Christian snickered.

  Their conversation flowed around her, smooth and comfortable. She could see how much the three men liked each other and enjoyed their time together. It was in their laughter and smiles, and the way Christian ribbed the other two men, who only shrugged it off. There were no petty insults, or complaints, or even punishing silences.

  Her stomach gave a sudden, violent heave. Clumsily, she shot out of her chair, knocking it over in the process. “I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “Excuse me.”

  They watched as she ran from the room, one arm clutching her stomach as she headed toward the bathroom. She slammed the door shut, and then there was silence.

  “Well,” Christian drawled, forking over another hunk of roast, “that went well. You should be proud of yourself, Eben. She’s only going to be sick, not pass out. You’re improving with age.”

  “Christian,” Connor said sharply.

 
Christian ducked down. “Sorry.”

  Sighing, Connor picked up his fork again. “She becomes nervous easily. Eben, I hope you’re prepared to be patient, because pushing her will only do more harm than good.”

  “I’ll wait,” Eben replied softly, his eyes meeting his father’s.

  Connor winced slightly. There was no mistaking the determination in his son’s eyes. It was as strong as the man himself. But, it depended on the girl. And as Connor knew firsthand, it didn’t always work out as it should.

  Gwen woke the next morning more prepared than before. She had her clothes, her own room and some very nice companions. Now, she just had to settle down and relax. No one had made any comments or threatened her in any way. It was fine.

  Her stomach hurt from the violent vomiting she’d gone through the day before, and as she stared in the mirror, she saw it wasn’t the only consequence. Blood spots speckled her face, like she’d broken out in dark freckles overnight. They seemed to be especially concentrated around her eyes, and gave her a bit of a raccoon appearance.

  “Bloody hell.”

  Disgusted, she hurriedly showered and dressed, making sure her hair was pinned up neatly in a coil before she headed toward the kitchen.

  The house was quiet as she tiptoed along, hoping fervently that Connor was awake. She needed answers, and he seemed to be the one to ask.

  With a sigh, she peeked into the kitchen and smiled in relief. “You’re up.”

  Connor smiled over his cup of coffee. “Of course, dear. I’m an early riser. Christian you won’t see before ten, but Eben wakes about this time. But, if none of us seem to be about, make yourself comfortable. Feel free to dig through the cupboards until you find something that appeals to you. Since you skipped dinner yesterday, you must be starving.”

  “Thanks.” She slinked in and seated herself on a stool at the counter, relieved he was polite enough not to mention her digestive pyrotechnics of the previous evening.

  He frowned and leaned closer, peering at her carefully. “Are those—spots?”