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THE WINDIGO
A CEDARVILLE NOVELLA
Copyright © 2009 CYNTHIA CAROLE. All rights reserved worldwide.
ISBN 978-1-936165-25-4
Cover Art Designed By Anastasia Rabiyah
Edited By Traci Markou
Published by Purple Sword Publications, LLC
www.PurpleSword.com
Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
The Windigo
A Cedarville Novella
By
Cynthia Carole
For my sister, Andrea, who is sometimes lost and sometimes found.
CHAPTER ONE
Arlene huffed out a breath as she stepped out onto the steel balcony, a twenty-foot drop beneath her boots. The wind buffeted her gold-blonde ponytail, and cooled the sweat gathered at her temples. The long, feather earrings she wore whipped and danced in the moving air, tickling her neck. What a day! Her spirits soared with the wind.
She gazed westward from her perch on the Forestry’s fire lookout tower, and the vista of rolling, dark green foothills beckoned. If only she were a hawk, she could open her wings and soar out over western Washington, perhaps fly straight to the Pacific Ocean. She squinted, trying to see the grey blur of distant water, but it was too far. To the north, Mt. Baker gleamed in its white tattered coat, and to the south she could see Mt. Rainer, the massive volcano misty and majestic, clouds crowning the upper slopes. And all the way between these two giants, the Cascades jutted up into the blue sky.
She turned her back on the glories of the mountainside to get a better look at the beauty of mankind. Through the open doorway she could see Peter sitting beside the radio counter. He had his feet up and crossed, his long legs stretched, and his smooth tan-gold skin exposed by the open throat of his khaki shirt and rolled sleeves. The muscles on his forearms were smooth bulges of impressive strength. A simple band captured his long, black hair, the length of which fell beyond his shoulder blades. But it was his eyes that startled. The pale blue, the color of arctic ice or the underside of a glacier, glowed. His ethnicity was hard to place, varied elements of the exotic—high cheekbones, a long nose, rounded lips—blended together into masculine perfection. Though she had never seen him in town, she expected that he turned heads wherever he went. He was that beautiful. She sighed. And she didn’t stand a chance.
She wandered inside, the tower room no bigger than her bedroom at home, and sat on a metal stool. He watched her with his strange eyes, an unreadable half-smile on his lips.
He never flirted or asked her to come back, but somehow she knew he liked seeing her. She couldn’t quite pinpoint how she understood this, but the feeling was enough. And hey, a gorgeous man sitting alone for days on end seemed like a terrible waste.
And to think, just two months ago she hadn’t even known he existed. What had made her want to hike up this particular Forestry trail, she wasn’t sure. Fate? Karma? She shook her head. Since that first meeting though, when she had found him here in his splendid solitude, she had hiked up nearly every weekend—drawn like a moth to a candle.
Sure to get burned too, she thought.
“So what teas did you bring?” he asked, interrupting her musing silence.
Her knapsack sat rumpled on the floor by her feet, so she picked it up. “Peppermint, of course. And chamomile with a touch of lavender and ginseng.”
White teeth flashed in his tan face as he smiled, and her heart fluttered.
“And did you make them yourself?” he inquired.
Warmth grew on her cheeks, and she glanced down. “Yes. Though my sister’s compounds are stronger.” Everything Isabel did was better, but that didn’t make Arlene jealous. She accepted it. Isabel couldn’t help who she was.
“But I don’t know your sister. I know you.” His pale eyes watched her and she thought maybe, at last, something might be happening. Her lips parted, and she breathed out slowly, like one might do if approached by a deer in the woods. No sudden moves. She lost him though. He blinked, seeming to realize he was staring, and turned to gaze out the window, face unreadable. Distant. Why couldn’t she reach him? Why did he always pull away?
She stood up and fussed with his hotplate to keep her disappointment from being too obvious. It wasn’t like she was desperate or anything. She wasn’t that little girl standing by herself on the playground while the other girls laughed at her. Not anymore. It was just that she knew he liked her—so why did he close down whenever they started to click?
The kettle sloshed when she shook the handle, so she set it on the hotplate and found the battered teapot he kept on the shelf. Not for the first time she wondered how often he left the tower. He had a cabin below, a small little hut really that belonged to the Forest Service, but she had never found him in it, nor been invited inside. An intense sexual longing filled her at the thought, and her cheeks flamed despite herself.
She wasn’t really this person, was she? The dry spell between boyfriends had lingered this time, but still. She just wasn’t the kind of girl to look at a man and see his sexual potential. But Peter… for some reason she could see him naked and above her, his smooth muscles flexing as he…
“So Peter,” she interrupted her own thoughts, her voice a tad shaky. “Had any excitement lately?” She didn’t look at him, but dug through her sack. The fresh perfume of the lavender and peppermint enlivened the air.
“It’s been a quiet summer.” His voice was lyrical with a hint of an accent. “Some campers down at Rustle Creek reported seeing a large bear and of course we’ve had our usual complaints about wolves howling in the night. I think we get more wolf reports here than they do at Yellowstone.”
She pressed her lips together to smother a laugh. “At least they don’t kill the livestock.”
“True.” His tone held amusement as well, and she glanced at him, wondering if he knew the town’s secret. Well, one of Cedarville’s secrets—there were plenty to go around.
The kettle began to whistle and steam. She poured the hot water carefully, filling the pot. The fragrance of herbs permeated the tower despite the open door and the constant mountain breeze.
She let the tea steep and turned back to face him. How to draw him out? Usually it wasn’t so hard to get men to talk about themselves. “So Peter,” she started. “You told me your mother was Native American, but you never told which tribe. Is it one of the local ones?”
His face closed up. Not in any one obvious way, it was just something that happened whenever she asked him a personal question. He could chat about fires and trees and wildlife until the day ended, but if she tried to get too close… It was like a door closed somewhere behind his eyes and the light went out. He never even lost his pleasant smile, but the chill grew noticeable. “My mother’s tribe is gone now. The
y were tiny to begin with.” He glanced at her and shrugged.
“And your father? You said he was French-Canadian.” She handed him his mug.
“Hmmm.” He smelled the tea.
She raised an eyebrow at him. Couldn’t he do better than that?
“And what of your parents?” he asked, cool eyes peering into hers. “I know of your sister but you have never mentioned your mother or father.”
She shrugged. “They live in Arizona. Sun City. My mom loves the lifestyle down there, and my dad plays a lot of golf. He’s in some kind of senior league. I go down and see them a couple times a year.” She tried to make it all sound pleasant and normal. The reasons behind her parents signing over the house, moving south, and then forbidding her sister from ever visiting them were too complicated to get into. Plus, she would have to tell him about the cats—and he would either think she was crazy, or he would believe her, and either way, he would never want to see her again.
He put his mug down and stood up. And up. She always forgot just how tall he was. For a moment he looked like an Indian brave in a movie, stoic and exotic, his golden skin glowing and his black hair blowing back in a burst of wind. Her heart beat faster as she watched him. She longed to kiss him so bad her lips ached.
I am such a fool. Why couldn’t she just accept that for whatever reason, he just wasn’t going to pursue her? She had given him a thousand chances to flirt, and he never took a single one.
“Thank you for coming up here and visiting me, Arlene,” he said at last as he approached her, and loomed over her.
She tilted her head to look at him. Waiting. Still hopeful. Was he going to say more? Would he finally ask her to dinner? The word “yes” formed on her lips.
His pale eyes stared into hers. They were such a strange color. Despite the warm summer air, they reminded her of a winter storm. Frost. Yes! Her mouth wanted to say. She leaned forward, lips ready.
“I think you should head back now,” he said.
“Ye…what?” She blinked.
His lips twitched. “I don’t want you on the trails when dusk comes. There’s that giant bear wandering around. And wolves.”
“Like one of them would bite me. I’d give them a good whack on the nose and Creed would have their hide.”
“Creed?”
She forced a smile. She was rattling off at the mouth about stuff she shouldn’t divulge. Other people’s secrets. “The Sheriff.” She shrugged in embarrassment. “I work for him. I do dispatch and paperwork.” All her visits to Peter and he had never even asked after her job. This really was hopeless. And yet, staring into his shimmery eyes, it was as if he knew her. As if he knew everything about her. She swayed a bit closer. He smelled good too. Like man and sun.
“So, you think the Sheriff will protect you from wolves?”
She grinned. “Well, if a wolf ate me, he would have its head on a platter. That part I’m sure of. I’m pretty good at my job.”
He frowned, and a strange intensity stilled his face almost to granite. His eyes burned cold fire. “And are you and this Creed together?” he whispered and she could have sworn a cold breeze blew over her arms. She shivered.
“No. He’s engaged. She’s a nice girl. She was a teacher in California.”
He stepped back from her, shaking his head as if to clear it, and the room warmed. When he looked back at her, his face was mild and friendly. The mercurial switching of his moods made her dizzy. Had he been jealous? She stifled the burst of wild hope. Why would he be jealous?
“Thanks again for the tea.” He slid her knapsack over her shoulder, his fingers brushing her bare skin exposed by her tank top.
Before she knew it she was climbing down the metal stairs, her boots loud on the grated steel. He followed her down, and when she glanced at him, his brow furrowed. Thoughtful.
At the base of the tower, she forced a happy smile, though she couldn’t help but feel kicked out and rejected. But like any glutton for punishment, she pressed for more. “So, should I come next weekend? I can bring chocolate chip cookies.”
He stood in front of her, a wall of man and muscle. His eyes roamed over her face as if this was the last time he planned to see her. “No. Don’t come back.” His voice resonated deep and held a level of command that she had never heard from him before.
She stared. He had to say more. Was he secretly married or something? She didn’t see the wedding band. Silence thickened the air between them. The pain clenching her heart became hard to ignore, but she tried. Her smile slipped from her face.
“Really?” she said quietly. “Not ever?”
“Don’t come back, Arlene. I… I have things I have to do. I’m very busy and you’re a distraction.”
A distraction? Her cheeks reddened. God, she was such a fool.
She opened her mouth but couldn’t think of any good reply. Tears came instead, adding to her humiliation. “Okay. Have it your way.”
His stoic frown seemed to crack and sympathy filled his eyes—but before he could say anything more, she turned and ran. She knew she would feel stupid for days, but she couldn’t take his pity. She jogged down the trail, flying over the stone steps and stumbling a bit until a growth of young pines hid the tower from sight. She gasped and caught her breath. She cursed the tears streaking down her cheeks. Silly girl. He was a bastard, and she told herself firmly that she didn’t care.
She glanced up the trail, half-expecting that he would follow her. He hadn’t.
Taking a deep breath, she marched toward home. Stupid Peter. Well, it wasn’t like he was her boyfriend or anything. This wasn’t misery she felt, only rejection. And the ache in her chest? Not heartbreak, that was for sure.
When she reached another slope, she ran again, the wind whipping at her ponytail and earrings, more tears stinging her eyes. Half-blinded, she let her forward momentum pull her faster and faster, until it seemed like she wasn’t running but flying.
Her foot missed a step. She fell over the edge of the trail and hit the rocks and brush. The slope slammed into her. The sharp, hot taste of blood filled her mouth. Sliding and rolling, the world went by too fast to make sense of it. Sky. Granite. Tufts of grass. All passed before her eyes. Her head thumped stone. Her arms flailed. She tried to grab onto the loose dirt, but the earth kept slipping through her hands. The plants tore at the roots, and she fell further and faster. A rock hit her jaw and fireworks burst in front of her eyes. Then relief. She had stopped rolling. A warm darkness consumed her and she gave herself to it, glad to be free from the pain.
CHAPTER TWO
Peter watched her run away, her blond hair shining like a gold pennant, and he wanted to catch her, twirl her around and beg her forgiveness. And kiss her senseless. Don’t forget that part. He clenched his jaw, the muscle twitching and jumping, and his hands curled into fists.
Another part of him fought to spring after her, because that was the difference between prey and predators. The second she jogged off down the hill he had to clasp his arms around himself to keep from pursuing her, his instincts riled, and the roaring of bloodlust ripping through his veins. He used all his self-control to turn his back on her. This was exactly why he needed her gone. He had been a fool to encourage her as much as he had.
A vision of her standing on the balcony of the lookout tower came to him, her feather earrings dancing on the breeze and her smile lighting up her face.
She was so lovely—one of the most stunning women he had seen in his long life, with her sparkly blue eyes, her full lips and slightly tilted nose. Yet for all her beauty, she seemed unaware of the effect she had on men. She was awkward as she tried to flirt with him, and he found her charming. It had been a century since he had been charmed.
He stomped toward his small, rustic cabin by the side of the tower. He told himself he had done the right thing, though the tears that had sprung to her eyes burned him. She had brought him nothing but kindness and company, and he had rebuffed her with cold rejection. Cold. Well, that was
certainly the word for it. But then that was his nature.
Weeds grew about his front step, yellow dandelions bright in the sunlight, their puffs of seeds going up like smoke into the air as he stomped toward his door. He liked the wild things and their aggressive natures. Let Mother Earth take back her little corners. He reached for the knob but paused. The woods abounded with the birdsong and the quiet whisper of the breeze through the cedars, but he heard something else, the crunch of a step on the carpet of pine needles.
A musky scent tickled his nose.
Bear. She lumbered around the corner of his cabin, her huge feet sinking into the soft, crumbly earth of the meadow. The wildflowers crushed at her passage. Her massive shoulders rippled beneath the heavy layers of golden brown fur.
She stared at him with the gold-glowing eyes of a shapeshifter.
“I told you to leave,” he said.
In a blur of motion and a swirl of magic, she shifted. It was like two shapes inhabited one space, one huge and on all fours, and the other slight and standing upright. Bones stretched beneath her skin as one form shrunk down into the other, fur disappeared, snout tightened. Then the strange double image solidified into one.
As a woman, she had brown-gold hair, the same color as the bear, and it fell in erratic and tangled waves down to her hips. Bits of pine needles and scraps of moss adorned the snarled tresses. She stood otherwise naked, though smears of dried mud marked her tan skin.
She rubbed a hand up her flat belly and over one of her large, ponderous breasts. A slow smile pulled at her pouty lips. Dirt marked her cheek, but her teeth gleamed white. “Pierre,” she said in perfect, if slightly formal, French. “Mon cher. You have sent your pet scampering away. For good?”
He wrinkled his nose. Her feral scent had not changed when she shifted shape. “I told you to leave my territory.” He had told her that months ago, and still she lingered.
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