Touch the Sky

by Kari Cole

  Luke nodded. “I’ll tell her.”

  “Too bad we couldn’t question Foy ourselves,” Dean said.

  A sigh escaped Vaughn.

  “Henry meant well,” Luke said. “He said he didn’t hit Foy that hard, but”—he shrugged—“the guy just dropped.”

  Yeah, with a broken neck. Henry Johansson may have been an older wolf, but he was a big male who kept in shape hauling machinery around his hardware store all day.

  “What about the gun, Dean?” Vaughn asked. “A Taurus Judge isn’t something we come across every day.”

  “What’s that?” Luke asked.

  Dean leaned against the wall. “It’s a snub-nosed revolver. Good for personal protection. Human judges have been known to carry it into the courtroom. Hence the name. Here’s the really fun part: it can be loaded with shot shells. For an easily concealed handgun, it packs a wallop. If Foy had landed a direct shot...well, let’s just say our Ms. Shipton is a lucky female.”

  He looked at Vaughn. “The serial numbers were filed off, of course. I have one of the guys looking into Judge sales in the area. That’s a long shot, though, as you know.”

  No surprise. The gun could have come from anywhere. Didn’t matter nearly as much as the male who’d wielded it. Or the female he shot.

  Vaughn looked to the private room’s door again, wishing he could see through it, right into Cassandra Shipton’s head. “I need to talk to our victim again. Tonight. Not tomorrow.”

  Luke paced across the small office, rubbing the back of his neck. “You think she lied to you? Knows more than she’s let on?” Before Vaughn could answer, Luke made a disgusted noise and dry washed his face. “Jesus, we’ve turned into a paranoid bunch.”

  “It’s not paranoia if it’s true,” Vaughn said.

  “Can you blame us?” Dean asked. “After what happened before?”

  Before. When rogues and members of their own pack murdered and manipulated in an attempt to take over the territory for themselves. When they killed Vaughn’s uncle.

  Luke made the noise again. “You know, Foy could have been shooting at Jessie or someone at the table behind them, or at no one in particular. Hell, maybe the guy just doesn’t like dogs in restaurants. Who knows? He could have been nuts. We just don’t know.”

  “Not yet,” Vaughn said. But he’d find out.

  “Speaking of,” Dean said, “what’s the deal with the wolf? We all know that’s no husky mix in there. And it’s not one of us.”

  Another mystery to solve. They were piling up around Vaughn like a landslide. “No idea, but it definitely doesn’t behave like any of our natural brothers I’ve ever seen. They tend to shy away from us. And that one—she called him Frost—has refused to leave her side. He guards her like a pup.”

  “Strange,” Luke said.

  Everything about the situation was. The Thunder Moon made everyone a little crazy. Izzy wasn’t far off when she said they were all twitterpated. Every lycanthrope grew extra-excitable this time of year. Still...something was going on.

  Finally, Vaughn said, “She’s jumpy as hell.”

  Dean snorted. “She did just get shot. That’d make me nervous.”

  Just then, the door to Shipton’s room opened and Sarah slipped out. Vaughn didn’t care if the fierce healer tried to take his head off or not. He needed answers and Cassandra Shipton was the only one who could give them. He stepped out into the main room, and both his and Dean’s radios chirped.

  Dean swore and answered dispatch. “Simmons.”

  “There’s multiple reports of a large fight at Turtle Point,” the dispatcher said, voice crackling with static. “Request all available support.”

  Unable to control his frustration at another delay, a growl vibrated in Vaughn’s throat. “Tell them we’re on the way.”

  With a last glance at Cassandra Shipton’s room, he strode for the exit.

  Something was out of place with that female. He had no proof other than intuition, but he’d get some.

  One way or another.

  Chapter Four

  Pink, purple, and gold streaked the dawn sky above the Cabinet Mountains, the view one you’d find on postcards or calendars. The sort of natural wonder that enticed tourists to come every year. The morning air was soft and fragrant with the scent of green, living things, the heat of the day still several hours off.

  Vaughn didn’t appreciate any of it.

  He swallowed a sigh and flexed one hand, then the other. If he wasn’t careful, he’d bend the Expedition’s steering wheel.

  Under normal circumstances, he did a good job checking his temper, but lack of sleep was fraying his nerves almost as much as Dean’s yapping. When Vaughn wasn’t on duty, he hunted Caine and Apex. No way would he just hope they were done with his pack. Add to that the Thunder Moon, and he was even busier than usual.

  By the time he and Dean arrived at Turtle Point last night, the fight between a couple of lunkheads had spilled over to the rest of the teens hanging out at the popular make out spot, turning it into a full-fledged brawl. Every minute spent sorting out the hormone-and-moon-fueled idiots was time away from the shooting investigation. It ticked him the hell off. Like an asshole, he’d snarled at the kids, leaving them pale and reeking of fear and submission.

  Then, on the way back to town, he’d had to pull over a drunk driver who’d nearly run his pickup into a car full of Gonzaga University coeds. All the paperwork had kept him at the department until it was so late he had to crash on the battered couch in his office.

  Now, it wasn’t even seven a.m. and he was responding to a call.

  He needed another full-time deputy. Someone with experience. Someone he could trust to take care of himself. Vaughn had been looking, but no one seemed right. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

  No. Not a mistake. Another. He couldn’t afford to make another mistake.

  Last year, Vaughn had hired Sam Vogel. The kid was smart, educated, dedicated, and a werewolf. In other words, tough as hell. But none of those things had protected him when rogues broke into the morgue Sam was guarding. The pack had lost one of its best, and it was Vaughn’s fault. If he or Dean had stayed behind to guard the morgue that night, Sam would still be alive.

  And maybe Dean would be dead instead of Sam.

  Dean, the pack Beta, who had a mate and pups who adored him.

  The thought was enough to fill Vaughn’s stomach with acid. The steering wheel creaked ominously beneath his grip.

  “All right?” Dean asked from the passenger seat.

  “Fine.”

  The big male shrugged and didn’t bother to conceal a huge yawn, triggering Vaughn to yawn, too. Cool air rushed in as he lowered the window to wake them up. As soon as it did, he and Dean both stiffened.

  “Fuck,” Dean said.

  A tendril of death curled through the rushing wind and grew stronger as they neared the Henderson ranch.

  Vaughn’s beasts perked up, searching for prey. Both fed him information, sorting the countless scent spoors to form a picture in his mind.

  “Animal. Not a person,” Vaughn said. Dean’s gaze snapped to him. “More than one. Sheep and...a dog.”

  “How the hell do you do that? All I’m getting is a whole lot of dead things,” Dean said.

  Vaughn shrugged.

  The rough, gravel driveway ended in front of a yellow two-story ranch home. Another of Vaughn’s deputies, a human named Ted Hubbard, waited next to one of their department cruisers. His short brown hair was wet around his face. He held a rifle across his body, at the ready.

  “Hell, that can’t be good.” Dean leapt out the door before they’d even rocked to a stop. The impatient ass always did that.

  After parking, Vaughn got out and turned a slow circle, taking in their surroundings. Everything appeared as a rural Montana ranch should
in the middle of July. Red and yellow flowers filled the house’s window boxes. A hundred feet to the right, a dusty pickup was parked in front of a faded red barn. Birds chirped in the trees, and cicadas hummed. Yup, everything seemed fine, unless you had a preternaturally strong sense of smell. Then the dark scent of death and decay ruined the pretty picture of an early summer morning.

  As Vaughn neared his deputies, the cold odor of silver and gun oil raised the hair on the back of his neck. Claws pricked the inside of his fingertips.

  Ted was loaded for shifter.

  “Last night, the Hendersons were in town, celebrating a friend’s fortieth birthday. When they got back around eleven thirty, they found...” Ted shook his head. “Well, you tell me, because I’ll be damned if I know what the fuck happened.”

  Dean’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. Whether from the use of profanity from a man who never uttered anything stronger than “hell” or the fact that an intelligent, experienced deputy like Ted seemed baffled by the situation, Vaughn didn’t know. He’d be shocked, too, but he seemed to have lost the ability. Maybe it was pulling Sam’s mutilated and half-eaten body out of a crevasse? Or maybe it was finding out his uncle had been murdered by members of his own pack.

  “Why didn’t they call last night?” Dean asked.

  “They did,” Vaughn said. “But we were all busy responding to other incidents. The regional dispatcher classified it as property damage.” I.e., paperwork to be filed for a home or business owner’s insurance, not an emergency.

  “Property damage.” Ted shook his head. “Idiots.”

  Going by the rancid stench overwhelming the morning breeze, they’d been very wrong. Damn it. Vaughn should have come out after stashing his DUI in holding.

  They were wasting more time standing here, staring at one another.

  “Let’s go.” Vaughn waved Ted back. He didn’t need any guide other than his nose. The smell of blood and rotting bodies grew stronger with every step. They didn’t have to go far either. The carnage started in the pen just behind the barn.

  “Jesus Christ,” Dean said in a hushed voice.

  Rust-colored chunks of lumpy, furry meat were strewn all over the muddy ground. Vaughn couldn’t quite make sense of what he was seeing at first. The problem wasn’t picking out the details. With his acute vision, there were too many. He chose a spot to focus and tilted his head.

  Lying in the middle of the pen, a small, black hoof and about six inches of wooly leg ended abruptly in a torn mess of sinew and bone. Next to it, the headless torso of an ewe, her cream wool stained as red as the churned-up earth below her.

  Then Vaughn realized what he should have recognized instantly: the ground wasn’t muddy from rainfall.

  It was drenched in blood.

  Pulse pounding in his ears, he spoke over Dean’s muttered stream of swear words. “How many?”

  “Hard to tell, given the state of ’em,” Ted said, his voice tight. “But going by the heads, ten. Henderson said that’s how many they had, so...” He pointed with the muzzle of his rifle toward the far side of the yard where the fence had been smashed into shards. A brown pile of blood-matted fur lay in a heap on the grass. “The dog’s there. Poor boy must have tried to keep it away from the flock.”

  The wolf howled low and mournful inside Vaughn.

  There were tracks crisscrossing the yard. Ones that made no sense. He sniffed and shook his head. His beasts insisted he was interpreting the scent spoors correctly, but he just couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Sheep, dog, and—

  “Bear.” Hands on hips, Dean stood above an almost-perfectly intact right front paw print. The dinner-plate-sized impression of five toes and claws captured in blood and earth. “That’s a freakin’ bear print.”

  “Yes,” Vaughn said.

  “What the fuck?”

  “It’s worse,” Ted added with an audible gulp, “inside the barn.”

  “How’s that possible?” Dean demanded.

  Together, Vaughn and Dean entered the pen through a latched gate, taking care where they stepped. It wasn’t easy and Dean started muttering again.

  One of the barn doors swung drunkenly from broken hinges, the door hardware dangling from one stripped screw. The other door had a chunk missing where the latch hook should have been.

  Dean growled, his eyes ringed with gold. “It broke into the barn? What. The. Actual. Fuck?”

  The smell coming from the open doors was...worse. Human or animal, the body’s reaction to terror and inescapable death was often the same. No matter how many times Vaughn encountered it, whether from accident, fire, or murder, he never really got used to it. Breathing through his mouth didn’t help.

  It was dark inside the barn, and when his eyes adjusted—

  “Fuck. Jesus. Fucking Hell!” Dean said.

  For once, Vaughn couldn’t fault him. He blinked hard, and for a second, actually wished his sight was as poor as a human’s. The interior looked like a Jackson Pollack painting done in blood and gore. This was where the creature had done most of his work. The poor sheep outside must have been trying to escape.

  Vaughn squeezed the copper cuff on his right arm, digging the warm metal into his skin. Maybe he was capable of being shocked after all. But they didn’t have time to freak out like civilians. Didn’t matter if every fiber of their dominant beings was furious at the disgusting waste of life, or that they wanted to end the thing that could do this to a defenseless creature. Not for food or self-defense. He looked around the barn-turned-charnel-house. The thing that had done this had enjoyed it.

  As if Vaughn had spoken his thoughts aloud, Ted said, “Sick bastard. Never heard of a shifter who’d do something like this.”

  Dean’s head snapped up.

  “What?” Ted asked. “Come on, I’ve been mated to a wolf long enough to know what you guys are capable of. Saw it firsthand back in February. But even then, in the middle of a war, no one did this.”

  “It’s not—” Dean said. His brow wrinkled in thought. Then he looked at Vaughn and shook his head. “I mean—shit. What the hell?”

  “What?” Ted asked.

  Vaughn breathed in, slowly, deeply, probing the air and trying to calm his furious, offended beasts. He met Dean’s eyes. “Definitely bear, but...”

  “But it smells...”—Dean inhaled, too—“strange. Sick or something.”

  Vaughn nodded.

  Ted ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “You mean this was a natural bear? How’s that possible? Rabies?”

  Vaughn walked around the outside of the pen. “Where are the Hendersons now?”

  “Inside. I told them they didn’t need to look at this anymore. Mrs. Henderson is pretty upset. These animals were like her babies.”

  That was the truth. Eileen Henderson was a staple at the farmers market over in Libby, selling hand-knit wool items and lanolin cream. Her booth was plastered with photos of fat cream-and-white sheep. If you let her, she’d regale you with stories about her flock as if they were precocious children.

  He’d love to shift into his wolf right now to track the creature, but not with the Hendersons so close by. They didn’t know about their shapeshifting neighbors.

  When he reached the broken section of fence, he stopped. Something was stuck on the shards of fence rail. Vaughn squatted to examine it. A piece of fur, black and coarse and reeking. He’d never encountered anything like it. And his beasts wanted nothing to do with it. Claws and talons flexed in preparation for battle.

  “What is it?” Dean asked, coming to his side. When he saw, he sniffed it, and his face contorted in disgust. “That’s not a natural bear.”

  “No,” Vaughn agreed. “It’s not a were either.”

  Ted’s eyes widened. “Well, what the hell else could it be?”

  Chapter Five

  “What were you and Sarah a
rguing about?” Jessie asked.

  Hannah sighed and leaned back against the cushions of the iron patio chair. She was still stuck at the healer’s clinic, but at least Sarah let her sit outside. Even if, according to her, Hannah was as dumb as moonstruck teen. “Birth control,” she said, tilting her face to the morning sun.

  Frost seemed happy to get away from the medical environs, too. Lying in the grass next to her chair, he watched birds flit from one branch to another, ears twitching as they called to each other.

  The clinic shared a large backyard with a two-story, brick and wood-sided home that, according to Jessie, belonged to the healer and her mate, the local pack’s Beta. There was a huge, multi-sectional play-set with swings and a climbing wall, and an open area littered with toys and a blue plastic wagon tipped on its side.

  “What?” Jessie asked.

  “Birth control,” she repeated.

  Her cousin huffed. “I heard you. I meant what are you talking about?”

  “She’s annoyed that I am taking birth control pills.”

  Boy, had the healer been mad about it, too. “Do you know what those things can do to a lycanthrope’s system?” A shouted litany of medical jargon had followed, which Hannah had happily tuned out. Because, eww, excessive body hair and abnormal bleeding? Yuck.

  “What the hell are you doing that for?” Jessie asked.

  “Well,” she said slowly. “I don’t want to get pregnant.”

  Jessie gave her a sour look. “Thanks. I meant why are you taking the human stuff? I know your mother taught you how to make the contraception tea.”

  The tea. A mixture of thistles, Queen Anne’s lace, and stone seed root. It stank to high heaven. Tasted worse, but worked like the magic it was. And did not agree with Hannah at all. “I can’t drink the tea. I’m allergic or something. It makes me hurl, and I have had quite enough of that, thank you very much. I know that the hormones in those pills can have side effects for a werewolf. But really, that’s only if we take them for too long. It’s the Thunder Moon. I didn’t want to take any chances.”

  She held up her gloved hands. “In case you hadn’t noticed, my life is a little messed up right now. I didn’t think adding a baby to the situation would be a good idea.”