by Sharon Sala
Five months of living in constant fear was getting to her. Never knowing if when she came home he would finally be inside waiting for her. Wondering if she had the strength to fight for her life. And it would be a fight to the death for one of them, that she knew for sure. She wasn’t the kind of woman who gave up.
It had all started with a note on her door. She’d come home from work to find it hanging from an old nail in one of the porch posts.
I’m watching you.
She’d taken the note to town with her the next day and shown it to the police chief. He’d taken both it and her with a grain of salt, and told her that all she had was an admirer, and unless there was an actual threat to her life, he could do nothing.
Worried, but not defeated, Luce had begun to take more notice of the people around her. But as hard as she tried, she could see nothing different about the people with whom she came in contact. No one seemed more intent on her comings and goings. No one seemed to seek her out when she was alone.
And just when she thought it might be over, another note showed up, then another and another—each one more invasive than the last.
The last one had come only days ago. Written in red ink, she’d taken it as a concrete threat.
I’m coming for you, and then I’m going to come inside you. I’ll make you like it, then I’ll make you sorry.
Then had come the trap. The moment she’d found Hobo in it, she’d known why it had been set. He was eliminating her only ally.
And then Jonah had turned up in her life.
Unexpected.
Unfamiliar.
She wasn’t sure what his arrival was going to mean in the long run, but right now, she was heartily thankful for his presence. Another winter was almost upon her, and here she was, almost five years after her arrival in Little Top, still living on someone’s charity.
Meeting Bridie Tuesday all those years ago had been an accident, but the meeting had turned out to be an answer to her prayer. It meant a lot to Luce not to be homeless. Still, living in this house and waiting tables down in town didn’t mean she had added all that much to her life. Except for a stray dog who’d adopted her, she was still alone.
She thought of the stranger who was sleeping in the spare bedroom and wondered if he would still be here at daybreak. He seemed like the kind of man who never stayed in one place for long. Then she amended the thought. He wasn’t like any man she’d ever met. She had no idea what he might do.
She looked along the foggy tree line one more time, and when she saw nothing out of place, hurried back inside, locking the door as she went. The tiny night-lights that she kept plugged into the floorboard outlets glowed just enough for her to see the way as she started to the refrigerator to get herself a drink.
Then he stepped out of the shadows.
“Lucia.”
Her heartbeat jerked so hard it felt like a ricochet as she grabbed hold of the back of the old sofa.
“For crying out loud,” she muttered. “You scared me into next week.”
Still bothered by the dream he had just had, the tone of his voice was less apologetic than it might have been.
“Sorry. I didn’t know you were up until I saw you coming inside.”
Her heart was thumping erratically as she flipped the light switch. Then, as soon as she had, she wished she’d left them both in the dark.
He was one of the most perfect specimens of manhood that she’d ever seen. Except for a pair of gym shorts, he was naked. His skin was a smooth coffee-brown all over. His muscles were hard and well defined, although he leaned toward being a bit too thin. His hair was as black as a raven’s wing and hung halfway down the length of his back. His long bare legs were braced slightly apart, as if readying for an attack. And his eyes—those strange, beautiful eyes—were fixed on her face. She shivered, remembering the bone-crushing climax she’d had from nothing more than touching him. She couldn’t help but wonder if they ever really made love, would she die? She didn’t want to be attracted to a man she didn’t know—but, God help her, she was.
“Aren’t you cold?” she asked.
He knew she was uneasy around him. Hell, he was uneasy around her, too. There was a sexual attraction between them that didn’t belong between strangers.
“I’ve learned not to be,” he said softly.
Luce was immediately ashamed of herself. She knew what it was like to be homeless—to live on the road. Ignoring creature discomforts was part of the lifestyle.
“Yes, well…don’t deny yourself tonight. Remember, there’s an extra quilt in your room.”
“Yes, I remember,” he said softly, but didn’t move. “You couldn’t sleep, either.”
It wasn’t a question. Luce’s fingers curled into fists. “It stopped raining,” she said.
Jonah said nothing about the change in conversation.
Hobo whined.
Luce blinked. She’d completely forgotten about him.
“You want out, boy?” she asked, as she walked back to the front door and opened it.
A cold blast of air circled her feet as the big dog licked her fingers before slipping out.
“He’ll be a while, so I’ll wait up,” Luce said. “Go back to bed.”
Jonah turned and went back into his room, but before Luce could breathe easier, he came back wearing a pair of jeans. Still barefoot, he moved to the fireplace and laid a fresh log on the burning embers. Almost instantly, the bark on the log caught fire. Tendrils of smoke curled from it and slipped upward into the chimney as he squatted down before it.
Luce watched the play of muscles across his shoulders and resisted the urge to touch him, just to see if his skin felt as smooth as it looked. Then she remembered what had happened the last time she’d touched him and took a defensive step back instead.
“Aren’t you going back to bed?” she asked.
“I had a bad dream.”
It wasn’t what she’d expected him to say.
“I didn’t know angels had bad dreams,” she said.
Jonah rocked back on his heels, then braced himself with his hands on his knees, without looking away from the fire.
“I’m no angel.”
“You are to me,” she said softly.
He hesitated, then sat the rest of the way down in front of the fire as the blaze continued to grow.
“I know,” he said softly.
Luce moved to the other side of the fireplace, then sat, too. With at least five feet between them, he surely wouldn’t read anything into that except a need to get warm.
The silence lengthened between them. From time to time Luce would glance at him, but only when she sensed he wasn’t looking her way. Finally her curiosity got the best of her.
“Jonah?”
He knew what was coming. It was the same question he’d had about himself for as long as he could remember. And there was nothing he could tell her. Still, he knew she was going to ask. Had to ask.
“Yes?”
“Who are you…really?”
For a few long moments he stayed silent. When he looked up, Luce thought she saw tears in his eyes; then he blinked, and she decided it had just been her imagination.
“I am Jonah Gray Wolf.”
Luce frowned. It wasn’t what she’d meant.
“What about your birth parents? Are there others in your family who can do what you do?”
Her question was startling to him. He’d never thought of his unknowns in that respect. Had there been others like him? Were they still around somewhere? And if so, how did he get so lost from them?
“I don’t have any parents.”
Luce laughed softly. “Everyone has parents, or at least had parents at one time.”
“My stepfather, Adam Lawson, was the only parent I knew.”
“But there are ways to find birth parents now. Online Web sites where all you have to do is register and—”
“I have nothing to tell.”
Luce misunderstood. “All you n
eed is the day you were born, and where. They’ve located parents with less information than that.”
“I don’t know any of that.”
Luce didn’t know why, but she persisted.
“Your stepdad would have had some information…like, how you came to him, where you were born, things like that.”
Jonah’s eyes glittered in the firelight.
“They say when I came to Snow Valley I was less than two years old and holding on to the hair of the she-wolf who’d brought me into camp. My father told me that she licked my face and left me sitting in the dirt.”
Luce felt as if she’d been kicked in the gut. She couldn’t find the breath to speak, let alone form words that made any sense. She didn’t know that her expression had changed from curiosity to shock, then fear.
He looked back into the fire, surprised that he actually cared about what she thought. It wasn’t often that he felt defeated, but tonight was one of those times.
A scratch at the front door, then a faint bark, was enough to break the uncomfortable silence.
“That’s Hobo,” Luce said unnecessarily, then ran to let him in.
Hobo’s feet were wet and a little muddy, and there were droplets of moisture from the fog on his fur. He whined a hello to Luce, then, with an apologetic look, left her and walked to the fire. He sniffed once at Jonah’s ear, then lay down beside him, snorting softly as he settled in front of the fireplace.
Jonah felt acceptance from the animal as strongly as if it was a physical caress and wondered if he would ever feel that from a human. Most of the time, what he felt from them was a mixture of relief and fear. Relief that he’d healed their loved ones. Fear at how it had happened.
He laid a hand on Hobo’s head, feeling the wet fur and the dog’s beating heart at the same time as he felt Luce’s discomfort. And there was another emotion. One rarely identified. One never acted upon.
The possibility of something happening between him and Luce Andahar was strong. It was up to him as to whether or not it happened, because he knew his power over her was far greater than what she could muster. But all he had to do was remember his father’s broken and bloodied body to convince himself that having a relationship of any kind could be life-threatening, if not deadly.
He couldn’t afford another death like that on his conscience. Not when he had the power to prevent it. When she came back to the fire, she stopped only a few feet behind him.
“Jonah…”
“Go to bed,” he said softly.
“But—”
He turned, and the look on his face stopped her heart.
“Go. To. Bed.”
The words hit her like blows. She felt the emotion behind them and knew she wasn’t ready for what was between them. Might never be ready. Without saying another word, she pivoted sharply and headed for her bedroom, locking the door behind her.
Jonah heard the slight click of the lock and then closed his eyes. If she really knew how useless that lock was, she would never close her eyes again.
Jonah wasn’t the only one that night who had nightmares about the past. The failure of Major Bourdain’s latest hired gun was weighing heavily on his mind. He’d been trying to find a way to get past Jonah Gray Wolf’s power for more than ten years, but so far he had failed miserably. Frustrated, he slept and dreamed of the second time they’d come face to face.
The phone rang just as Major was finishing lunch. He heard the ringing and frowned as he swallowed the last bite of his favorite cheesecake. When the butler brought him the phone, his frown deepened. He didn’t like being disturbed during meals.
“Yes?”
The terseness of his greeting was lost on his caller as he delivered the news that Major had been waiting to hear.
“We’ve got him!” Hicks said.
Major smiled. “Where are you?”
“Just getting into the chopper.”
“How did it go?”
“We had a bit of a problem, but it’s being dealt with.”
Bourdain frowned. “What the hell do you mean…problem?”
“His father…he resisted.”
Bourdain’s frown deepened. “Resisted how?”
“He’s dead.”
Bourdain cursed loud and long. “That’s exactly what I told you not to do! I told you, don’t make waves. Damn it to hell!”
“What’s done is done. We’ll be there in a few hours.”
“If you bring down the law on me, I’ll deny any part of this.”
“Damn it, Bourdain. You’re the one who gave the orders.”
“I dare you to prove it,” Bourdain said. “No money has changed hands. As far as I’m concerned, you’re my gardener’s brother. If the cops want to know why there’s a phone call between your phone and mine, all I have to do is point to him.”
“Now you listen here,” Hicks began.
“No. You listen,” Bourdain said. “Keep your mouth shut and get here as soon as possible, and we’ll talk later.”
He hung up the phone in disgust, but the emotion soon passed. The ends justified the means, and he would consider the rest as collateral damage. And, looking at the positive, there was no way to connect the hired guns to him, and the chopper they’d flown into Snow Valley on had been painted with fake identification numbers. Once it landed at Bourdain’s estate and unloaded the cargo, it would be repainted again, guaranteeing the impossibility of tracing it. Ultimately, the men had done what he sent them to do. He got up quickly, anxious to make sure all was ready for the arrival of his new guest.
He’d had one of the largest bedrooms at the mansion readied for company, adding a minibar and a big-screen TV, as well as all the latest in video equipment. He didn’t know that Jonah had never laid hands on a video game, and would not be tempted by television programming or liquor. In Bourdain’s world, it was all about who had the best and the most toys. In Jonah’s, it had been about family and freedom—the very things that Bourdain had just destroyed.
The carpet in the bedroom was soft and thick, the bed and bed linens luxurious. The burgundy draperies at the twenty-foot windows were of the finest fabric. But it was the lock on the outside of the door and the bars at the windows that ruined the ambiance.
He’d thought of everything—everything except the fact that nature itself was about to revolt at what he had done.
Bourdain was on the verandah at the back of his estate, watching for the arrival of the chopper, when the phone rang again. He stepped back inside the French doors and picked up the receiver.
“Hello.”
He could hear men cursing and shouting, and the sounds of heavy impact, then Hicks was screaming in his ear.
“They’re everywhere! They’re everywhere! Flying into the windows! Flying into the blades! There’s blood and feathers all over and—”
Bourdain’s heart skipped a beat. What on earth was happening? Were they about to crash?
“Hicks! Hicks! Slow down! I can’t understand what—”
“Birds! All kinds of birds…they’re everywhere! Eagles. Doves. Ducks. Hawks. Little ones. Big ones. They’re following us. There’s no way to get away from them!”
“What the hell do you mean…birds are everywhere?”
“It’s this damned Indian’s fault. First there were the wolves…now it’s birds! He won’t call ’em off. I told him if he didn’t I was going to put a bullet—”
“Hicks! Hicks!”
“What?”
The timbre of Bourdain’s voice turned lethal. “You harm that man and I’ll kill you myself. Do you hear me?”
Hicks laughed, and it sounded crazy.
“Kill me? Hell! You won’t get the chance. This son of a bitch you wanted so bad is going to do it for you.”
“Just get him here alive!” Bourdain shouted.
“We’re all trying to stay alive!” Hicks shouted back; then he laughed again, and the sound cut through Bourdain’s senses like a knife. “Consider this your only warning. You better ba
tten down the hatches at your fancy mansion, because if we manage to get there in one piece, your troubles won’t be over. They’ll just be beginning.”
The dial tone was as startling to Bourdain as what Hicks had said. No one hung up on him. Ever. Yet Hicks had not only done so, he’d seemed to be threatening him, as well.
Bourdain slammed the receiver back onto the cradle. What the hell did the man mean, first wolves, now birds? He stomped outside, scouring the skies for signs of their arrival.
Without waking up, Bourdain rolled over to his other side, then settled back into the dream, picking up several hours after where he’d left off.
Bourdain was in the library reading when he realized it was getting dark. A glance at his watch told him it was too early for sundown. The only other thing it could be was a storm approaching. Frowning, he laid down his book and looked out, expecting to see gathering clouds. But it wasn’t clouds. The sky was full of birds.
Suddenly he remembered what Hicks had said about the birds attacking the chopper. His heart skipped a beat. What in hell was going on?
He stepped outside, and the moment he did, he was assailed by a cacophony of sound. It sounded as if thousands upon thousands of birds were calling to each other from the trees and shrubs surrounding his estate, from the forest beyond, along with those circling in the sky above. The hair rose on the back of his neck as he bolted back inside the house and slammed the door.
But safety was a long way away. He’d loved this room for its massive wall of windows, but now the windows had become its flaw, with their view of the winged horror outside. At that moment the housekeeper came running into the library with a look of terror on her face.
“Mr. Bourdain! There are birds everywhere! It’s a sign—an omen from God! Something bad is going to happen, I just know it!”
“Get back to the kitchen and don’t come out until I say so!” he shouted.
She didn’t have to be told twice. She ran from the room with her hands over her head.
Moments later Bourdain heard the familiar sound of an approaching chopper and ran to the French doors. He had a brief glimpse of the chopper before it was swallowed up by another cloud of birds.
