Winter of the Wolf (Hunt 2)

by Cherise Sinclair

  A child. Can’t run. She fought the constriction in her lungs. I have a weapon.

  The monster advanced a few steps, red-brown eyes focused on them. But it seemed smaller. Thinner.

  It was smaller. Not the same creature? There were more?

  With a vicious snarl, the hellhound trotted across the lot toward them.

  Bree took a step forward and snapped, “Run, Jamie!”

  Don’t let it look at the girl. As Jamie fled, screaming shrilly, Bree aimed. She pulled the trigger three times. Bullets hit the creature along the head and shoulders. Dull thuds. A ping as something hit the concrete. Why wasn’t it bleeding? Dying?

  Terror iced her belly as the creature advanced, step by step. She couldn’t stop it. The shark-shaped head turned toward Jamie.

  No no no. You can’t have her. Bree charged and pulled the trigger. If she could divert it long enough…

  Even as the pistol clicked on empty, the creature veered toward the child.

  Bree rammed into its shoulder. It staggered back a step, then turned.

  Jaws closed over her forearm. Its teeth punched through her sweatshirt, through her skin, into her flesh. Pain ripped up her arm. Hurts; it hurts. As her vision fogged, her knees buckled.

  Something barreled into the creature.

  It released her and whirled.

  Bree gasped. “No, Jamie!” But it wasn’t the kid.

  Zeb had hit it. On his hands and knees, he tried to dodge, but the hellhound grabbed his leg. He grunted in pain.

  No! Arm burning like fire, Bree scrambled to her feet.

  Elvis darted from the darkness and attacked from the rear. The big dog’s growls filled the air.

  With a snarl, the monster dropped Zeb and whipped around.

  Elvis jumped away—too slow. He yelped as the monster caught him, shook, and flung him across the concrete.

  Zeb rolled to his feet, pulling a pistol from a tied-down holster. “Hey!”

  The monster turned, and Zeb fired. The bullets thudded dully. Some were deflected off the plating, shattering the concrete.

  “Fuck.” With a growl, Zeb pulled a knife from a hip sheath and planted his feet.

  An uncontrollable scream rose in Bree’s throat. His knife wouldn’t work. It would break as hers had. The men had no idea what this was.

  The monster charged Zeb.

  Snatching her revolver off the ground, Bree threw it, then gravel as well. “Get away from him!”

  It veered toward her…

  Elvis attacked again. The monster snapped around and ripped at the dog’s furry neck. Elvis gave a pained, gut-wrenching whine.

  Zeb lunged forward in a low dive, hit the pavement on his shoulder, and rolled onto his back. Half-under the monster, he punched his knife up into the beast’s belly.

  In. The knife went in. Bree stared as Zeb slashed toward the monster’s back legs, gutting it like a chicken.

  Dark blood gushed. Everywhere. Snarling continuously, the creature staggered. Fell. It landed heavily on Zeb, and he cursed.

  As the rust-colored eyes filled with emptiness, Bree panted. Would it get up? In movies, monsters always came back to life.

  It didn’t move. And Zeb was alive, swearing and trying to shove out from under the thing.

  Elvis. His furry body lay unmoving.

  “No. No, this can’t happen.” Tears blurring her eyes, Bree to him. Not Elvis. Not another death. Oh please. She fell to her knees beside the dog. He whined. Still alive. She hugged him with her uninjured arm. “You saved us. Please be okay.”

  But blood poured from his gashed flesh, warm over her chilled fingers. Too much blood.

  Choking on sobs, she tried to check how badly he was hurt, but the lot was too dark and kept getting darker. She heard people running, yelling. Getting closer, even as the noise slowly faded…

  Shay! Zeb tried to see over the hellhound’s body, but fucking plating pinned his legs against the concrete.

  The sound Shay had made rang in his ears. And Bree—where was she? Sweating with fear, Zeb shoved at the hellhound, ripping his leathers, then his skin on the sharp points of the armor. Finally, it shuddered and died, shifting back to its lighter human form.

  “Fucking demon scum.” Zeb pushed the corpse off and staggered to his feet. Pain blazed down his leg as he half-ran, half-limped to Shay.

  Find Bree too. How the hell had she gotten hurt? In a town of shifters, no hellhound would attack a human. It should have gone straight for Calum’s werecat kid.

  When Zeb reached Bree and Shay, he tried to kneel. His leg buckled, and his knees impacted the pavement in a blast of agony. “Fuck!” Teeth clenched, he slid closer.

  Bree was out cold, lying half across the wolf.

  “Dammit, little female.” His chest tightened as he remembered how she’d deliberately drawn the hellhound’s attention. So appallingly gutsy. He gently moved her off of Shay, so he could check their wounds.

  His gut clenched. Blood everywhere, from both of them: matting the fur on Shay’s shoulder and neck, drenching Bree’s pale blue sleeve with darkness. Fuck, where was he supposed to start?

  The weaker human. He tore her sweatshirt sleeve away. By the God of the Hunt. Her arm looked like she’d shoved it in a wood chipper. Delicate female skin—wrong to see it damaged. The scent of blood filled the air. Too late. Again, too late.

  He pressed his palm over her wounds, trying to staunch the terrifyingly fast flow of blood.

  People were coming, at long fucking last. Three cahirs ran across the parking lot from the direction of the road. More people poured from the tavern, and he realized the fight had lasted only a minute or so.

  Spotting Calum and his daughter in the lead, Zeb yelled, “Get medical supplies!”

  “I will,” the Cosantir’s cub yipped. “I’ll get them.” She spun around, dashing back to the bar.

  Calum reached them first and simply ripped the sleeve off his white shirt. He knelt beside Shay and used the fabric as a bandage, putting pressure against the wolf’s neck wound.

  Shay didn’t make a sound.

  Dammit, Shay. Zeb found it hard to breathe. “Is he…?”

  “He’s alive.” Calum motioned one of the cahirs over. “Owen, Donal returned yesterday. Get him up here.”

  “Aye, Cosantir.” Owen pulled a cell phone from his pocket.

  In a lower voice, Calum ordered the other cahir, “Ben, get the humans out of here before the healer arrives.”

  “Will do, Cosantir.”

  “We heard screaming.” Alec dropped down beside Zeb, scowled at his leg and Bree’s arm. “There’s a mess.”

  The Cosantir’s cub skidded to a stop. “Daddy, here’s the stuff.” Choking with sobs, she laid a metal box on the ground.

  “Thank you, Jamie. Now go back in the tavern.” Calum silenced her protest with a glance. As she left, he flipped up the lid of the medical kit with one hand and handed Zeb dressing supplies. “Tend your leg.”

  As Zeb took the gauze, Calum said, “Alec, see to the girl.”

  Every territorial instinct in Zeb objected. Mine. Biting back his protest, he started wrapping his leg.

  Alec pulled supplies from the box and pressed a handful of gauze to Bree’s arm. She moaned, rousing enough to pull away.

  With a snarl, Shay scrambled to his feet and snapped at Alec.

  The cop snatched his hand back. “By the God, Shay.”

  Shoulder and neck streaming blood, Shay positioned himself over Bree and growled.

  “Shay, stop it.” Relief lightened Zeb’s voice—his partner was alive.

  When Alec tried to touch Bree, Shay growled again. “Well, that’s helpful,” Alec said, holding the useless bandages. “You’d think he was her mate.”

  “So it seems,” Calum said.

  The other two cahirs were still moving people away. Headlights streamed down the road as the parking lot emptied of cars. Despite shaking hands, Zeb finally knotted the fucking dressing on his leg. Bree was bleeding. He
must—

  “Zebulon.”

  “Cosantir?”

  “Take the dressings and bind up Breanne’s arm. Shay might permit you to touch her.”

  Finally able to do as he needed, Zeb snatched the gauze pads and rolls from Alec. He shoved a wad of gauze against Shay’s ripped up neck and curved his hand over it, holding it here. With his shoulder, he nudged the wolf sideways. “Move, dummy.”

  As the wolf eased over, Zeb used the gauze in his free hand to put pressure on the mess the hellhound had made of Bree’s arm.

  Her cry of pain broke Zeb’s heart.

  Shay snarled, and he snarled back. “You bite me and I’ll break your fucking teeth.”

  With a low whine, Shay leaned against Zeb’s side, and the warmth was comforting. But Bree’s bleeding didn’t slow, and the gauze Zeb held on Shay’s neck was already blood-soaked. Fuck. Would the idiot let someone care for the wound on his shoulder?

  A car roared into the lot and screeched to a halt a few feet away.

  “Thank the Mother,” Alec muttered.

  As the lanky driver dashed over, Zeb spotted a silvery crescent-moon on his cheekbone—the mark of a healer—and he echoed Alec’s sentiment.

  Shay growled weakly as the man approached.

  Zeb huffed an exasperated breath. “That’s the healer, and by Herne’s big balls, you need one.” Quickly. Not even a cahir could bleed forever.

  A human would have even less time. He looked up at the Cosantir. “What about Bree?”

  “An ambulance is on the way from the valley. Keep pressure on her arm.” Calum’s eyes were dark with frustrated anger as he walked over to speak with Owen. Zeb understood. But a Cosantir’s power didn’t include the ability to snuff out hellhounds.

  That was a cahir’s job. Zeb’s guilt increased.

  “This is the new cahir, right?” The healer knelt and reached for Shay.

  The wolf twisted. With his nose, he nudged the healer’s hand toward Bree.

  “She’s not Daonain, Shay,” Alec said. “The healer can’t help her.”

  Shay growled at Alec, then whined at Zeb.

  Did Shay think she was a shifter? Not possible. She had a human scent. Yet the hellhound had attacked her, not Jamie. With the scent of a Daonain in the area, the demon-dog shouldn’t have wasted a moment on a human. Zeb stared at Bree, tracking the elusive thought, trying not to panic at how much blood Bree and Shay were losing. Maybe…maybe. “Cosantir?”

  Calum returned and gripped Zeb’s shoulder with a pulse of power. “Cahir, what do you require?”

  He tried to speak quickly, yet make sense. “I think… As a child, she was found with a lifemating bracelet.”

  “Was she now?” Calum murmured. “Go on.”

  “The hellhound attacked her instead of going after Jamie. And Shay…”

  Despite the blood loss and the tremors shaking his body, the wolf still tried to guard Bree.

  “That’s not how a shifter acts toward a human,” Zeb finished, trying to keep pressure on Shay’s neck and instill strength into his partner through his touch. Fuck, the stubborn mongrel was going to bleed to death in front of them all.

  “No. It isn’t.” Calum took a knee beside Zeb, caught his gaze, and held it. “How do you feel toward Breanne, Zebulon?”

  “Like Shay.” Insanely protective didn’t even come close.

  “So.” The Cosantir considered only a second. “Donal, try to heal the girl first. Let’s see if you succeed.”

  “But…” Donal’s silver-gray eyes showed his protest.

  The Cosantir tilted his head in a silent command.

  “As you will, Cosantir.” Taking Zeb’s place, Donal pulled the gauze back, hissing as the damage to Bree’s arm was revealed. He glanced at Calum in obvious disapproval of wasting time, then bent his dark head and set his hands around the wound.

  Zeb pulled Shay closer so he could put pressure on his shoulder wound as well. And he watched.

  Magic shimmered the air as the Mother’s soothing power moved through the healer. The bleeding slowed. Zeb held his breath as if a noise would start the flow again.

  The healer pushed the white tendons together, and the cords fused. Stayed. He moved to the muscles, layer by layer. His touch was slow, careful, thorough. Finally, he slid the pieces of skin together, like a jigsaw puzzle, and then only fragile pink lines remained to show Bree had been hurt.

  Shay’s tail thumped the ground.

  “By the Mother,” Zeb whispered. “She’s one of us.”

  “Now the wolf,” the healer said, using his forearm to wipe the sweat from his brow. He motioned Zeb away from Shay.

  Zeb moved back gladly. A healer. Shay would live.

  “One of us? That answers a question or two,” Alec commented.

  “And raises more,” Calum said dryly. “She doesn’t smell like a shifter, and I don’t sense her as one either. If she were thirteen, this would make sense, but she’s far too old to never have trawsfurred.”

  From the pain in his leg, Zeb knew he’d fall if he tried to stand. Instead, he scraped across the concrete to the little female. As her eyes fluttered open, he couldn’t keep from gathering her up. Small and soft and so fucking brave.

  His hand on Shay’s neck, Donal glanced over his shoulder. “Cosantir, no matter how old, that female is a shifter, and she’s got major problems.”

  * * *

  “…is a shifter…“

  Bree heard a man’s voice as she wakened. She started to panic, then remembered: the monster was dead. Zeb had killed it.

  Warmth surrounded her. The roar of pain in her arm had died to an aching noise.

  After a moment, she realized someone had her on his lap. Her cheek lay against a solid chest—a man’s chest. His heartbeat thudded in her ear.

  When she tried to sit up, she heard a rumble of denial, and the arms tightened. “Stay put, little female.”

  “Zeb?” She tilted her head, but saw only his corded neck and the strong, clean line of his jaw. As he held her firmly against him, he rubbed her back in slow, comforting strokes.

  She sighed as exhaustion blurred her mind. Everyone was alive, but no—they were hurt. She jerked upright, and Zeb grunted in pain.

  “S-sorry,” she stammered. His leg—the monster had bitten him. He was bleeding while she sat all comfy on his lap. Was he insane? “Let me up. I need to check your leg. And Elvis too.”

  “Shhh.” He snuggled her closer, and his long hair brushed against her cheeks in a soothing kiss. “I’m okay. Donal’s taking care of…Elvis.”

  She should check anyway. From Sensei’s classes, she’d learned men never admitted to being hurt. She tried to get up, despite Zeb’s hold, but the effort only made her muscles tremble. “Why do I feel so weak?”

  “A healing uses some of your own energy. You’ll be tired for a while.”

  “A what?”

  “Dammit, lie down.” A man’s voice.

  Bree lifted her head. People everywhere. Calum and Alec, others.

  Elvis stood in front of her and Zeb, facing away. A tall, dark-haired man was coaxing the dog to lie down, but Elvis didn’t move. He was guarding them.

  “Fuck, Shay,” Zeb said and tried to rise with her in his arms.

  “Let me up.” Struggling against Zeb’s hold, Bree looked for Shay. He could help with Elvis.

  With a grunt of exasperation, the stranger turned to Calum. “Cosantir, he’s too agitated to cooperate. The humans are gone. Shift him back.”

  “Seamus.” Calum grabbed the loose skin on the dog’s neck, holding Elvis despite his effort to pull away. His voice deepened, vibrated like the lowest key on a church organ. “Trawsfur.”

  The dog blurred as if a mist had surrounded him, and then Shay appeared on hands and knees. Naked. No dog.

  “No!” The monster had changed like that. In her apartment. To a man. And then… Panic swept through Bree, and she struggled against Zeb’s merciless hold. “Let me go!”

  “Shh
h.” His deep rough voice anchored her against waves of terror. “That’s Shay. You know Shay. He’d never hurt you, Bree.”

  She shuddered in a breath. Shay. Not a monster.

  His shoulder was a ghastly, mangled mess. His neck was worse. Like Elvis’s had been.

  Tears burned her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “He’s bleeding. We need to help him.”

  “The healer will.”

  Alec laid a blanket on the ground beside Shay. “Here, cahir. Onto this.”

  Still on hands and knees, arms shaking, Shay didn’t move. His steel-blue eyes were glazed as he looked at her and Zeb.

  “She’s all right,” Zeb said. “Get your fucking ass on the blanket and let the healer work.”

  Shay shook the hair out of his eyes, staring at her.

  “I’m okay,” she whispered.

  With a low groan, Shay collapsed sideways. The white blanket started to turn red.

  “‘Bout time.” The dark-haired guy knelt and put his hands right into the open neck wound. Shay’s face contorted in pain.

  Bree struggled. “No, he’s hurting him. What’s he doing?”

  Shay didn’t make a sound although the muscles in his jaw corded tight.

  “Shhh. It’s okay,” Zeb murmured. His arms caged her.

  She strained against his embrace and—

  Shay’s bleeding slowed. When the man’s fingers nudged the gaping edges closer, the flesh remained together.

  She blinked, shook her head. Dreaming? A dog turns into Shay? A person makes bleeding stop? How was he doing that?

  The man sagged, his face turning pale. His shoulders heaved as he gasped for breath.

  Calum grasped his collar and tugged until he no longer touched Shay. “Stop before you damage yourself, Donal.”

  “I can—”

  “You cannot.” Calum glanced at his brother. “Alec, find some women Donal has mated with—”

  Alec grinned. “Ahead of you, brawd. I already called a couple. Should be here any minute.”

  “He’s speaking English, but he’s not making sense,” Bree whispered fuzzily to Zeb.

  He made a low sound, almost a laugh, and actually nuzzled her hair.