Winter of the Wolf (Hunt 2)

by Cherise Sinclair

  A car turned into the lot, and a woman jumped out. No coat. Her shirt misbuttoned. When Donal beckoned to her, she dropped to her knees, embracing him from the back. Donal revived as if the woman was water in a desert. Leaning forward, he set his hands around the ripped flesh on Shay’s shoulder.

  Bree could only watch in fascination.

  After another minute, Shay pulled away. The wound was mostly closed. No longer bleeding. “Enough, Healer. Help Zeb before you exhaust your strength.” Mouth set in determination, he pushed himself to a sitting position on the blanket.

  After studying Shay for a moment, the healer nodded. “Trade places with your brother then.”

  “He’s not—” Shay started. Stopped.

  The healer gave him a steady look. “Most brothers share a womb. Some, instead, share life and blood and death.”

  Shay’s head turned, and he stared at Zeb with an unreadable expression. Pain and exhaustion and…something else. “Well.” His voice was husky, strained. “Guess you’re right.”

  Bree realized Zeb had stopped breathing. His muscles were rigid.

  Shay let Alec pull him to his feet. Taking a step forward, he looked down at Bree. And Zeb. “A bhràthair, give Bree to me and let the healer tend you.”

  Silence.

  Zeb’s chest expanded as he pulled in a slow breath. His voice sounded as if he’d swallowed gravel. “Brother.”

  Shay’s shoulders relaxed. Still staring at Zeb, he lifted Bree into his arms.

  As Zeb was helped onto the blanket by the healer, Shay settled onto the pavement, adjusting her in his lap.

  She felt his cheek rest on the top of her head for a moment. “By the God, you scared me, Breanne,” he murmured. “I’ll yell at you later.”

  Okay. She leaned against his shoulder, soaking up the warmth of his body. Shudders ran through her, and yet, as with Zeb, she felt safer than she’d felt…ever.

  I’m sitting on a naked man who was a dog a few minutes ago.

  It didn’t seem to matter. Exhaustion swept over her and dragged her back into the depths.

  * * *

  Hours later in Breanne’s cabin, Shay watched her sleep. By Herne’s hooves, she’d come so close to dying. Her tiny freckles stood out on a pure white face. Needing to reassure himself she was alive, he brushed his knuckles over her cheek. Warm.

  She was going to be all right.

  With a groan of exhaustion, he walked out into the main room.

  Legs stretched out in front of him, beer in hand, Zeb rested in a chair and stared at the fire in the small woodstove.

  My brother. When he concentrated, Shay could feel the link to Zeb, warming the deep places inside. He’d shared the same tie to his littermates before they’d died. This bond might have been there a while, but the healer’s recognition had brought it into the light.

  He wasn’t alone in this world any longer. “Mo bhràthair.” My brother.

  Zeb lifted his head, and the acknowledgement showed in his eyes. Not that the gruff wolf would say anything.

  Not that anything needed to be said.

  Shay pulled a battered leather chair closer to the woodstove and imitated Zeb’s position, noticing a cold beer for him on the end table. Soothed by the crackle of the fire, he watched a salamander dance in the flames. His bones felt filled with lead, the familiar aftermath of a healing, and his partly healed wounds and bruises ached. Didn’t matter though. Not when they were all alive.

  Might not have been. If he and Zeb hadn’t already been headed back to report in, Breanne and Jamie would be dead. If Breanne hadn’t been insanely brave and diverted the hellhound’s attention, he and Zeb would have died. If a healer hadn’t been available, they all might have returned to the Mother.

  He touched his shoulder and neck—tender, but intact. No additional scars this time. If the Mother graced a shifter with her touch, she didn’t leave scars. Just warmth and love. What would it be like to be a healer and have that sensation moving through you? He shook his head and opened his beer.

  Zeb glanced at Shay’s neck, then his own leg. “Cold Creek’s smaller than Ailill Ridge, but has a healer.”

  Odd how their thoughts often followed the same trail. “If you were a healer, who would you choose for your Cosantir? Calum or Pete?”

  “Good point.” Zeb turned his gaze back to the fire. “She’s a shifter.”

  “Explains the lifemating bracelet.”

  “I don’t get the bracelet being on a cub.”

  “My mother let us wear hers. Just for a minute. It gives you a sense of the Mother, almost like when you trawsfur.” Smiling at the memory, Shay glanced at his new brother. Had Zeb’s mother never shared? Or perhaps she’d not been lifemated. Not all mothers were.

  “You figure she wore the bracelet when her parents were killed.”

  “Seems like. Car accident. Hellhound. Avalanche. She may never find out what happened.” Shay glanced at the bedroom, his ears tuned to her slow breathing.

  “Rough way to start a life.” Zeb drank some beer, then his rare grin appeared. “When she wakes up, Elvis might end up neutered.”

  Shay winced. “By the God, she’s going to be upset.” He’d first accompanied her as a wolf because she’d worried him. So weak, but determined to push herself up the trails. But after she grew stronger, he went simply because he liked her company. Liked seeing her increasing delight in the forest.

  “Yep.” Zeb leaned his head back, his face in shadow. “She’s a shifter, brawd. We going to do anything about that?”

  It took a second for Shay to get past being called brother before he comprehended what Zeb had asked. Did they want to try to win her as their mate? “I—no.” The taste in Shay’s mouth turned bitter. “You could pursue her, but I can’t. No female would want me for a mate.”

  “Oathbound?”

  “Aye.” Shay rubbed his jaw, searching for words. “When Cosantirs send requests for help with hellhounds, I can pick and choose like you do. But if Herne summons me to a location, I have to obey. My mate would have to follow, and everywhere I’m sent, the hellhounds are the worst. She’d never be safe. I’m oathbound until death, and face it, my life won’t be long. What female would tolerate that?”

  In the two years they’d been partners, Zeb had never asked about Shay’s past. Now the question lurked in his silence.

  Shay owed his brother the truth. “I’d led my pack for only a year, then I lost a member to a hellhound.” Mason had been scrawny teenager with green eyes. The hellhound had left very little behind. Shay’d been furious that something—whatever it was—had killed one of his wolves. “Although the pup’s blood was still warm, the elders advised against going after the creature. They’d heard of hellhounds.” Shay gave a bitter laugh. “I ignored them. I took the males, and we trailed it. My brothers and I led.”

  He’d seen the hellhound and charged. So stupid. “It caught me, shook me like a rat, and threw me into a tree.” Shay’s throat tightened, but he forced the words out. “By the time, I roused, my brothers were dead.”

  “A hellhound let you live?” Zeb asked incredulously.

  “Dawn was close. The fighting delayed the hellhound, and it fled…too late. The sun caught it, forced it to human form, and my wolves tore it apart.”

  “Lucky timing.”

  “Aye.” The demonkin could have killed his whole pack. “When I saw…” Peter and Thomas had died in agony because they’d tried to save his worthless hide. With his littermates gone, only the need for vengeance had remained for Shay. “I gave the pack to a wiser wolf and offered Herne my oath in return for making me a cahir.” A cahir possessed the size and strength to fight hellhounds. He leaned his head back.

  Although the fire had died to coals and a chill crept around the edges of the room, Shay felt the warmth of the brother-bond inside him. The thought of losing it was hard, but he forced the words out. “Eventually, Herne will summon me to the next territory that needs me.” Into the loud silence, he added, “
If you want Breanne, you should stay here.”

  Zeb turned, his face unreadable. “You dumping me? Brawd?” Pain threaded his voice.

  “By the God, no. Not willingly.”

  “My place is at your side, asshole.” Yet Zeb glanced at the bedroom door, and his unhappiness matched Shay’s.

  Breanne was special, pulling at Shay in ways he’d never felt before. But she deserved a life. Trying to win her, to see if she’d choose them, mustn’t happen. The knowledge joined the ache in his bones.

  But at least, when he left here, it would be with his brother. Shay pulled in a slow breath. “Then we travel together.”

  “Fucking right.” Zeb opened the door of the woodstove and tossed a log on the dying coals. As the wood caught fire, the salamander rose to twirl and dance in the golden flames.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Waking up sucked. Bree’s head hurt. Everything hurt. And there was an excessive amount of sunlight coming through the window. She squinted at it in annoyance.

  Shay slept in a chair beside her bed. The lines beside his mouth had deepened, and he looked as tired as she felt. When she stirred, he woke immediately. “Look who’s back among the living.” He leaned forward to stroke her hair off her face. His hand was gentle, and she pressed her cheek against his warm palm, needing the comfort.

  Where had that lost feeling come from? As she pushed up in the bed, her arm flared with pain.

  “Hold on.” He stood. Hands around her waist, he effortlessly lifted her to a sitting position. His face was so close she could see the dark gray circle around his blue irises. “Better?” he murmured, eyes intent.

  Far too aware of the strength of his hands, she couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. “Uh. Yes?”

  His lips curved. After he resumed his seat, he leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees. The sleeves of his blue and green flannel shirt were rolled up, showing off the thick muscles of his forearms and his golden tan.

  He was tanned all over, she knew, because she’d seen him naked last night. She shook her head. Right. Dreaming, Bree.

  “Breanne?”

  She frowned. “Why are you here?” In my bedroom?

  “You were hurt pretty badly. The healer closed the wounds on your arm, but he didn’t like the way you passed out later. We were worried.”

  Healer. Hurt. A chill swept up her spine as she stared down at her bloody, ripped sweatshirt. Her arm—the right arm had ugly, lumpy red scars from a month ago. Her left forearm had areas of fragile pink skin, but was perfectly smooth. “That wasn’t a dream?” she whispered, her chest tightening.

  A monster. Her hands clenched. In the bushes, the smell, Jamie screaming. “A creature attacked us.” The pain as teeth tore through her clothes, her skin. Her terror for Zeb. Elvis bleeding everywhere. Calum taking the dog’s…

  She stiffened. Calum had grabbed Elvis’s neck and then Shay had appeared. “Oh my God, you’re a dog. Elvis.” Her voice squeaked. “It’s a dream, right?” He didn’t even have a beard—how could have fur?

  “No dream, a leannan.”

  Zeb walked into the bedroom, carrying a steaming cup. Even though he scowled at her, he made her feel awfully female. And exposed.

  She pulled her covers higher and stuck her chin out. “What?”

  “You attacked a hellhound,” he growled. “Are you fucking nuts?”

  “Oh, well, next time I’ll let it kill a little girl.” Jamie would have died just like Ashley had. Torn apart. The memory lodged in her chest and choked her. She turned her face toward the wall, blinking hard.

  “Breanne?” Shay’s deep voice was gentle.

  But he’d transformed, just like the thing in her apartment. And then, the creature-man had… She swallowed. Don’t think of that.

  Everything about last night felt warped, like when she’d read the original fairy tales—the ones that didn’t have happy endings, and little boys and girls get killed. Or cooked by the bad witch. Eaten by the wolf.

  A chill ran down her spine as she stared at Zeb, then Shay. I don’t know these people at all. Shay had turned into a dog. “Out,” she said. “Both of you. Get out.”

  “But—” Shay protested.

  She pointed her finger at the door, shivering at the thought they might not leave.

  Stalking away, Shay shoved past Zeb. “Nice going, dumbass.”

  “We’ll talk later, little female.” Zeb’s hard gaze was a woolen blanket of attention, prickly, yet warm. “About last night. And about what happened in your city that still upsets you so much.” He set the cup on the bedside stand with a thump and left, closing the door behind him.

  She waited, half-expecting their return. A minute passed.

  Her hand shook as she picked up the drink. She sniffed it suspiciously. Broth. Well, if they wanted her dead, they’d had the opportunity last night. When she swallowed some, wonderful heat slid all the way to her stomach.

  After another sip, she tried to think. She’d been attacked by a monster—a hellhound—only not the same one as in Seattle. There were more. She shivered. The city one still lived. But she had a gun now.

  Only…her bullets hadn’t worked. Her eyes squeezed shut as she remembered firing her revolver. The hellhound had kept coming. I have no defense against it at all.

  As her hand shook, broth sloshed over the cup sides. Wait. Zeb had knifed the creature, and it died. So a monster could be killed. It could.

  She drank more broth to fortify herself, then examined her bitten arm. She’d been bleeding badly, but now only pink lines remained. Zeb didn’t limp today. No bandages showed on Shay’s neck. That silvery-eyed man really had done some new-age healing thing. She studied her arm and smiled. Actually, I’m totally okay with this kind of healing.

  But definitely not the other stuff when Elvis had turned into Shay. She scowled. There was no way that she’d believe it. Uh-uh. Besides, she’d seen the dog and Shay at the same time. Hadn’t she? She bit her lip. Zeb had made a joke about neutering, and Elvis had growled. The dog had listened to her, tilting its head, as if it understood. God, she’d told Elvis all sorts of stuff about her past.

  Had she stumbled into a fairy-tale—or a nightmare? She wrapped her arms around her pillow. This world held monsters, dogs that were people, and men who could push flesh back together. This is so not my life. I want to go back to my city, my job, my apartment. My home. Her desire died as she remembered Seattle had a monster.

  She pulled in a quivery breath. Okay then, fine. The only way to get through this was one step at a time. Like following a new recipe. She grimaced. Her first loaf of bread had been harder than the concrete blocks she broke in karate. Recipes don’t always work.

  So Shay turned into a dog. She stiffened. A dog? Or a wolf? Was he a werewolf? Her heart started to race. Was she going to turn into a creature too? No no no. Her hands fisted in the covers. But he hadn’t bitten her. Her panting slowed. She’d been alone with him on long, long hikes, and he had never hurt her.

  Last night, he’d attacked the monster. Tried to save her.

  Her hands slowly unclenched. Werewolf or not, she owed the dog and Zeb her life. Her mouth tightened. And they darned well owed her a whole lot of answers.

  As she tossed the covers back, she saw the blood on her sweatshirt. Her skin started to crawl. The monster had hurt her. “It only bit me,” she whispered, “nothing else.” Her self-reassurance didn’t help. She was unclean. Soiled, inside and out. She could smell the stench on her body. I need a shower.

  When she stood, the walls danced and spun. Her stomach twisted uneasily. She felt horrible, even worse than after the first hellhound’s attack although it had done much more damage.

  What’s wrong with me?

  * * *

  In the main cabin space with Zeb, Shay waited through the sounds of the shower and the rustling noises in the bedroom. The door opened.

  Using the doorframe for support, Breanne paused. She’d changed into jeans and a loose dark green swea
ter. The way her full breasts moved beneath it showed she hadn’t put on a bra. Shay tried not to notice. Unsuccessfully.

  Dead pale, she still assessed the room like a warrior. He and Zeb both started to rise, but she shook her head at them. Her gait lacked her usual grace, and he had to grit his teeth not to help. As slow as an arthritic elder, she lowered herself into the armchair.

  “I have questions for you two.” The beauty of her voice defeated her attempt at sounding firm. By the God, she was pretty.

  Zeb handed her a soda he’d fetched from the lodge. When she stared at the can as if it were a scorpion, he scowled. “We’re guys. We don’t do diet.”

  “Well. Thank you.” She sipped, staring at the glass door of the woodstove. Another salamander had joined the first, and they chased each other into the stovepipe. When her gaze followed their movements, Shay realized she actually saw the OtherFolk. Like a Daonain, she had the Sight.

  After hauling in a slow breath, she fixed Shay with a frown. “Did you turn into a dog and go hiking with me?”

  “Well, that’s blunt,” Shay muttered. Damned if she didn’t make him feel like he’d been blasted rude or something, so his answer was equally brusque. “Yes.”

  She blinked, then her dimples appeared. “Guess I deserved that. Sorry.”

  By Herne’s hooves, her ability to laugh at herself drew him as strongly as her courage.

  She drank more of her soda. “Can you guys explain what’s going on? Please?”

  Zeb’s glance said the cowardly mutt was giving Shay that task.

  At least Calum had ordered them to tell Breanne everything, and he didn’t have to try to evade the truth. “We’re called shifters or Daonain. We’re descended from Fae shapeshifters. And you’re one of us.”

  She went white.

  Zeb glared at him.

  Okay, maybe he’d gone too fast. “I do turn into—”

  She held up her hand to pause him, and he could see her mind working. The female was so logical, it was scary. “You said us. You’re not the only one who turns into a dog?”