Winter of the Wolf (Hunt 2)

by Cherise Sinclair

  His hands stopped, and she shut her eyes. Put your foot into it, didn’t you, Bree? But it was true. With that uncle, it was amazing Zeb hadn’t turned out a total jerk instead of just rough and gruff.

  He was silent, but his hands resumed their work. Within a few minutes, he’d reduced her to a boneless mass of gelatin. She started to drift off to sleep.

  “Over you go,” he murmured and rolled her onto her back.

  Her eyes popped open.

  He straddled her, weight on his knees—and before she panicked, she realized he was studying her. Waiting for her to do just that.

  “You good?”

  This was Zeb. “I think so.”

  But… He was going to massage her front? His hands settled above her breasts. His thumbs dug into the aching muscles under her collarbones, moved toward her breasts, but stopped short. He massaged her upper pectorals and shoulders, then up and down her arms, squeezing right to the edge of pain. Knots dissolved, and blood flowed into the uncramped areas. She sighed.

  Finally, when she could swear she was melting between the thin cracks in the wood floor, he lay down beside her.

  She opened her eyes.

  Head resting on his hand, he watched her.

  “Thank you.”

  He raised one eyebrow as if to remind her of Shay’s game, then cupped her cheek. With his thumb on the other side of her jaw, he held her still.

  His lips were as warm as his hands. Propped up on his elbow, he lazily indulged in his kiss, teasing and then demanding a response. His hand moved from her waist upward, brushing the side of her breast. With each slow stroke, her skin grew more sensitive, until her nipples were tightly bunched and aching. Her back arched her up toward him.

  The thump of footsteps on the porch announced the arrival of Shay.

  Bree sat up quickly, staring at Zeb. “Go sit in your chair,” she ordered.

  A crease appeared in his cheek as he ran his finger over her lips. “You look well kissed, little female, and no wolf could miss the scent in this room.”

  The scent. A flush scalded her face. As Shay opened the door, Bree jumped to her feet and escaped up the stairs.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory ~ Full moon

  “Vicki didn’t return today.” Shay strode into the library corner of the lodge. His guts felt as if the fly fisherman had tied them into intricate knots. “Calum says she wrenched her ankle. She’s staying in Elder Village for a few more days.”

  Zeb’s book dropped to the floor, and dread rolled over his face like black thunderclouds. “You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

  “No joke. By the God, Zeb, we have to warn Breanne about what to expect. We shouldn’t have put it off.” But waiting for Vicki had made sense, since just a year ago, she’d been human, and she could have explained Gatherings.

  Now they were caught in their own iron-toothed trap. “Does Breanne have any female friends?”

  Zeb considered. “A couple of the wolves, but the alpha bitch ordered all the females to stay away until Bree does a public apology. To finish off her lesson.”

  Pack politics. Shay’s teeth snapped together. He’d like to sink his fangs into Thyra and shake some courtesy into her. But only the alpha male could do that. “Nobody else?”

  “No females.” Zeb scowled. “We should’ve pushed harder, brawd. Kissing and fondling aren’t enough to prepare her for tonight.”

  “If we’d pushed, she’d have run. At least she trusts us.” Shay paced across the room. “She’s newly changed. Maybe the heat won’t hit her yet.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe it’ll overcome her fears.”

  Shay kicked the edge of the rug, wishing it were Thyra. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  “Nope.” Zeb frowned. “Oh fuck.”

  “What?” Shay glared. “We don’t need anything else.”

  “Damn fucking right.” Zeb scrubbed his face like an annoyed raccoon. “Did you talk with her about lifemating or male-female ratios?”

  Shay stared at him, dismay rising. Humans only mated one male to a female, but shifters… “By Herne’s hooves, surely she’s noticed?”

  * * *

  The diner’s customers had cleaned out the pastry shelves, and Angie had reported they’d begged for more. Bree couldn’t stop smiling as she trotted up the steps to the lodge.

  Her smile faded. Angie had also said she wasn’t allowed to chat until Bree publically apologized to Thyra. Angie’d been pretty steamed about the decree, but apparently, the alpha female had the power to enforce her rules.

  Mood spoiled, Bree closed the lodge door with a slam. The thought of apologizing to the bitch unsettled her stomach worse than the rat she’d eaten a few days ago. But she couldn’t find a way to avoid it. Not if she wanted to make friends with the women in the pack. Thank God, Vicki was a cougar and not under Thyra’s control.

  After hanging up her coat, Bree took a step and stopped.

  Shay sat at the library table where she’d set up a jigsaw puzzle, Zeb in a chair nearby, both watching her with concern.

  Worry slickened her palms. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Shay rose. “We need to talk to you about something.”

  “Okay.” Did they want her to leave? Her feet dragged as she crossed the room. She sat on the couch next to Zeb’s chair. “What’s up?”

  “It’s…” Zeb looked at Shay helplessly.

  Shay sighed. “We’ve been teaching you the way of the Daonain. How to trawsfur. How to be a wolf. But there’s more to our customs.”

  “Like the pack laws?”

  “Not just pack,” Shay said. “All the shifters—men and woman. I’m talking about mating.”

  Oookay. Her stomach tightened. “I’m not totally inexperienced, guys.” And thank goodness she’d had sex a few times before being raped. “I remember how it goes. A man meets a woman. They like each other. They make love—or mate. Right?”

  “Not exactly.” Shay joined her on the couch. His weight compressed the cushions, sliding her until her hip bumped against his. “By Herne’s antlers, this is hard to explain.”

  “Bree.” Zeb’s gaze captured hers. “Each full moon, fertile Daonain females come into heat.”

  Heat. “Like a dog or cat comes into h-heat?”

  Zeb nodded. With a glance, he tossed the conversation back to Shay.

  Shay’s warm hand closed around Bree’s icy fingers. “The full moon is tonight, and your body will want to mate with a male. Will require a male.”

  A bitter laugh broke from her. “Wouldn’t that be a change? That’s not—”

  “Before, you only had humans around,” Zeb said.

  Shay agreed. “Daonain aren’t attracted to humans.”

  The idea derailed her growing anxiety for a second. “That’s why I never wanted a guy? Because I’m a shifter? That’s why with you two, I—” Oh God, what had she almost said?

  Darn Zeb for that slashing grin. “That’s why.”

  “Conceited creepazoid,” she muttered to her hands. “So I’m going to get all horny tonight and might jump one of you?”

  “Not that easy,” Zeb muttered.

  “By Daonain law, each territory holds a Gathering at full moon,” Shay said. “There, each female mates with the males she chooses.”

  You’ve got to be joking. Bree swallowed. “What if no one suits me?”

  “Your body will choose. Your head will not.” Zeb’s voice was deep, firm. “And your body will choose more than once.”

  She yanked free and rose. Her heart hammered inside her chest so hard her lungs couldn’t get air. She gasped in a breath. “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Easy, a leannan.” Shay stood, obviously hoping to calm her. “The Law requires only that the unmated spend the night at the Gathering. If you don’t want to mate, no one can force you.”

  “Yeah?” Bree started to breathe again. She could just hang out quietly. Let them have their orgy without her. “Okay
then. But I want you to know—this sucks.”

  “Does, doesn’t it?” Shay ran his hands up and down her chilled arms. “Being able to trawsfur into a wolf is a wondrous thing. And the animal nature has benefits—an extra forty years of life, improved healing, better senses and strength. But it also has drawbacks.”

  “So what’s with the law stuff?”

  “Our traditions and laws ensure Daonain survival. Our fertility is much lower than humans’, and five times more males are born to us than females. The only thing that saves us is that most births are twins or triplets. And the Gatherings.”

  His matter-of-fact voice soothed. Bree rested her hip on the table. “Am I going to run into more weird laws at this Gathering?”

  Zeb thought for a second. “No possessive behavior is allowed.” He gave her his half-smile. “Any other time, however—all bets are off.”

  Shay continued. “Males may fight to win a female’s favor, but the Law forbids killing or maiming. The penalty is being cast out.”

  Was that why Thyra had stopped? “Cast out means you have to leave the territory?”

  “Worse.” Zeb’s voice roughened. “No Daonain will see him, hear him, or speak to him.”

  She shrugged. “So he’d move somewhere else where no one knew him.”

  “The Cosantir slashes them.” Zeb curved his fingers and drew them across his cheek. “Herne turns the scars black.”

  Shay added, “If the Mother eventually forgives the crime, the scars turn white, and the shifter can return.”

  Cold fingers closed on Bree’s spine as she imagined wandering a world of people who didn’t acknowledge her existence. “That’s horrible.”

  “Many die,” Zeb agreed softly.

  “Enough of this.” Shay rubbed his forehead against hers. “You won’t be fighting, little wolf. Tonight is for mating.”

  I’d rather fight.

  Zeb’s gaze met hers in perfect understanding.

  “The moon rises in two hours,” Shay said. “Let’s clean up and eat. We’ll walk to the tavern together.”

  She couldn’t move. The men there would pressure her to have sex. She knew it. I can’t do this.

  “Little female,” Zeb snapped. “A male does not bother a female who is uninterested.” A crease appeared on his cheek, and his gaze warmed. “I showed you how we know.”

  She stared at him, remembering the day outside the cabin when he’d held her wrist, inhaling the scent. A lick of heat flared in her belly.

  The corner of his lip pulled up. “Exactly.”

  Well, okay. She wasn’t interested in any guy, so no one would bother her. It’ll probably be like Amelia’s bachelorette party at the strip joint. Lots of drunken horny woman and happy men. I’ll sit at the bar and watch.

  * * *

  Bree still held strong a couple of hours later as she and the men walked up to the tavern.

  Ignoring the “CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY” sign, Shay opened the door and shooed her before him.

  One step inside, she stopped. Welcome to Cold Creek’s meat market. Women and so many, many men. Turning in a circle, she gawked. One guy wore skin-tight jeans that cupped his ass. A tall blond had skipped a shirt and wore only a vest over a muscular chest. One had a trimmed beard, another a five-o’clock-shadow that her fingers tingled to touch.

  The scents were overwhelming. Zeb was right. She could smell arousal. Testosterone had a scent too. Dark and musky. Every inhalation warmed her until she felt as if she’d lowered herself into a hot tub. Her skin felt odd, as if sunburned and sensitive. When she moved, her clothes teased her with new sensations. Her bra rubbed until her nipples tightened painfully.

  She tried to ignore it all. Jeez, she wasn’t an animal to be ruled by hormones.

  “Give me your coat, lass.” Shay pulled her jacket off with a smooth tug.

  Mmmh, his eyes were steely blue, so intent, and… Get a grip, dummy. “Um.” Her voice came out disconcertingly breathy, as if she’d jogged over a mountain. “How about a beer?”

  Because, darn it, she needed alcohol. Or ice water. Calum must have set the furnace thermostat at ninety degrees. “How long do we have to stay, anyway?”

  Shay chuckled. “Long enough to at least get inside the room.”

  Snorting in agreement, Zeb set his hand on the hollow of her back and pushed her farther into the room. The heat from his palm, the very feel of his hand was as if he was reaching inside her and stroking her to arousal. Oh heavens, what is happening to me?

  With a grave look, Zeb studied her.

  Bree stared up at him. His hard jaw was incredibly masculine, slightly darker than the rest of his face even though he’d shaved. His lips curved. She remembered the feel of his mouth on hers and wanted it again. She ran her fingers down his chest, savoring the hard bunching muscles.

  He made a rumbling noise, and his hand closed around her wrist. He lifted it to his face. Inhaled. “Little female, I don’t think you’re going to manage to leave.”

  The sound of his deep, grating voice dragged on her nerves, and she swayed toward him. Then her mind untangled the words. “Leave? Yes, I’m leaving. I’m not staying here, Zeb.”

  He pressed a kiss to her wrist, sending her senses spinning with the feathery touch, the wash of warm breath. She inched closer to him.

  “Good to know.” He glanced at Shay. “Commandeer a corner?”

  “That’s the plan. Gonna be harder than I thought though.” Shay’s low voice was a smooth stroke of hot silk, pulling her to him as if he’d tugged on a leash.

  She stepped closer, breathing the fresh icy scent that was his alone. He smelled like a man. All man. His chest was twice as broad as hers, his shoulders blocked out the room.

  His unrelenting stare made her knees weak. “Breanne, come with us.”

  River rock. Zeb’s voice was jagged granite, Shay’s was like river rock, all round and smooth, but still hard.

  “Breanne?”

  “Oh.” She blinked, shook her head. “The corner. Sure. I keep getting…sidetracked or something.” Every nerve in her body was firing full-time. “Sensory overload, I guess?”

  Shay’s fingers curled around her bare upper arm. The abrasion of his calluses was heady, and she moved closer.

  “You’re killing me here, a leannan,” he murmured. As they threaded through the crowd, she caught more scents. Men. Everywhere. They stared at her, their gazes like fiery tickles against her skin.

  In the front corner by the fireplace, Zeb shoved tables around to create a blocked off area with a small entrance. “You sure, Shay? Make her start with a stranger?”

  “By Herne’s antlers, I’m not sure of anything. I just know that if one of us tries and she panics, she’ll feel we betrayed her, and she won’t have anyone here she trusts.” Shay sighed. “If she can handle one or two males, we’ll see if she’s still interested in two rough cahirs.”

  “Good enough.”

  Bree heard their conversation, but their words flowed like water, slipping past her understanding. Yet lovely. Like with wolf song, their voices wove around each other, creating a beautiful pattern.

  Zeb stepped closer. He cupped her chin to tip her face up, caught her gaze, and she fell forward into eyes the color of the night sky.

  “Fuck.” He growled, and the sound shivered through her, making her want. Need.

  “Bree, listen.”

  She blinked. “Got it. I mean, I’m listening.”

  “Shifters will come over. Nice males. Short males. If you like one, he’ll take you upstairs and—ah—kiss you.”

  “Okay.” She leaned forward and rubbed her breasts against him.

  “Fuck.” His low growl made her pussy tingle, but then he sat her in a chair.

  A chair? She started to get up.

  “Stay there, lass.” Shay’s gaze compelled obedience. “The men will come to you.”

  As the two men moved away, the air temperature decreased, and her head cleared. Slightly. Taking positions on ea
ch side of the barricaded entrance, they waved off man after man until two shorter ones approached. Not small, barely under six feet.

  One was lean and rugged-looking with gorgeous turquoise-colored eyes. The other seemed less tough. Sweeter. Not as interesting. After Shay talked with them, they walked into her corner.

  “I’m Wayne.” The sweet-looking one knelt on her right. His blonde hair gleamed in the light from the wall sconces.

  “My name is Evan. I’m from over the border.” Taking a knee to her left, the lean one was darkly tanned, his grin almost as bright as Zeb’s.

  Zeb. She stared at him, at Shay. Why didn’t they come to her? She caught Zeb’s gaze.

  He stepped toward her, then his lips tightened, and he turned his back. When Shay did the same, it felt like a connection snapped.

  A hand stroked down her thigh, and she jumped.

  “What’s your name, pretty one?” Evan asked in a voice that pulled at her, gentle but with a firm base underneath.

  “Bree.” His face was all angles, cheekbones high and tight. His mustache was the rich brown of his hair and silky soft under her fingers. She traced it twice, marveling at how neatly it curved around the slope of his mouth. “I’ve never kissed anyone with a mustache,” she murmured. Would it tickle? How would it feel against her?

  “Do you want to kiss me, pretty one?” He took her hand. His palm was hard, rough, and wonderful, and as he kissed her fingers, his lips were petal-soft in contrast. The mustache tickled her knuckles. When his mouth closed over her fingertips, the wetness of his tongue made her moan. Heat flared into an oven fire inside her, and she leaned toward him.

  He pressed a kiss to her wrist, inhaled, and stood, pulling her up with him and against his side. His arm curved around her waist. “Let’s go upstairs where it’s not so noisy,” he murmured. His warm breath brushed her cheek, and she nodded. “Sorry, Wayne,” he said.

  Had there been someone else beside her? She’d been rude. She tried to turn, but when Evan eased his fingers under her shirt to find bare skin, a rising fire burned the thoughts right out of her head. A pulse throbbed low in her body between her legs.